Melanie nodded vaguely, suspecting a joke had just gone over her head, but not ready to admit it.
Walter stepped quickly in. ‘We’d almost given up on you, Ishmael. What with the weather, and all. Beastly stuff. I mean, we all like a little snow at Christmas, for the festivities, but this is beyond a joke, eh? Eh?’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Melanie.
‘Still; James was certain you’d be here,’ said Walter. ‘Now, what are we all standing around in the hall for? Big fire in the drawing room, to warm a traveller’s bones; and a hot toddy, to warm the inner man. That’s what you need. Come along! Jeeves … Jeeves! Where is the fellow?’
‘Here, sir,’ said the butler, hurrying down the hall to join us. I’d spotted him sneaking away with my coat and suitcase, while I was talking with Walter. Jeeves bowed briefly, to Walter. ‘I have placed Mister Jones’ bag in the Rose Room, sir. I trust that is acceptable.’
‘Fine, fine,’ said Walter. ‘Just the one bag, Ishmael? Never mind; Jeeves can rustle up anything you need. He’s in charge of everything practical round here. Aren’t you, Jeeves?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘What is it exactly that you do, Mister Jones?’ said Melanie.
‘I work for the Colonel,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Melanie, drawing out the word till it sounded more like no. ‘I got that. But what do you do for him, exactly?’
‘Whatever he asks me to,’ I said. I met her challenging gaze steadily. ‘He asked me to join him here, so here I am.’
‘But this isn’t work,’ said Melanie, with the air of one scoring a point. ‘This is Christmas. A time of celebration.’
‘I’m always working,’ I said. ‘Wherever I am.’
‘Don’t press the young man, Mel,’ said Walter. ‘You know there are things he can’t talk about. Can I at least ask you, Ishmael; how long have you worked for my son?’
‘Must be fifteen years now,’ I said.
‘But you’re not even thirty yet!’ said Melanie. ‘Did the Colonel take you straight out of school?’
‘I’m older than I look,’ I said. ‘But then, aren’t we all, these days?’
Melanie’s left hand went instinctively to her throat, where she’d had the most work done.
Walter plunged in, to fill the gap. ‘Must be more than fifteen years since James was last here for Christmas!’ he said. ‘Good to have him back, of course, but … You probably know him better than I do these days, Ishmael …’
‘The Colonel has always played his cards very close to his chest,’ I said carefully. ‘He only ever tells me what he thinks I need to know, when I need to know it. But I would be happy to sit down with you, at some point, and share my experiences of the Colonel with you.’
‘Yes,’ said Walter. ‘Yes; I’d like that.’
‘My daughter is here too,’ said Melanie. ‘Penelope. Lovely girl. Almost indecently intelligent. The two of you should get on well together. I’m sure you’ll have lots in common.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘That would make a change.’
‘Penny! Yes!’ Walter said cheerfully. ‘You’ll like her, Ishmael, everyone does. Now come along, do; come through into the drawing room and meet the others.’
He turned abruptly and strode off down the hall, his walking stick thudding loudly on the carpet, Melanie floating along at his side. Jeeves had already disappeared again, off about his business. I followed Walter and Melanie down the hallway, thinking: Others?
Two
Walter slammed open the drawing room door with a grand gesture and strode in with Melanie hanging on his arm. The gesture was somewhat spoiled by an uproar of raised voices blasting out of the room. Walter had walked in on an argument; an angry one, at that. The noise gradually died away as Walter and Melanie entered, and I hurried to catch up with them so I wouldn’t miss out on the fun.
The few remaining voices cut off completely the moment I entered the extremely large room. I stopped just inside the door and looked interestedly around at all the flushed faces and startled looks. Everyone moved to stand a little closer together; it might be all against one and one against all in private, but they automatically closed forces in the face of an outsider. It was so quiet that I could hear the wind outside the shuttered windows. Walter drew himself up to his full height, slammed his walking stick on the floor, and glared about him.
‘I’ve told you all before; no arguments at Christmas! This is a time of peace and good will, and by God you’ll all play nicely together or there will be no presents in stockings for anyone! You leave your problems behind when you come to my home for Christmas; is that clear?’
His voice cracked like a whip, and his gaze was cold and merciless as he glared round the room. There were a few reluctant nods among his guests and a lot of lowered gazes. I used the opportunity to take a look round the oversized room. You could have played five-a-side football in the space available while swinging a whole bunch of seriously-annoyed cats. The room was dominated by a massive Christmas tree that took up one whole corner all by itself, its top bent over as it brushed against the patterned ceiling. Wide spreading branches were weighed down by any number of shiny balls and baubles, along with tattered lengths of tinsel and strings of old-fashioned flickering lights. Long-established family favourites, brought down from the attic for the occasion, I presumed. Someone had spent a lot of time dressing the tree, but it still looked like the Christmas fairy had thrown up on it. Cheerfully-wrapped presents had been piled up around its base, all with carefully-applied name-tags. Someone liked their Christmas traditional and well organized.
The drawing room was overpoweringly large for the handful of people standing around in it, as though the room had originally been intended for much larger gatherings. Large bulky pieces of antique furniture stood awkwardly around, like guests hauled in to make up the numbers, and the truly ugly carpeting looked much used and even worn away in places. An open fire crackled loudly in a massive stone fireplace. I could feel the heat it was putting out all the way across the room. But then, this drawing room was almost large enough to generate its own weather conditions. I half expected to see rain clouds forming around the heavy brass chandelier, which looked sufficiently precarious that I made a mental note never to stand underneath it.
Dozens of assorted Christmas cards hung from lines stretched across the wall above the fireplace, as though to say: Look how many people we know! A radio was playing traditional Christmas carols, sung by syrupy massed choirs without an ounce of real sentiment, but turned down to an unobtrusive volume so people could talk over them. There was even a sprig of mistletoe, hanging miserable and unwanted in a far corner, just to keep the Druids happy. All in all, it could have been a jolly enough gathering, if not for the heavy silence my arrival had plunged the room into.
‘This,’ growled Walter, ‘is Ishmael Jones. A friend of James. So I expect you all to make him feel welcome!’
Everyone in the room reacted when they heard I knew the Colonel; everything from dropped jaws to narrowed eyes. But none of them said anything, even as they looked me over in their own interested ways. Whatever they’d just been arguing about was clearly forgotten now they were presented with the possibility of a new target.
I gave my fellow guests my full attention and smiled easily about me. Most of them managed some kind of smile in return.
Walter took me firmly by the arm and urged me forward. ‘Come over by the fire, Ishmael. Warm yourself up! You must be frozen, after driving so long through the damned snows to get here.’
An attractive young woman in her mid twenties immediately came to greet us, and Walter’s habitual scowl disappeared in a moment as he beamed fondly on her.