Comparisons of this Christmas to every other Christmas he’d known were ludicrous. As a child he remembered formal Christmas mornings, drinks with business acquaintances where children were seen and not heard. A ludicrously over-the-top lunch where he was the only child—he hated the food and he hated the waiting, the waiting…Then his parents would sleep off their lunch, and some time towards evening his mother would call him in and they’d open their gifts. They weren’t permitted to open them early as ‘the tree looks so much better with gifts under it, and we’ll keep that effect until all our guests have gone.’
Whatever his gift was, it would have been exquisitely wrapped and he’d have to admire the wrapping.
It was never anything he wanted. It was always something someone had recommended. ‘Oh, we gave Guy a miniature violin—so sweet—I’m sure he’s musical. He takes after my side of the family, not his father’s…’
There was no violin today. This little family lived on a shoestring. The major present was the puppy. The rest of the gifts were…silly?
Some were silly, some were sensible—but it was a great mix. He watched as Henry unwrapped coloured pencils, a new collar and lead for his dog, and a vast parcel that turned out to be three months’ supply of puppy food—Henry was so delighted he couldn’t stop giggling, and there was a pause in the proceedings so Patsy could be photographed sitting on top of her future dinners…A rubber toy in the shape of a chook for Patsy, a game of wooden blocks that Henry received with joy…
Interspersed with these—for they took turns to open gifts—were the adult presents. Romance novels for Lorna, and a crazy device for massaging feet that Patsy took instant exception to. A new summer hat for Jack—he had to take off the reindeer antlers he was wearing, so he placed his new hat on and then propped his reindeer antlers over the top.
And for Guy…
He’d expected nothing. Of course he’d expected nothing. But there was a whole stocking stuffed with silly things. When he saw the stocking he felt his heart sink, expecting to be embarrassed that this family had spent money on his behalf, but the stocking simply made him laugh.
His very own pair of Christmas antlers—to go on top of his Santa hat. A red nose that flashed—‘Wear it now,’ Henry decreed, and he did. A mango—a perfect piece of fruit, wrapped with care, a vast red ribbon around it. He stared at the mango, and Jack grinned and handed him a knife and a plate and said, ‘Eat it now, mate—cos it’s Christmas.’ So he took off his red nose and spread mango from one ear to the other and it was the best thing he’d ever eaten.
What else? A boat made of ice lolly sticks—‘I wanted to make you a Ferrari,’ Henry told him, ‘but you’ve already got one. And this floats. I’ve put water in the bath all ready. You want to see?’ So they had to troop into the bathroom and watch Henry’s boat—the Jennifer-Patsy—take her maiden voyage round the bath, and then they had to rescue the Jennifer-Patsy and haul Patsy out of the bathtub and dry her, and then dry themselves, and then watch as Guy opened his last present, which was a glitzy magazine titled How to Plan Your Perfect Wedding.
‘Lorna’s idea, mate, not ours,’ Jack said hastily, and then they were all laughing, and Lorna was handing round mince pies and it was time to take the Ferrari on its Santa run.
Which was crazy all by itself.
Santa—the local police chief—was waiting at the police station. With a paper bag of mince pies at his side to keep his strength up, Guy collected Santa and his lollies. Then he followed Santa’s directions and made a clean sweep of Sandpiper Bay. Santa rang his bell with such strength that Guy’s ears would take months to recover. From every house came children and adults and oldies, and Santa tossed lollies indiscriminately. Even from the vast houses owned by the squillionaires came kids and dogs and men and women, all at various stages of Christmas, all smiling, all cheering as they got their lollies and then disappearing back into their homes to celebrate the festive season.
Their last stop was back at the farm. Santa had arranged for his wife to collect him from there. Santa emptied the remains of his sack onto their veranda, and then drove away in state in the town’s police car.
‘Now dinner,’ Lorna declared, and Guy wondered how he could eat any more. But of course he did—and how could he ever have thought he couldn’t? He remembered the sophisticated Christmases he’d endured as a kid. There was no comparison. He ate turkey and gravy and crispy roast potatoes and every sort of vegetable he could imagine with relish. Then Jack demanded he light the pudding—and how could he not eat pudding after that?
‘Brandy sauce, brandy butter, cream or ice-cream?’ Lorna asked.
Jenny grinned and said, ‘He’ll have all four, Mum, just like everyone else.’
And Guy looked across the table and thought, She’s calling Lorna Mum and suddenly…suddenly he wanted to do exactly the same.
If he married Jenny he could…
Henry was down on the floor, subsiding into an afternoon nap with Patsy, and Guy thought, I wonder what the quarantine regulations are for taking dogs into the US.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Jenny said softly, and he looked across the table and saw a flash of sadness behind the laughter that had been there all morning.
It was as if she knew that what he was offering was serious—but it wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t leave her.
He couldn’t.
‘No one sleeps before the washing up,’ Lorna said.
And Guy heard himself saying, ‘I’ll wash up. That’s my Christmas gift to you.’ He’d brought excellent wine and chocolates as gifts, but he knew now that they were dumb gifts. Sure, they liked them, but mangoes were better.
‘I won’t let you do it alone,’ Jenny said, and grinned. ‘Nobility is my middle name. Jack, Lorna—that means you sleep. Immediately. Henry and Patsy already are asleep. Guy, into the kitchen.’
‘Aren’t I the boss?’ he asked, and everyone smiled.
‘Not around here, mate,’ Jack told him, gripping his wife’s hand and holding it tight. ‘The women in this family make the rules.’
So they stood in the kitchen, and he washed and she wiped, and suddenly the noisy fun gossip faded to nothing. There was a silence which should have been a contented silence, but it was…tense.
‘Jenny?’ he tried softly, but when he glanced at her, her smile had faded and her face was rigid with strain.
‘Don’t say it, Guy,’ she whispered. ‘This is my family. This is my place. I’m not going anywhere.’
The wedding was due to take place at five p.m. They left at three. Only Patsy opened one eye and wagged a weary tail as they departed.
They drove in Jenny’s wagon as they had final supplies in the back. ‘Everything’s there,’ Guy told Jenny. ‘I ran a final check before I came to your place.’
‘And I ran a final check before everyone woke up,’ Jenny retorted. ‘Too many cooks, Mr Carver?’
‘Double-checking doesn’t hurt anyone,’ he replied as they drove down the magnificent eucalypt-lined driveway of Anna’s mansion. There was a cluster of expensive cars parked in front, obviously belonging to in-house guests. Within two hours there’d be hundreds of cars.
‘I’ll check the bride; you check the groom,’ Jenny told Guy, forgetting she was the employee again, but acting on a rule they both knew. The most important duty in any wedding ceremony is to make sure you have two live bodies willing to say I do.
They rang the bell, a butler opened the door—and here was the first discordant note of the day. A man’s voice was raised in fury.
‘You can’t do this, you bitch. I’ll ruin you. I’ll see your name raked across every tabloid and it’s no holds barred. If you call this off just because of some moralistic damned scruples then I’ll see you in hell. Have you got any idea of what this’ll do to your PR?’
Before they had time to step inside—and before the butler had time to do what he should have done in times of crisis—refuse admittance—Barret himself shoved his way past them. They stared after him as the movie star disappeared behind the house. There was the sound of a motor being gunned into life—and then the squeal of a car being turned too fast and driven too fast away.
‘There’s your groom, Mr Carver,’ Jenny murmured, wincing. ‘Now for the bride.’
Anna, surprisingly, seemed to still be in control. She was sitting on the second top step of the great staircase, as if her legs had given way, but as Jenny approached she even managed a shaky smile.
‘That’s two less guests for the wedding,’ she murmured. ‘We’re minus one groom and we’re minus one bridesmaid. Happy Christmas.’ She sniffed. ‘Oh, help.’
‘Happy Christmas to you, too,’ Jenny murmured, and sat down beside her while Guy looked on from below stairs. ‘Um…was that what I think it was? Have you just called off the wedding?’
‘You bet,’ Anna whispered. ‘I may live to regret it, but I don’t think so.’ She looked down to her butler. ‘Max, I won’t be needing you for a bit.’
‘Should I start phoning a few people?’ Max asked, sounding horrified. ‘Maybe I can stop a few coming.’
‘There’s three hundred people coming to this wedding,’ Guy said. ‘They’re coming from all over the world, and the wedding’s less than two hours away. Our chances of stopping the crowd are negligible.’
‘In that case go and have a stiff drink,’ Anna told the butler. ‘Or two.’
‘Stay sober, Max,’ Guy warned. ‘We’re going to need you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the butler said. He looked at his mistress in concern. Then he looked from Guy to Jenny and back again. ‘Fix it if you can,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t think she’s seeing what she’s done.’
‘I’m seeing what I’ve done all too clearly,’ Anna retorted. ‘I found him with one of my bridesmaids. In Georgia’s bedroom. In Georgia’s bed. I haven’t done anything. Barret, on the other hand…’
‘Can you verify this?’ Guy asked the butler, and Max nodded.
‘I was coming upstairs to remind Miss Anna that you were to be here at three. Miss Anna was standing at Miss Georgia’s bedroom door looking…’
‘Gobsmacked,’ Anna said, and suddenly she giggled. It sounded dangerously close to hysterics. ‘You saw them, too, didn’t you, Max?’
‘Yes, miss. But…’
‘There are indeed buts,’ Guy said gravely. ‘I’d imagine Barret’s heading straight back to Hollywood. Anna, if he’s true to form he’ll slur your name in every ear that matters. People expect Barret to play around. They won’t feel sorry for Barret. They’ll feel sorry for you.’
‘I don’t care,’ Anna said, defiant, but Jenny saw the tremor in her fingers and knelt to sit beside her and take her hand. To her surprise, the woman gripped and held. Hard.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ Guy was asking, and Jenny thought, He’s done this before. He’s coped with disasters like this.
‘We had eggnog for brunch,’ Anna explained. ‘Barret made it. Everyone’s half-drunk already, so they’re sleeping it off. Or I thought they were sleeping it off. I don’t know how Barret managed…’ Her voice trailed away in disgust.
Good, Jenny thought. If she was up to technical thinking then maybe other sorts of thinking were possible, too. She glanced down at Guy, their eyes locked, and she could see that he was thinking exactly what she was thinking.
Guy had agreed to do this wedding because he felt sorry for Anna. Nothing had changed. And if Anna had to be protected…
‘No one must feel sorry for you,’ she said, and Guy nodded, as if he’d just been about to say the same thing.
‘What do you mean?’ Anna demanded, and Guy took over.
‘Anna, you’ve just come out of rehab. Everyone’s looking at you. If I know Hollywood, they’re expecting you to fail, and they’re half hoping you will. Half the people coming to this wedding will be coming out of curiosity.’ He hesitated, but then he went straight to the hard question. ‘Did you touch the eggnog?’
‘I drink soda water,’ she said stiffly, and Guy nodded.
‘I knew you’d say that. It’s why I’m giving you a Carver Wedding. You deserve a second chance. But, the way I’m seeing it, this could be your ruin. Unless we turn it around. Unless we make this into a celebration regardless. You’ve ditched all the other bad habits. Barret was simply the last habit you ditched.’
‘What…?’ said Anna.
‘Let’s get this organised,’ he said, striding up the stairs to join them. Anna and Jenny were still sitting on the second top stair. They shifted sideways and he sat down, too, so Anna had Jenny on one side and Guy on the other, with Max watching, stunned, from below. ‘We need to move fast.’
‘What…?’ said Jenny.
‘If people have flown from London and New York and wherever to see a celebration, and they don’t see one, they’re going to be disappointed,’ Guy said. ‘And it’s Christmas Day, which makes it worse. They’ll be hugely disappointed if they’re turned away without food. And hungry, disappointed celebrities can get nasty. If they don’t see you, they’ll talk about you until the next sensation happens.’
Anna shuddered. ‘Don’t.’
‘What should we do?’ Jenny asked simply, and waited.
‘We go ahead as if it was meant to happen,’ he said. ‘Anna, you need to act. When all your in-house guests wake and your other guests arrive, you greet them as if this is the best thing that can possibly have happened.’
‘I don’t know how…’
‘I know how,’ Guy said. ‘Jenny, the time to be taken for the ceremony needs to be taken up with something else. I want a map of the way to the beach—that’s about half a mile from here, isn’t it? Down through the hills? An easy walk? I thought so. As every guest arrives they’re to be handed a champagne cocktail, a tube of sunscreen and a bathing costume and sarong if they don’t have their own. Jenny, get onto the local store owners now. Tell them we’ll pay ten times face value if they have the stuff we need here in half an hour. Oh, and the camping store. I want as many folding tables as they have, plus beach umbrellas. Same price applies. Double it if you need to. As the workers arrive—our people are due here at four—they’ll start ferrying the wedding breakfast to the beach. I want people toddling over the sandhills, cocktail in hand—we’ll have people along the way replenishing glasses—arriving at the beach and seeing Anna in all her glory.’