Tidings of Great Boys (9 page)

“They still have to be fed,” Carly reminded me.

“Hors d’oeuvres only. I e-mailed Mrs. Gillie a list, so we can make them when she brings the ingredients. Just simple things.
For now, we need to go up to the storage rooms and get down all the decorating clobber. Some people—” I raised my voice so
that Dad, who had come in and gone into the estate office down the kitchen corridor, would hear me “—forgot there’s such a
thing as Christmas spirit.”

“Bah, humbug,” came his voice, filled with good humor.

Even I was puffing by the time we climbed the staircases to the fourth floor, where the Victorian nurseries had been turned
into a game room and the governess’s and nurse’s rooms into storage rooms. “The attics are up above here,” I explained, “but
there’s nothing up there but ancient gardening tools and boxes of moldy books. And mice. And maybe bats.”

“What about clothes?” Carly asked. “They’re not up there with the mice, are they?”

I nodded toward a closed door down at the end. “There are bags of things in there, if you like yellowing tennis dresses from
the twenties and vile woolly swimming costumes. But we need to focus on—”

Too late. Carly had already taken off at a run.

Gillian grinned at me. “You know that’s why she’s really here. She’s convinced there’s some titled lady’s court gown buried
in there that she can analyze for design.”

“And maybe wear,” Lissa said.

“And maybe take home,” Shani added.

“There might be. I’ve never actually looked, except when I was little and we’d play dress-up when it was raining. If she finds
something she likes, she’s welcome to it. I’d certainly never put the ratty things on.”

I hoped she found what she was looking for. Or at least a place to be alone. If it were me, I’d want to process things like
mothers and prayers and responsibilities and give myself some time to sort them out in my mind.

I led the way into one of the storerooms, where the boxes were sensibly marked Wrapping Paper and Lights and Crèche. “Here
we are. When Mum was here, she’d have the sitting room and the music room decorated with candles and cedar garlands. We’d
put—”

“Music room?” Gillian interrupted. “We didn’t see that on the tour, did we?”

“No. Sorry. Of course you’d be interested in that.”

“Are there instruments in it?”

“We have a piano that’s about two hundred years old, and a big gold harp, and a collection of flutes, but they’re all mounted
in cases.”

“Is the harp tuned?” She sounded almost breathless.

“Are you joking? I don’t think it’s been touched since George the Fifth was king.”

A great big smile spread across Gillian’s face.

“We’re going to lose another one,” Lissa commented. “I didn’t know you played a concert harp, Gillian.”

“I don’t anymore. But I still know how to tune and pedal one.”

Of course she did. What sewing machines and kitchen appliances did for Carly, musical instruments did for Gillian. It must
be nice to be gifted with something. I’d be happy to be able to decorate half as well as my mother did. But even my feeble
efforts had to be better than nothing.

“Come on. Let’s get all this downstairs.”

Two trips later, we gasped and moaned our way into the sitting room, where my parents served drinks when company came.

“I think I’m broken,” Shani groaned, heaving the last box of lights in through the door. “I thought you were supposed to have
manservants around here for this stuff.”

“Not anymore. Mr. Gillie is in his sixties, so he’s not going to do much more than the heavy housework and a bit of groundskeeping.
Cheer up. By New Year’s you’ll be in fabulous shape.”

“Or I’ll be sleeping in the kitchen and not moving from the ground floor.”

“It would have gone faster with Gillian and Carly,” Lissa said. “If we do setup, guess who gets to do teardown. Heh.”

“Let them have their fun,” I said. “That way I get kudos for being a brilliant hostess. Lissa, come with me, all right? We’ll
grab some clippers from the mudroom and get the cedar branches. Shani, you untangle the twinkle lights and round up all the
candles you can find. I think there are boxes of them in a closet somewhere.”

At the back door, I handed Lissa a pair of Wellingtons and a coat, put on my own, and stepped outside. She lifted her head
as we crunched across the lawn in the direction of the lake. “It feels like snow.”

“How would you know? Don’t tell me it snows at the beach.”

“I have been in more places than just the beach, you know. Like here, for instance, last year. And I’m pretty good at eyeballing
weather. When you surf, you have to be.”

“I’ll give you that, then.” I looked up at the gray, lowering clouds, fat and ragged at the bottom. “I think you’re right.
I’d much rather have a white Christmas than a horrid muddy brown one.”

From somewhere deep in Lissa’s clothes, I heard the familiar line from
Firefly
. She pulled her cell phone out.

“Mom! Where are you? How come you didn’t fly? No kidding. I suppose this is a crazy week at the airports. I’m glad you got
a rental car, anyway. Be careful when you get to Edinburgh—it looks like it’s going to snow here. Oh, it does? Trust Dad to
get one of those. He’s been on enough shoots in impossible places to know. And you’ll get a chance to talk on the drive up
here.”

Long pause.

“Oh. He is? You did? Well, uh, that was nice of you. Sure, I’ll ask.” She pressed the phone against her chest and looked at
me. “Is it okay if they bring one more? One of the production assistants from
The Middle Window
shoot is hitching a ride with them.”

“That’s a fair hitch. It’s a ten-hour drive.”

“No one could get flights up here on such short notice. He lives in Edinburgh but he’ll be all alone for Christmas and they
just wondered…”

“Of course he can come.” I pictured some bespectacled geek with a transmitter in his ear and a clipboard and bad skin. Poor
chap.

Lissa nodded and lifted the phone. “Sure, that’s fine. There’s plenty of room here, so no worries about that. Tell Alasdair
hi for me.” Another long pause. “That’s okay, Mom. She knows you tried. And Mac has an alternate plan to get her up here,
anyway. I don’t know—but you can be sure it’s mapped out with military efficiency.” She smiled at me. “Safe driving, okay?
Okay, love you three times. ’Bye.”

Lissa snapped the phone shut as we took a fork in the path and ducked under the trees, heading toward the lake. “She says
she’s sorry she couldn’t convince your mom.”

“She shouldn’t be. It was kind of her to try. So what’s this about the production assistant person? Do your parents collect
the lost and lonely at holidays the way my dad does?” She hesitated just long enough to make me ask, “What’s the matter? Do
you know the guy?”

She nodded.

“Is he horrible? Is he going to spoil our fun? If so, you can call her back and ask them to push him into the firth. This
Christmas is going to be perfect and I won’t have—”

“No, no. He’s fine.” She took the pair of clippers I handed her and began snipping branches off a shaggy cedar that hadn’t
been trimmed in probably a decade. “In fact, he’s more than fine. He’s tall and super smart and talented. He has dark red
hair and dimples and hazel eyes.”

“Oh. Well, then. That’s different.” I stopped snipping. “It sounds to me as if you know way too much about this person.”

“He showed me around Edinburgh last year. I spent more time with him than I did with my own father.”

“And something happened while you were spending said time?”

She nodded. “I… um, we… we kissed. More than a few times.” She snipped off a branch with a lot more force than the skinny
little thing warranted. “And now he’s coming here with my parents.”

“So what’s wrong with that? I’ve kissed lots of guys lots of times, and most of them have been here with my parents.”

“You don’t get it.” Her skin had turned pale, and it wasn’t just because of the cold. “He’s a lot older than me. Twenty-one.
If my parents find out, they’ll flip. The only reason I had myself a mini-fling is because I thought I’d never see him again.”

Oh, dear. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, girlfriend.

T
HEY’RE HERE!” Lissa’s voice echoed from the landing in the great hall, where she’d spent the last hour pretending to hang
twinkle lights on the banisters while she watched the drive. “Woohoo!”

Her ballet flats slapped a quick tattoo on the stone as she flew down the stairs.

“If you slide down the banister, it’s faster.” Always the helpful hostess, me. Then I turned back to the phone I held between
my cheek and shoulder. “Mummy, they’re practically at the door so I have to be quick. We can’t find the box of candles.”

“Did you look in the linen cupboard?”

“Why would candles be in the linen cupboard?” I reached up and hung a big fat wreath on the sitting-room door.

“Because there’s no linen in it anymore, goosey. You’ll find all kinds of kitchen rubbish in there, and I’m sure I put the
candles there when—the last time.”

The double front doors banged open, and I could hear Lissa outside, shrieking with joy.

“I’ve got to go. Lissa is frightening the wildlife. Thanks, Mummy.”

“Darling, don’t forget the crèche goes on the sideboard in the sitting room.”

“We’re not doing the crèche. Baby Jesus is missing, along with the two cows. I hate to think what they’re up to.”

“Not doing the crèche? But it’s tradition.”

“Bit difficult without Baby Jesus, Mum.”

“But the room won’t look right.”

“It looks lovely, honestly. We’ve been working like drovers since yesterday. I’ll take a picture and e-mail it to you. Got
to go.”

I disconnected before she could get another word in, and smiled. It would send her crazy to know I wasn’t doing it “right.”
Baby Jesus wasn’t missing at all. He was wrapped in tissue, right where he ought to be. But it was all part of my plan.

Meanwhile, there were guests to greet and lovely college men to meet. I tucked the phone into my pocket and hurried across
the hall and down the front steps.

Dad, looking every inch the earl in muddy Wellies and an ancient fisherman’s sweater under a tweed blazer so old it had lost
most of its color, was shaking Lissa’s father’s hand. “Welcome back to Strathcairn, Gabriel. I’m so glad our kids talked you
into spending the holiday with us.”

Gabe laughed and Lissa’s mother said, “I only hope we won’t be too much trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Dad said warmly.

“We can’t possibly be as much trouble as I was on my last visit.” Gabe looked up at the walls. “This place sure shot well.
My director of photography thought he’d died and gone to heaven.”

“Mac, I’m so glad to see you.” Patricia Sutter hugged me and I got a whiff of Joy before she let me go and turned me over
to Gabe. “Have you girls been having fun?”

Lissa slid both arms round her mum’s waist. “Mac’s been working us to the bone. But boy, are my glutes in good shape from
all those stairs.” Then she stopped and turned bright red. “Uh, I mean—”

I glanced from her to the guy standing by the boot of the rented Land Rover. He raised his eyebrows and fought to keep the
grin off his face. “I didn’t hear a word,” he said. “And I certainly wouldn’t say it. Hi, Lissa.”

“Hi, Alasdair,” she mumbled, and grabbed the nearest suitcase and a carrying case sitting in the snow next to the car. She
fled up the stairs with them.

“Graham, I’d like you to meet Alasdair Gibson, one of the production assistants who worked on
The Middle Window
here last year. Alasdair, you remember the earl.” They shook hands.

“These are our other guests: Shani Hanna, Gillian Chang, and Carly Aragon,” Dad said.

“There will be a quiz at the end of the period,” Gillian quipped.

“And this is my daughter, Lindsay—”

“Mac.” I shook his hand, too, not being one to miss an opportunity when it’s standing there all tousled and tall. Mmm. Nice,
strong handshake. Warm. Yummy shoulders. Great mouth.

Oh, happy Christmas to me.

Nice eyes, too. Hazel, as Lissa had said. But what Lissa had not said was every bit as evident. Because those nice eyes were
not focused on me, as a man’s should be when he’s got a girl’s hand in his. Oh, no.

Alasdair was watching Lissa bumping her way through the door with her two bits of luggage. “Excuse me, Lady Lindsay.” He loped
up the steps and pushed on the door so Lissa practically fell through it. He fell through it right after her.

“Mac,” I repeated to no one in particular.

And a happy sodding New Year.

I wasn’t the product of five hundred years of breeding for nothing. I straightened my shoulders, put on a smile, and led the
way into the house. “Lunch is at one o’clock,” I told Patricia. “Let me show you to your room so you can make yourselves comfortable.
It’s on the third floor.”

I found Lissa and Alasdair there, wandering helplessly from room to room. “Mac!” Lissa practically bowled me over. “Where
do you want him?” Her smile was a little too perfect to be real, and her eyes looked… desperate?

I had a few suggestions, if she wanted Alasdair off her hands.

Her parents, both breathing hard, gained the top of the staircase. “Mr. Mansfield, Ms. Sutter, you’re in the Queen’s Room.”

“Great,” Lissa’s mother said. “I hope it comes with oxygen. Whew! Lissa, you weren’t kidding.” She put her cases down and
straightened. “And please, call us Gabe and Patricia. The other is such a mouthful.”

“What’s this about a queen’s room?” Gabe wanted to know.

I showed them in and put Patricia’s carrying case on the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Mary, Queen of Scots is supposed to
have stayed here during one of her progresses. There’s some doubt about the dates, so I don’t know if it really happened or
not. But what’s a castle without a room where somebody famous slept or died or staged an uprising?”

“I’m not famous, but I might be dead soon.” Patricia collapsed on the green brocade fainting couch. “Ever considered installing
an elevator?”