Christmas at the Hummingbird House (8 page)

EIGHT

Sunday Brunch

S
unday brunch at the Hummingbird House was an event that had become more or less legendary in the community, and even beyond.  It wasn’t so much the food (which, thanks to a combination of Paul’s style, Derrick’s obsession with Internet recipes, and Purline’s cooking, was always tasty and beautifully presented) so much as it was the ambience and, in truth, the hosts themselves. Paul greeted each guest with a signature cocktail and a genuine delight in their company; Derrick could always be counted upon for the latest gossip as he wandered from table to table, making sure everyone was comfortable and well fed.  Diners arrived early to sip their cocktails and peruse the art gallery that Derrick had created in the reception area, and lingered to while away the afternoon around the big stone fire pit that was set into one of the large patios, or lounge around the indoor fireplace, or wander through the gardens in season.  Paul and Derrick didn’t run a restaurant, they gave parties.  And their guests came for more than a meal; they came to spend a pleasant Sunday with friends.

On this last brunch before Christmas, every reservation was filled. Everyone wanted to see how the new owners of the Hummingbird House, who already had gained a reputation for going over the top with every venture, would decorate for the holidays and, thanks to Mick, they were not disappointed. Every bare-branched tree in the garden was glowing with miniature white lights and uplit with pink spotlights, so that, even on a moderately cloudy winter morning like this one, the effect was of a mystical garden at sunset.  The day was a bit too bright to get the full effect of the hummingbird light sculpture, but the fountain was filled with silver Christmas balls that danced and twirled with the splash of water. The railings around the porch were draped with evergreen garland that was woven with tiny lights, and curtain lights cascaded from the eaves all around the lodge. Evergreen wreaths woven with silver and gold mesh and the appropriate color velvet ribbon decorated each of the painted exterior doors, and every window was encircled with greenery and twinkling lights. The guest rooms were still a work in progress, but the brunch guests ooh-ahhed over the hummingbird Christmas tree in the parlor, and admired the mantelscape of gold branches and oversized spheres in burgundy, emerald and sapphire satin studded with pearls and lace.

The seasonal cocktail of the day was an apple-cranberry martini served with complimentary toasted walnut cheese puffs.  Two industrious-looking teenage waiters in red velvet vests and festive plaid bow ties served guests their choice of broccoli soup garnished with truffle oil or a winter salad with kale, blue cheese, dates and toasted pecans.  For the entree there was a roast loin of pork with a cranberry-mustard reduction and buttermilk potatoes or herb roasted chicken with root vegetables, along with a variety of quiches and a lovely quinoa and lentil dish for the vegans.  For dessert there was pumpkin cheesecake or tart cherry crepes with homemade vanilla ice cream.

Bridget came in with Lindsay and Cici a little before twelve, all of them dressed in their Sunday best and pink-cheeked with cold.  The house, sparkling with holiday lights and redolent of good things from the kitchen, was already humming with voices and the tinkle of silver above an orchestral rendition of “Good King Wenceslas.”

“Darlings, you look gorgeous!” Paul greeted them.  He took their coats and kissed each chilly cheek.  “Cocktails and nibbles in the parlor, come sit by the fire while I get your table ready.”  He glanced around.  “Where is everyone else?”

Lindsay said, “Dominic’s parking the car.”  She glanced at Cici, as though expecting her to speak, but she did not.

Paul prompted, “And the children?”

Cici made a small face.  “They’re at home.”

“Packing,” Bridget added with a sigh.

“Lori’s dad surprised them with a two-week vacation to Cabo,” Cici explained.  “Kind of a combination wedding present and Christmas present.”

“And who wouldn’t want to go to Cabo this time of year?” Bridget put in, albeit somewhat wanly. “It was a lovely gesture.  You know they never really had a honeymoon.”

“And, with his typical thoughtlessness,” Cici went on, “he sent the tickets yesterday for a flight that leaves in the morning. So the whole house has been in an uproar the past twenty-four hours trying to get them ready to go.”

“But,” Paul objected, “two weeks?  That means they’ll miss Christmas!”

Cici’s mouth turned down bitterly and Bridget’s eyes clouded. “Right,” Cici said.

“However,” Lindsay reminded them both, “we’re not going to make them feel bad about it.  They’ve both been through a lot this year and they really deserve this.”

Bridget sighed again. “Right.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s all right!” Paul declared indignantly.  “Christmas won’t be the same without Lori. That little scamp, I’ve a good mind to send her Christmas present right back to Neiman’s!”  Then he added charitably to Bridget, “But at least your daughter and grandchildren will be here.”

She smiled. “You’re right, and it’s been ages since I’ve seen them.  But the point was to have the
whole
family together.”

He patted her shoulder with one hand and Cici’s with the other.  “Now, now, my dears, come sit by the fire.  I’ll make your drinks extra strong.”

He turned them toward the parlor where several couples sat sipping drinks, chatting and admiring the glittering Christmas tree.  Cici exclaimed, “Oh, my, that’s gorgeous!  Where did you get all the hummingbirds?”

Paul beamed his pleasure.  “Well, it was a challenge, I can assure you.  But don’t you love it?”

All three women assured him that they had never seen anything quite so beautiful, and then Lindsay added, sounding a little concerned, “Paul, who is that rough-looking guy we saw up on a ladder behind the garage?”

Paul’s genial smile might have faltered just a fraction.  “Oh, don’t you know?”  Then, rushing on, “That’s Mick, the fellow responsible for all the splendor you see around you.”  He spread his arms expansively.  “An absolute miracle worker, our good right arm, I simply don’t know how we could have gotten through this past week without him.  And …”  He let the smile drop away as he looked from one to the other of them.  “You didn’t send him, did you?”

The women stared back at him.  “Send him?” Cici said.  “Why would we do that?”

“I thought,” Paul began uncomfortably, “that is, we thought, when he showed up looking for work just hours after we mentioned we were looking for someone …”

Bridget’s delicate eyebrows drew together in disapproval.  “You hired him off the street?”

“Well, hardly off the street …”

“Someone you don’t even know?” Lindsay put in.

“We can hardly know everyone,” Paul objected.

“Oh, Paul.”  Cici’s consternation was evident.  “I really don’t think you should have done that.  You have to be so careful these days.  I mean, what do you know about him?”

Paul went to the primitive pine sideboard beneath the window with its extravagant vase of holly, evergreens and red carnations, and brought back two ruby-colored martinis, handing one to Cici and one to Bridget.  “We know,” he replied, returning with Lindsay’s glass, “that he can fix anything, paint anything, hang anything, and chop anything. And he’s Australian! He works every single day from dawn to dusk, and every time we try to pay him he just waves it away, saying he won’t take a penny until the job is done.  Of course,” Paul added with a small uncertain frown, “we expected the job to be over long before now, but it seems as though every time he gets ready to leave, something else breaks.  Why, only this morning …”

He broke off as Derrick came in, looking harried.  “Crisis in the kitchen,” he said.  His expression cleared when he saw the ladies. “Look how pretty you all are!  Where’s Lori?  Kevin?”

“What crisis?” demanded Paul.

Derrick turned back to him.  “Purline has misplaced the crepe pans,” he said.  “She’s threatening to serve cherry puree over sponge cake.”

“
My
crepe pans?” demanded Paul.  “But I got those in France!  It took fifteen years to get them perfectly seasoned!  They’re irreplaceable.”

“I know,” replied Derrick soothingly, “you’ve mentioned that once or twice.  I’m sure they’ll turn up, but in the meantime …”

“Cherries jubilee,” suggested Bridget. “Do you have brandy?”

Paul gave her a dry look.  “Oh, please, do we have brandy.”  Then he kissed his fingers to her before hurrying out of the room.  “Brilliant idea, though.  You are a treasure!”

Bridget felt a tug on her skirt and looked down in surprise to see a dark-eyed young girl in a red wool dress gazing solemnly up at her. “Well, hello there!” she said, smiling. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, dear,” Derrick said.  “This is Purline’s little girl.  She’s not supposed to be in here.”  He patted the top of her head awkwardly.  “She’s adopted.  From Honduras.”

All three women said, “Ah.” And nodded in relieved understanding.  They, like Paul and Derrick, had been speculating for months how Purline could have school-age children at her age, and Bridget had even gone so far as to worry about underage marriages and white slavery.

Now Bridget’s smile broadened as she said to the child, “Well, you certainly are a pretty thing.”

“She’s also not supposed to be in here,” Derrick repeated, forcing a smile of his own.  “Are you, my dear?”

The little girl continued to gaze at Bridget.  “My mama says treasure is what the wise men brought to baby Jesus.”

The three women smiled the way women do when children are around, and Derrick said, growing ever more agitated, “Your mother also said you were to sit quietly at the kitchen table and study your Sunday School lesson until your daddy gets here.  I heard her.”

“Mr. Paul says treasure is worth a lot of money,” the child added solemnly.

Cici chuckled.  “He would.”

Bridget gave Cici a look of mild reprimand. “Yes,” she told the child sagely, “they both are exactly right.”

“You don’t look like treasure,” said the child.

Lindsay and Cici smothered laughter in their drinks, and Derrick said with forced cheer, “All right, little one, I think that’s quite enough adorableness for now.”  He took her shoulders and turned her back toward the kitchen.  “Go find your mother and remind her that you are not allowed around the breakables.”

“Mama said for me to find you,” replied the child, planting her feet.  “Because I’m the oldest.”

Derrick looked at her cautiously.  “Oh?”

She nodded.  “She said to find you and tell you thank you for letting us work here this week.  She said to tell you we’ll be back tomorrow, but Grandma’s coming home on Wednesday.  My daddy’s here now.  Bye!”

The three women stared at Derrick as she scampered off.  Cici said, eyebrows raised, “Purline’s children are
working
for you?”

He waved a dismissing hand.  “It’s a long story.  They want to buy a goat.  Purline has been bringing them to work with her while her mother has surgery—or goes to Arizona, I forget which—and I suppose they’re nice enough, very well mannered, but I declare they’ve worn my nerves to a frazzle. This house is filled with valuables, you know, and children are … well, children.  I just thank goodness they’re going to be gone before our guests arrive.”

Lindsay said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Derrick, you’re just an old fuss-budget.  I thought she was cute as pie. Aren’t there two more?”

“Twins,” admitted Derrick glumly.  “Boys.  They’re bound to break something.  How can they not?  They’re boys.”

Bridget laughed as she slipped her arm through his.  “You’re looking at it all wrong, Derrick.  Christmas is all about children.  You’re lucky to have them here!”

“Think of them as accessories,” suggested Cici.

“And they’re so much fun to shop for,” agreed Lindsay.  “What are you getting them for Christmas?”

Derrick, who was still pondering the notion of children as accessories, looked confused.  “Oh dear.  I suppose we should get them some little trinket.  That’s what people do when there are children involved, don’t they?  A dolly, or a book or … of course, I’m not certain the little ones can read.”

“My grandchildren love their Wii,” Bridget suggested.

“It’s a video game thingy,” Lindsay explained before he could question.  “How old are these kids, anyway?”

“Not very old,” Derrick replied, looking distracted.  “They’re children.  I suppose we can find something online.”

Cici said, “You should probably ask Purline what they want for Christmas.  That way you don’t get something they already have.”

“That’s a good idea,” Derrick agreed, then sighed.  “And I was so proud that all of our Christmas shopping was done.”

Then he brightened.  “Did Paul tell you we hired that fellow Mick?  He’s Australian.  I can’t imagine how he found his way to our shores, can you?”

Cici said flatly, “No, I can’t.  And it seems to me that might be at least one of the things you should have asked him before you gave him the run of the house.”

“We hardly gave him the run of the house,” Derrick protested.  “Maybe the garage, and the toolshed, and the storage room … and the front washroom, which had a leaky faucet, and the Rose Room, when the chimney flue was stuck—disaster narrowly averted, there—and anyway …” He looked at Cici hopefully.  “We thought you sent him.”