A Proper Family Christmas (10 page)

“Leo didn't make it to University,” said Margery.

“I chose not to go. There is a difference…”

“Why don't you make yourself useful? Go and fetch the cases from the car.”

“But how are we going to get in?” asked Hilary.

“Oh that's all right,” said Margery. “I've got a key.”

“A key to William's house? How did you manage that?”

“I've always had one,” was Margery's answer. “Let's get where I can see… Yes, this is it.”

“I don't believe it,” muttered Leo, as he and Oliver went to unload the luggage. “Keeps us all hanging about in the cold, and she had a key all the time..!”

Frances felt rather guilty, reclining on the sofa with a large glass of William's whisky in her hand, while the search for the missing children was presumably still going on without her.

“Oh, stuff that!” Tony reassured her, sitting down beside her with his own glass. “They'll have found them ages ago. Anyway, it's after six o'clock - well past your knocking-off time - unless Stephen and Lesley were very canny with your contract!”

Frances frowned, embarrassed to realise she couldn't remember exactly what that complicated document had said about hours. It had been very hot on things like paying for her own phone-calls and not leaving without due notice - a legacy of the previous nanny, no doubt. But what about the actual hours of work? How stupid of her not to have checked!

Tony must have seen her expression. He turned to look at her, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa. “Seriously, Frances, they're not the most benevolent of employers, and they may not have the sense to realise what a gem they've found. You mustn't let them exploit you.”

“Oh no - I don't!” said Frances quickly, glad that Tony hadn't witnessed the parlour-maid incident this afternoon.

He was still regarding her earnestly. “Well, I hope you realise you have friends here now. If things do start to get too much, and you feel you want someone to confide in, you will come and talk to me - or Julia - won't you? I'd really hate to see you taken advantage of.”

Frances felt a warm glow that wasn't entirely due to the whisky. Of course she couldn't really go wingeing to Tony about the Shirburns, but how nice of him to go out of his way to be so friendly to her! One might have expected him to be on the other side, after all.

“Terrible luck about their damp proof course,” he was saying, “going wrong just before Christmas. I thought those things lasted for ever.”

“Yes,” said Frances, a little awkwardly in view of Lesley's hint that the damp might not have been the Shirburns' only reason for deciding to spend Christmas at Haseley.

“Particularly hard on you, Frances. I expect you were hoping to see your family, weren't you, instead of being stranded out here in a gloomy old house in the middle of nowhere? I don't know how long Stephen and Lesley are planning to stay…”

“Oh, it's only for a few days, I think,” said Frances, realising that they hadn't said exactly how long. Now Tony pointed it out, she supposed the Shirburns had effectively got her trapped here, with no means of escape, until they decreed that it was time to go home. Thank goodness the Britwell family had decided to join them!

“Just as well we decided to come along and cheer things up.” Tony read her mind. “We love Christmas! All that silly sentimental stuff. Julia decorates a mean Christmas tree. William hasn't got one, has he? We'll fetch one in tomorrow. And I have a secret recipe for stuffing…” He touched his nose conspiratorially. “Say no more, except that the bottle of Corvoisier in the cupboard must remain unviolated until the day! It makes the whole difference to Christmas, doesn't it? - having a house full of people? I bet you and the Shirburns were relieved not to be stuck with just old William for company!”

“Oh yes, I was!” said Frances, not wanting to disclose what Lesley's reaction had been when she'd heard about all the other visitors.

But Tony must have been too perceptive. He put his head on one side, eyeing her quizzically. “…Were Stephen and Ratso not as pleased as you were, perhaps?”

“Oh no… It's just - er - I think there was something they wanted to discuss with your father-in-law,” stammered Frances, anxious not to let him think it was anything personal against him and Julia, “and they were rather hoping to talk to him on his own.”

“Oh, I see,” said Tony, making a wry face. “I thought our welcome wasn't as enthusiastic as it might have been! We obviously interrupted some important
tête-à-tête
.” He indicated the tea things, which no one had bothered to clear away. “I wonder what it was all about.”

Frances realised that she was able to throw some light on this now. She found the pile of brochures Stephen had hastily gathered together and passed them across to Tony. “I think it was something to do with these.”

“Aha!” He examined the brochures and raised his eyebrows at her. “I scent a plot! What do you say, Nanny Frances?”

Frances grinned back. Somehow it was okay for Tony to call her Nanny.

“They're retirement homes, aren't they?” she said. “Mr. Shirburn must be planning to move into one.”

“Or having it planned for him.” The sudden grimness in his tone startled her.

“You mean - he doesn't want to go?”

“I can't imagine William agreeing to leave this place of his own free will, can you?”

She remembered Lesley's pink angry face, William's scowl. “But why should they try to make him move if he doesn't want to?”

Tony glanced round meaningfully. “Fine old mansion, this - if you like that sort of thing.”

Frances stared at him aghast. Surely Stephen and Lesley weren't trying to push William into a home just to get their hands on Haseley House?

“…Fetch a good bit if it were to come on the market - provided it was sold with vacant possession.”

“But they can't be intending to sell it!” she objected. “Mrs. Shirburn said something to Tobias about living here when he grows up…”

“Did she indeed?” Tony looked at her with narrowed eyes. “On the other hand, it would of course make a very nice country retreat for an Oxford don. How do you fancy it, Frances - Nanny to the Lord of the Manor of Haseley?”

What, live permanently in this sinister old house, with its inexplicable creaks and groans, and all those empty derelict rooms upstairs? There was a weird scratching noise in the wall at the moment that sounded horribly like rats! Frances shuddered, and moved a little closer to Tony.

“No, you're not part of the plot, are you Frances?” his warm smile returned. “I'm glad. Anyway - what am I thinking of, gossiping to you about your employers like this? Most improper! Let me get you another drink…”

CHAPTER 7

The rest of them hung back as Margery pushed open the front door, mutually conscious of the awkwardness of walking into someone else's house unannounced.

“The hall's in a dreadful state,” she observed to Oliver. “You'll have to ignore all the missing tiles - and that perfectly ghastly wallpaper. I expect your expensive camera's capable of cutting out that sort of thing, isn't it?”

The familiar smell of Haseley - mould and polish and old stone. It caught Hilary unawares, sweeping her back in time so vividly that for an instant she assumed it was Ben beside her.

But it was Oliver who met her instinctive glance of affection, saw her drop her eyes immediately and look away embarrassed.

“William must get this place done up,” said Margery decisively. “Then he can sell it for a packet instead of leaving it to that ghastly son of his. …What's the matter, Leo? Stop wittering!”

“There's somebody coming,” he moaned.

“Well what if there is? Oh, it's Julia. Don't say
they've
all descended on poor old William as well! - William's daughter,” she explained to Oliver. “Married Tony Britwell - bit of a spiv. Makes a good thing out of other people's money - you know the type.”

“Aunt Margery - how lovely!” said Julia, who had been well within earshot. “Have you been ringing the bell? William's put us in the attic and you can't hear a thing. Hilary, darling!”

Julia's powerful scent enveloped her as she kissed her on both cheeks. Hilary tried to return the embrace without embarrassment. She was sure Julia genuinely liked her, and had never been able to work out why she didn't feel the same way.

Margery introduced Oliver, and Hilary saw him visibly recoil as Julia seemed about to kiss him too, but she confined herself to one of her almost sexual handshakes.

“
Super
to meet you… Oh - Leo!”

“Yes, I don't know why he came.
I
didn't bring him.”

Leo emerged from where he had been trying to efface himself against the coat-stand. “I came down with Hilary, actually…”

“Oh dear!” said Julia, giving Hilary a reproachful look that set her teeth on edge. “Don't let Daddy see you, for heaven's sake! We'd better put you in the dining-room. There's no one in there.”

“This is ridiculous!” protested Leo as Julia hustled him through the door. “I can't stay in hiding for the whole of Christmas!”

“I'll get Tony to find you a drink,” she promised him. “He's gone off somewhere with the nanny…”

“Where's William?” demanded Margery, ignoring Julia's attempt to relieve them of their coats. “In the sitting-room? Come on, Oliver. We'll go and give him a rocket for not answering his bloody front door!”

Hilary followed them, feeling the combination of Margery and William was too much to ask a sensitive man like Oliver to face alone. He was already looking rather stunned by Margery's uninhibited appraisal of her brother's house, which she took up again as she threw open the sitting-room door without bothering to knock.

“…This room's not quite such a slum. Newish carpet and some fairly decent furniture… Ah, Tony! What are you up to in here? Trying your luck with the nanny, apparently.”

Tony had been caught with his arm round an attractive little blonde girl, who leapt up guiltily, her cheeks flaming.

“Julia's husband,” Margery explained to Oliver, “ - the one I was telling you about.”

Tony somehow managed to keep his composure. “Hello, Aunt Margery. How splendid to see you. Hello, Cousin Hilary.” There was something caressing about the way Tony said `cousin' that made Hilary wince slightly, as he took the opportunity to kiss her full on the mouth. He held out his hand to Oliver.

“This is Oliver Leafield,” Margery introduced him. “He's a friend of Nigel Rofford's.”

“Oh yes, the, er… architectural historian.” Tony dropped his hand rather suddenly and placed it on the girl's shoulder instead. “Frances and I were just discussing her unenviable job. She's young Tobias's nanny.”

“Ah - the
Shirburns'
nanny, are you? That's right, Tony - no sense in fouling your own nest. That's a pleasure in store for you, Oliver - my nephew Stephen and his wife. Awful snobs, with a quite horrendous offspring. Only to be expected, I suppose, when you bring a child up as if he was a research project…”

Frances was interested to discover that one couldn't actually die of embarrassment. She must have run it as close as anyone when that terrifying old lady had come in and got totally the wrong idea about her and Tony. She would have liked to explain that they were only discussing how to protect William - her brother, surely - from a dreadful plot, but Tony had obviously decided it was better not to say anything. Perhaps he didn't trust this Oliver Leafield, standing there so huge and silent in that great black coat. He had certainly given him a funny look when he found out who he was.

Tony seemed to be fond of his cousin Hilary, though, and she wasn't at all the sort of languishing person Frances had expected. She had bright, intelligent eyes and a firm mouth and lots of dark curly hair, and when William's sister started going on about the Shirburns in that horrendously forthright way, she caught Frances's eye with a really kind smile.

“I expect you'll be wanting to get Tobias's tea or something, won't you Frances?” said Tony.

She knew he was offering her the excuse to escape and seized it gratefully, wishing everyone wouldn't watch her go as if they were waiting for her to be out of earshot. Oliver held the door open, and Margery followed her with those eagle eyes. “I'll give that one a week!” she heard her say, before the door was quite closed.

To do William justice, he hadn't heard the front door bell. He was busy preparing a delicious sandwich of tinned salmon, pickled onions and a few letters of cold alphabet spaghetti. Scratch, who
had
heard it, took the precaution of sliding under the dresser until he realised William wasn't going to answer, and he could go back to the juice from the salmon tin undisturbed.

William did hear the banging on the back door, but equated it with the similarly irritating noises someone was making from the direction of the cellar - the inevitable result of having a horde of people in the house.

He looked up unenthusiastically as Julia bounced in, leaving the door ajar.

“There you are, Daddy! What's that disgusting mess you're eating?” Julia poked at his sandwich and made a face. “Aunt Margery's arrived, with the architect guy. Such a shame he's gay - he's got a lovely sensitive face! Oh - and Hilary's here as well.”

William brightened. He liked Hilary. She had pretty hair and twinkly, sensible eyes, and she'd been married to his nephew Ben, of whom he'd been particularly fond. Best of all, she wasn't always trying to get him to do things like most of his relations.

“Why don't you put a bit of salad on that,” said Julia. “You really ought to eat more vitamins…”

Scratch, who had finished his meal already, took the opportunity to slip out for further investigation of the rats. The dining-room door was closed, but a moment or two later Frances came into the hall, and a pathetically raised paw easily persuaded her to open it.