Chapter 54: Chapter 54

The aromas drifting from the kitchen are sumptuous. “We’re ready to serve,” announces James. “If you would all like to come through. Do bring your wine, but there’s plenty more on the table.”

The dining room is the image of Christmas. It could have come straight from some Dickensian film-

maker’s set.

The scent as we step inside is a delicious assault; pine, beeswax, oranges and cinnamon. A huge fireplace glows to the side, spitting and popping as Michael adds another couple of logs. Candles on the mantel glimmer against the mirror which sits above the hearth, and everywhere, the room is bright with berried holly which drapes over shelves and is swagged across beams.

Beautiful room…

Beautiful renovation work….

And Michael did a lot of this himself?

Useful man to have around….

The table is dressed in red and gold and green, laid out with napkins in Sydney Opera House arrangements, crackers, and more candles mounted on a log….

…. More homemade?

Looks like it….

And another Christmas tree….

More from the woods?

…. sits in a corner, again beautifully decorated in gold and red ribboning.

…. The cake and petit-fours and other tit-bits Elizabeth and I brought are set out on a sideboard with the liqueurs, cheese-board and candied fruit.

“Beth, why don’t you sit there, next to Michael,” says James.

Points of colour rise on my beautiful wife’s pale cheeks. She knows what's coming and as Michael holds out her chair to sit, I see her taking his measure when she thinks he's not looking, her eye roaming his body….

Keeping my face straight, I try to see James’ handsome blond friend with a woman's eye….

Michael has avoided the curse of the jolly reindeer sweater and is simply turned out in a plain white linen shirt, and black pants, but the pants are well cut….

I look under hooded lids…

… Very well cut…

He didn’t know Elizabeth was going to be here….

…. So, he dressed to please Charlotte….

James and Michael between them serve the meal: turkey and all the trimmings, ferrying plates and trays and steaming tureens from the kitchen.

“Richard….” James, from his place at the head of the table, nods toward the collection of wine bottles at the end of the table. “…. would you like to open the wine while I carve?”

“Of course.” Turning to where Charlotte sits between me and James, “Red or white? Or cava perhaps?”

“Um, red please.” But she doesn’t meet my eye….

Something I said…?

James waves expansively over the table. “Help yourselves, everyone.” Michael takes up Elizabeth’s plate, serving her with a little of everything.

The meal is excellent but Charlotte picks at her food, moving it around her plate, poking at it. I’ve seen Charlotte’s eating habits often enough to know this isn’t normal.

“So, what are your plans for Christmas and the New Year, Charlotte?” I say. “Anything special coming up?”

“Um, not sure, really.”

Hmmm….

I try again. “What have James and Michael given you for Christmas? I know James was racking his brains.”

“Don’t know yet.” She stirs a sprout around in a pool of gravy.

Nervous?

Of me?

Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea…

Since James’ invitation, I’ve been anticipating with relish the idea of ‘playing’ with Charlotte. I’d thought after Elizabeth’s birthday that Charlotte would want to too, perhaps even be enthusiastic about the idea…

Once more….

“Any favourite films you like to watch? Elizabeth always loves watching Christmas movies…” I talk across the table. “What’s that one you like…?”

Elizabeth covers her mouth, swallowing down a mouthful of something, gulps, then, “The Snowman. I don’t know how many times I watched it, but I still always cry at the end. What about you?”

“Yes, it’s a good film. I like it too.” But her words are lacklustre. There’s no enthusiasm there.

And I know for a fact that Charlotte enjoys old movies….

“…. but when I see all those old movies, you know, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘Christmas Carol’ and all the rest, I’ve never had a Christmas like that….”

Yes…. It’s me She doesn’t want…

…. doesn’t want me touching her?

The food sits uneasily in my stomach and my erection, which I’ve been beating down with a stick all morning, subsides.

From the corner of my eye I see James, brow creased, also surreptitiously watching his sub.

Elizabeth is happily chatting with Michael as he spoons extra cranberry sauce on to her plate. She won’t meet his eye, but there’s a curve to her lips and a flush to her cheeks.

She’s happy….

I look sidelong again, to where a roasted parsnip is being diced into smaller and smaller pieces.

Not happy….

If she cuts it any smaller, it's going to disappear entirely….

Ah, well….

I can watch Elizabeth with Michael….

…. then let off steam when I give my beautiful wife another good fucking back home….

I reach for the wine bottle. At the same moment, James takes Charlotte’s hand, lifting it to his lips. He kisses the fingers, then pushes her hand into mine, pressing to close my fingers around hers….

His gaze meets with mine and he eye-points down to my and Charlotte’s joined hands.

Ahhh….

Got it….

I lift her hand to my own lips, holding them there for a moment in a soft kiss. She looks up to me, then back at James and breaks into a bright smile.

Then she falls on her food like a starveling, snagging some extra slices of turkey and reaching over the table to where Michael is offering across a dish of roasted potatoes.

James watches the performance, his eyes creasing at the corners. As our eyes meet once more, he flashes brows at me, taking a sip of wine.

Furtively, I loosen my belt a notch. And now it’s not just the meal making my pants a tight fit.

I’d picked up from somewhere or other that James enjoys cooking and is good at it….

Where from?

Oh, yes, he helped out the chef on the hotel opening day….

But that was just a buffet…

It’s the first time I’ve sat at his table, and the food is top mark. The turkey is succulent, the stuffing fragrant and appetising, the vegetables not overcooked. And the gravy is thick, rich with wine and herbs. I chew thoughtfully at a roast potato: crunchy outside, soft inside and flavoured with….

Rosemary?

“This meal is excellent,” I say. “Where did you learn to cook, James?”

Charlotte nods vigorously, looking between us, fork in hand as she engulfs a ball of chestnut stuffing followed by a pig-in-blanket.

James tips his glass to me, looking pleased. “When I was a student, I worked in a hotel kitchen to help make ends meet. The chef there rather took me under his wing, taught me some valuable life skills….”

Charlotte swallows hard. Her face drops and the fork which is half-way to her mouth freezes in transit.

James mutters a silent but visible curse and looks away.

Crap….

Fucked that up between us didn’t we.…

Poor kid….

Will she ever realise that none of us care about it?

She’s hardly the first woman to take that route to raising funds….

James lets out a slow breath then takes the fork from her fingers, enclosing her hand in his. “I was a student,” he says gently, “in the days when they gave out grants to students. I didn't have to pay my university fees, I only had to find enough money to live on. Extraordinary measures were not necessary for me.…”

Across the table, Elizabeth is reaching out a hand. “Charlotte.…”

… but Michael breaks in. “Crackers!” he says. “Come on, James. Let’s see what’s so interesting about your mysterious crackers.”

The crackers are indeed works of art….

Handmade to order?

…. certainly not your standard ‘twenty in a box’ from the supermarket variety. Each one is sumptuously beautiful and slightly different in design.

Michael offers his to Elizabeth, eyes creasing as he speaks. “Come on, Beth, pull a cracker with me.”

Sucking in my cheeks at the sub-text, I look away, but Elizabeth is pinking up. Still, she accepts, tugs and is the happy recipient of a paper hat, a slip of paper and….

… she sprays her wrist and sniffs, then ‘Aaahhhs’… “Oh, it’s lovely! I only ever buy this as a real treat for myself.”

…a small bottle of the personalised fragrance I had designed for her…

How the hell did James manage that?

Michael unrolls the slip of paper. “Who is Santa’s favourite rock-star?”

“I don’t know,” says James, in a voice as dry as a desert. “Who is Santa’s favourite rock-star?”

Michael flourishes his hand. “Elf-ish Presley!”

The required groan ripples around the table.

I turn to Charlotte. “Will you pull a cracker with me?”

She flushes almost as deeply as Elizabeth, but now there is a sparkle in her eye. “I’d love to, Richard.”

A tug, a crack and a bottle of my own favourite after-shave, one I know that Elizabeth likes, tumbles onto the table.

“James, how did you know I use this?”

His head tilts. “You think I don’t have a sense of smell?” But there’s a smile haunting the corners of his mouth.

“Come on Charlotte. Let’s hear yours,” says Michael.

She unrolls the paper. “Why did the turkey cross the road?”

It’s Michael’s turn to sound dry. “I don’t know. Why did the turkey cross the road?”

“Because it was the chicken’s day off…” Charlotte rolls her eyes and tosses the slip of paper to one side.

Everyone laughs, and Michael makes a Waa… Waa… Waaahhhh sound. “James,” he says. “I don’t know how much you paid for these crackers but couldn’t you have gotten a decent joke-writer?”

James adjusts the knot in his tie then inspects his finger-nails. “I didn’t think they were too bad when I wrote them.”

How long have I known James now?

?

?

Less than two years….

Still getting to know him….

…. and his sense of humour….

….

….

Wonder what Michael’s getting?

Michael snaps a cracker with Charlotte. “Cuff-links?” he says, staring down at the small silver-and-

black objects in his hand. “but… I don’t have any shirts like that. Mine are all buttoned.” He swings to James. “You think I like cuff-links?”

James’ face could be carved from butter. “I think Charlotte likes them,” he says.

Michael’s face is a study in the human condition. His eyes drop to James’ cuffs then travel to mine.

He turns to Charlotte. “You like cuff-links?”

“Um, yes, I do actually…” She gulps at her Rioja. “It’s um… well, mainly it’s when you take them off. It looks all…. er….”

James and I burst out laughing…

Dom’s dress uniform….

Michael scratches an eyebrow. “Cuff-links it is then.”

“Master?” Charlotte offers James one end of her own cracker….

As though he doesn’t know what’s inside…

… or who she would choose to pull it with…

As he takes it, that look passes between the pair. I’ve seen it before. Not often and not if anyone not of the group is present, but…

When was the first time?

Of course…. Elizabeth’s birthday….

They both wear the expression; in him; tight, restrained; in her, open, her face awash….

Love….

Delight….

Worship?

How do they speak to each other when they’re alone?

Across the table, Michael is watching…

Does it bother him?

To see that?

Has he learned to simply live with it?

Or do he and Charlotte share something different?

But he doesn’t appear upset.

The cracker pulls, snaps! and explodes with the tang of fireworks and a whizz of paper shrapnel.

Something slides into Charlotte’s hand, glimmering in the candlelight as she unravels it then holds it up for inspection….

“Oh, it’s lovely. Thank you, Master!”

Michael leans in, looking closely, then leans back again, looking naffed.

“Don’t bother with perfume or jewellery or anything like that...”

Bet he said the same to Michael….

…. and now he gives her jewellery….

It’s not an expensive piece, nothing that’s going to upset Charlotte’s money-acceptance scruples, but it is quite lovely: a small ammonite, sectioned and polished, all the detail clear and transparent, set in silver and hanging from a fine silver chain.

The clasp is a little awkward for her and Charlotte fumbles trying to fasten it. James reaches in to help, that hidden smile of his lurking around his eyes as he clips the fastening closed.

*****