Engaging Father Christmas (13 page)
I focused back on the moment and the circle of people who were making this Christmas Eve picnic a festive celebration of our engagement. The laughter and words of praise for Ellie’s culinary delights were punctuated by a subtle vibrating sound followed by a beep. The source of the buzz and bing was Edward’s cell phone.
He ignored it each time, but due to the frequency of the prompts, Ellie finally said, “You really should have a listen. It could be something amiss with your mother.”
Edward stepped into the vacant bedroom while the rest of us carried on our merriment. A moment later he returned to the living room with a grave expression on his face. Everyone looked at him, waiting for an explanation. All he did was motion for me to join him in the other room.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, once we were around the corner from the others.
“I thought you should see this.” Edward held out his phone so I could view the picture displayed on the small screen.
I squinted until the image became clear.
All the air seemed to siphon out of the room. My hand went to my mouth as I whispered, “Oh no.”
I
s that me?” I asked Edward, hoping it wasn’t but knowing it was. “Is that a picture of me?”
“Apparently it is. Can you read the headlines?”
“Yes.”
“This hit the newsstands in London an hour ago.”
“How did the press find out? How did they get my picture?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me.”
I shook my head and felt my fingers go numb.
Ian stepped into the room just then, and reading the expression on my face, he came to my side. “What’s happened? What is it?”
Edward showed him the picture. I was facing the camera, but I had no particular expression.
“I can’t make out the headline,” Ian said.
In an emotionless voice, Edward repeated the news line header. “ ‘Sir James Had a Love Child.’ ”
Ian ran his fingers through his hair. “We have to quench this before it goes any further.”
“It’s already on the Internet,” Edward said. “And syndicated press. My assistant has been monitoring the situation. Miranda, who knows about your identity? Who do you think might have leaked this?”
Mark was the first person who came to mind. Mark was upset, true, but he was only thirteen. He wouldn’t release such information to the press. Or would he?
Then I remembered who else knew. And so did Ian.
He punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “It was your old boyfriend, wasn’t it? He sold you out to the tabloids.”
“I can’t imagine Josh would do that.” I looked at the picture again on Edward’s phone, trying to make out the background to understand where I had been when the picture was taken. “That’s the sweater I wore when I arrived in London. So it is a recent photo.”
I looked up at Ian. “I don’t want to believe it was Josh, but . . .”
“Where’s your phone?” Ian asked. “You have his number, don’t you? Is he still in London?”
“I don’t know. I think I have his card in my coat pocket but —”
Ian was across the room in one swift motion. He pulled out Josh’s business card and punched the number into my phone.
I rubbed the tightening muscles on the back of my neck. “If that’s his business number, he probably won’t be there since it’s Christmas Eve.”
Ian couldn’t hear me, so he held the phone to the side of his ear with the screen facing me. When he turned the phone that way, an instant memory came back to me.
“Paddington station,” I said. “The guy at Paddington station who offered me his seat. He’s the one who took the photo of me. He took it with his cell phone.”
“Are you sure?” Ian asked.
“I’m pretty sure. It makes sense. The man was close enough to overhear me talking to Josh. When he offered me a seat, it seemed a little odd, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“Let me understand this.” Edward’s expression stiffened. “You’re saying you told a stranger at Paddington your connection to us?”
“No. Josh isn’t a stranger. He’s my old boyfriend. A number of years ago I showed Josh the Father Christmas photograph with you and your dad . . . I mean, our dad. . . .” I felt awkward changing the words to “our dad,” but that was the truth.
Ian closed my phone, disconnecting the call to Josh.
“I didn’t expect to see Josh at Paddington. It was a coincidence, and it just seemed right to tell him why I was here since . . .”
Ian took up my defense. “Josh was the one who urged Miranda to come to Carlton Heath in the first place.”
“That’s right. And he’s a professional counselor, so I would like to think I can trust him to maintain confidentiality. I didn’t think anyone could hear me when I was talking to him; it was so noisy at the station. But then this man got up from the bench behind us and held his cell phone the way Ian just did, and I think he took my picture with his phone.”
“Well then, that’s it.” Edward reached for his phone and pressed some numbers. “I have calls to make.”
I felt my chest compress. I suddenly understood much more clearly why Margaret and Edward had appeared so devastated last Christmas when I had revealed my identity to them. As a family, they had finally experienced a short break from all the media attention after Sir James passed away. My appearance meant it was only a matter of time before they ceased being a private family once more. And now that day had come.
I felt sick to my stomach about it all. “I wish this hadn’t happened.”
“Well, it has,” Ian said in a comforting voice. “So we go on from here.”
Edward’s demeanor was as reserved and steady as ever as he finished his phone call and turned to Ian and me with direction. “I’ve conferred with our legal counsel. We had a plan in place for when this might happen. I’ve made the necessary calls, and now all the steps will be put in motion.”
“What steps exactly?” I asked.
“We’ve put out a call for a press conference the day after tomorrow. Better to air our side of the story on Boxing Day than on Christmas. I can assist you in preparing your remarks. I will go on camera, but Mother will not.”
“Wait, Edward. I’m not following you. What do you mean a press conference? Aren’t we trying to avoid the press?”
“We have a system. This was routine when my father was alive. The press wants a story. We want peace and quiet. If we don’t give them a story, they create their own. Therefore, we control the story through our network of publicists and reporters. All you’ll need to do is go on camera for thirty seconds, ninety at the most. You’ll deliver a prepared statement. It’s best if you can do it without notes.”
I felt as if the room had tilted. Ian put his strong arm around me.
Edward looked at his watch. “I’ve alerted our security service. They’ll be at the gate when we return to the house tonight in case the paparazzi are waiting. It would be best if you rode back with us rather than in Ian’s car.”
“Edward, I’m so, so sorry.”
“We all supposed this day would come,” Edward said matter-of-factly.
“I just hate that it did,” I said. “I don’t like thinking about what this will do to Margaret. It’s going to change what everyone thinks of her and what they think of Sir James.”
Edward looked at me with what could almost be considered a softening in his expression. “Miranda, this is going to change how people view you as well. Have you thought about that?”
No, I hadn’t thought about that. My eyes welled with tears, but I refused to let them fall.
Ian drew me close. “Calm yourself, Miranda. We’ll work this out together.”
Edward exited the room. I could hear him giving an abbreviated summary to the adults in the other room. When Ian and I entered, I noticed that Ellie had taken Julia into the kitchen to distract her young ears.
Mark, however, sat with the adults. “You needn’t speak in code, Father. I already know.”
I couldn’t tell if Mark’s announcement startled Edward. What I did know was that Mark was trying his best to prove his place as an adult in the Whitcombe clan.
I knew I would do well to follow his example and be brave.
A
s Edward predicted, a gathering of photographers awaited us as the town car with its darkened windows rolled up to the front gate of the Whitcombe manor. In all the times I’d come and gone from the house, I never had seen the gate closed or the security booth manned, which it was tonight.
“This is how it used to be,” Mark said to me.
Ellie, in her eternally effervescent optimism, said, “Do you remember that, Markie? You liked the guard at the back garden post. What was his name? He had the big dog with the white spot on its nose.”
“Raymond,” Mark said. “The guard was Raymond, and his dog was Digger.”
“That’s right. Perhaps Raymond and Digger will be back at their post.”
I tried to imagine how Ellie had carved out such a successful marriage and journeyed through motherhood with guards, dogs, and paparazzi as part of the everyday schedule.
We rolled through the open gate, and cameras flashed against the car’s darkened windows. I looked down, just in case the cameras captured an image in spite of the shades. Edward and Ellie didn’t flinch. They seemed confident in their anonymity inside the specially prepared car.
“You’ll want to use this.” Edward pulled a large, black umbrella out from under the seat. “With such advancements in telescopic lenses, it’s best to exit with the umbrella between yourself and the front gate.”
I followed Edward’s instructions and opened the huge umbrella once I was outside the car and then used it as a covering for the six or so feet I crossed to the front door. The rest of the family used umbrellas as well and entered behind me. A tall man dressed all in black with a cord hanging from his right ear greeted me in the entryway and took the umbrella from me.
“Subject is clear,” he said to whomever was at the other end of his sophisticated communication system.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I thanked him and looked to Edward for direction. This was all different from how things had been at the house a few hours ago. Yet Ellie and Edward acted as if the presence of all these people in their home were normal.
Edward was carrying a sleeping Julia in his arms. Ellie was ushering Mark forward. Ian was the last to enter. Behind him I could see the faint flash of cameras like distant lightning.
“Off to bed with you, Mark,” Ellie said. “We have an early morning! When you wake up, it will be Christmas.”
Mark looked sullen. He wasn’t to be tempted off to bed with the promise of new toys in the morning. His serious, adult leanings were in full play tonight.
“I think I should be allowed to sit in on your meeting, Mum and Dad.”
Edward and Ellie exchanged glances.
“I heard you, Father, when you were talking on the phone with Grandmother before we left the cottage. You said you plan to talk with everyone tonight. I should like to be included.”
“All right then, Mark. You may sit with us. Let me put your sister into bed first. Ian, would you start a fire for us in the drawing room?”
“I can start the fire, Father.” Mark spoke with a stubborn edge to his voice.
“That would be lovely, Mark,” Ellie said, taking over directions for Edward. “While you and Uncle Ian start the fire, Miranda and I will get a pot of tea brewing.”
I followed Ellie into the kitchen while Ian trailed Mark into the drawing room.
“How do you do this, Ellie?”
“Do what?”
“This life you guys have. Everyone is taking this alert status so calmly. I feel horrible that Edward had to call in security on Christmas Eve, of all nights. These men should be home with their families.”
“They’ll be home for Christmas. Edward has a sophisticated rotation plan. It’s not as bad as it might seem. For any of us. We’re used to it, Miranda. You’ll get used to it too. Life will go back to normal quickly. You’ll see. Today’s news is always tomorrow’s liner for the canary cage. That’s what Sir James used to say.”
Ellie put the teakettle on the stove and looked around the clean kitchen. “Natasha did a lovely job cleaning up. I’m afraid I left her with quite a mess.”
Glancing at me in my still unconvinced slump, she continued her cheer-up talk. “Now, don’t worry, Miranda. This will blow over. These media explosions always do. It may seem like a mess now, but it will settle. You’ll be old news before you know it.”
Lowering myself onto one of the stools at the counter, I said, “I still want to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For the inconvenience this breaking news is to you and your family, but especially to Margaret.”
“You could always tell her that, couldn’t you? I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to say such things to her at this point. You’re saying them from your heart, and that does make all the difference, doesn’t it?”
I nodded, but instead of making an effort to face Margaret, I lingered in the kitchen. My excuse was that Ellie needed help to prepare a tea tray with six china teacups and saucers. We used the same silver tray from which Julia and I had been served our princess breakfast in bed. I had a feeling that this tea party would be anything but cozy and giggly, though.
Ellie carried the tray to the drawing room while I followed with another tray laden with grapes, cheese, cookies, and cream and sugar for the tea.
The long, low coffee table that sat in the center of the circled seating area was decorated with a small nativity scene in the middle. I remembered seeing the hand-carved figurines in Ellie’s kitchen window last Christmas.
We lowered the two trays to either end of the coffee table, leaving the miniature nativity set unruffled in the center.
For some reason, that was important to me. It was, after all, Christmas Eve. Christ’s birth, that generous gift to us from Father God, was the center of this holiday celebration. It was in this home a year ago that that truth was made real to me. I needed to know now, even if it was demonstrated in only this subtle way, that the nativity was still the focal point of this night and this home.
Margaret already was seated in the drawing room by the fire, but I avoided making eye contact with her. I was aware that all the window shades were drawn. The lights on the tree were lit, but they didn’t seem to cast the same merry twinkle across the room as they had that morning. The furniture had been pulled around in a half circle facing the fire.