The Millionaire’s Christmas Wish

‘Good marks,’ he observed. ‘You’re working hard, then?’

Bobby nodded.

‘That’s good. Good.’ He was floundering. ‘Are you all right, son? All right here, I mean?’

‘Yes, it’s nice.’

‘Don’t you miss your old home?’

Bobby hunted for the right words. ‘Places don’t really matter.’

‘No. People matter. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, I’m here now.’

‘Yes.’

Alex searched his face. ‘You are glad, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

He would have doubted it if it hadn’t been for their memory of the earlier conversation. How could all that have gone?

Because now he knows it’s me.

‘Tomorrow’s a big day,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Yes.’

It was becoming a disaster. He had resolved to act on what he’d learned from Bobby that evening, and use it to make this visit a triumph. That was the secret of success-good intelligence and knowing how to use it. But all his gains were slipping away.

‘Daddy-’

‘What is it?’ His voice betrayed his eagerness.

‘Tomorrow, will you ask Mitzi about the school play? She was ever so good in it.’

The school play? The school play? His mind frantically tried to grapple with this. When had it been? Why hadn’t he known?

‘It was a pantomime-’ Bobby said, reading his face without trouble ‘-and Mitzi was an elf. She had two lines.’

‘Er-?’

‘It was last week. You were abroad.’

‘Of course-yes-otherwise I’d have-’

‘Yeah, sure. You will remember to ask her, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. Goodnight, son.’

Corinne said her goodnights after him. As they passed in the corridor she said, ‘I’ve put you in that room at the end. Your things are in there.’

He looked in before going downstairs. It was a small, neat room with a narrow bed.

Alex thought about the other rooms. Presumably Corinne had the big room on the corner of the house, but where, he wondered, had she put Jimmy?

CHAPTER THREE

HE CAME down the stairs so quietly that Corinne didn’t hear him, and he had a moment to stand watching her as she worked in the kitchen.

The steak smelled good, and suddenly he was transported back to the early days of their marriage, when steak had been a luxury. But somehow she had managed to wring the price out of the meagre housekeeping money they had.

They had been partners-laughing at poverty, competing with each other in loving generosity, squabbling to give each other the last titbit. But that was long ago.

The years had barely touched her, he thought. The slim, graceful figure that had once enchanted him was the same, two children later.

She had been gorgeous at eighteen-beautiful, sexy, witty, knowing her own power over young men and enjoying it. They had all competed for her, but Alex had made sure that he was the one who won her.

Her face had changed little, except that it was thinner, and the ready laughter no longer sprang to her eyes. They were still large, beautiful eyes but there was a sad caution there now.

‘It’s ready,’ she called, seeing him.

Like every meal she had ever cooked him it was excellent-the wine perfectly chosen, the salad exactly as it should be.

Their last meeting had been three months ago, and it had ended in a fierce quarrel. Since then there had been communication between lawyers, and the odd phone call that had left each of them resolved that it should be the last. Her invitation for Christmas had been delivered through a letter addressed to his office.

‘Thank you for letting me come,’ he said quietly.

‘I didn’t think you would. I was amazed that you actually turned up early. What happened? Did something more important fall through?’

He winced.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘There’s nothing more important than being with my family,’ he said emphatically.

‘It means the world to the children.’

‘What about you, Corinne?’

‘Never mind about me. This is their time.’

‘But I do mind about you. It’s ours too, isn’t it?’

‘Well, it’s a chance for us to be civilized with each other. We haven’t done much of that lately.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Yes, that’s all. I’m not your wife any more-’

‘The hell you aren’t!’ he said with the swift anger that sometimes overtook him these days. ‘We’re not divorced yet, and maybe we never will be.’

She regarded him with a quizzical air that was new to him. ‘You have to win every negotiation, don’t you? But you won’t win this one, Alex. So why don’t we just leave it there? I don’t want to spoil this holiday.’

‘Is there someone else?’

The question jerked out of him abruptly, without finesse, tact or subtlety.

She sat silent.

‘Tell me,’ he insisted.

‘No, there’s nobody else. I don’t want anyone else. That’s not why I left you.’

‘Just to get away from me, huh?’

‘If you care to put it that way-yes. But why must we put it that way or any way? It’s Christmas, Alex. Let it go.’

‘All right,’ he said hastily.

As she set coffee before him she said, ‘How about you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Do you have someone else?’

‘Do you care?’ he growled.

‘If you can ask, so can I,’ she said lightly.

‘Except that you broke up this marriage. That hardly gives you a stake in the answer.’

She shrugged. ‘You’re right. Do you want a drop of brandy in that?’

‘Thanks.’

As she was pouring the brandy he said, ‘The answer’s no.’

She didn’t answer directly, but she took his cup and carried it and her own into the next room, where the tree glowed.

‘Sit down and relax,’ she said. ‘You look dead on your feet.’