LITMIR.BIZ

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our guest for Christmas. What do we call you?’ she demanded again. ‘How about Mac?’

      Do not let the servants become familiar.

      Master William.

      Mr McMaster.

      Sir.

      Once upon a time a woman called Hannah had called him William. To her appalling cost…

      ‘How about Bill?’ Letty demanded. ‘That’s short for William. Or Billy.’

      ‘Billy?’ Meg said, sounding revolted. ‘Grandma, can we…’

      ‘William,’ he said flatly, hating it.

      ‘Willie?’ Letty said, hopeful.

      ‘William.’

      Letty sighed. ‘Will’s better. Though it is a bit short.’

      ‘Like Meg,’ Meg said.

      ‘You know I like Meggie.’

      ‘And you know I don’t answer to it. We don’t have to call you anything you don’t like,’ Meg said over her shoulder. ‘I’m happy to keep calling you Mr McMaster.’

      ‘You are not,’ Letty retorted. ‘Not over Christmas. And why are you calling him Mr McMaster, anyway? How long have you worked for him? Three years?’

      ‘He calls me Miss Jardine.’

      ‘Then the pair of you need to come off your high horses,’ Letty retorted. ‘Meg and William it is, and if I hear any sign of Ms or Mr then it’s Meggie and Willie for the rest of Christmas. Right?’

      ‘Okay with me,’ Meg said, resigned.

      ‘Fine,’ William said.

      Define fine.

      He was expecting hillbilly country. What he got was Fantasia. They sped over a crest and there it was, spread out before them, a house straight out of a fairy tale.

      Or not. As he got closer…

      Not a fairy tale. A Christmas tableau.

      The farmhouse, set well back from the road among scattered gums, was lit up like a series of flashing neon signs. It was so bright it should almost be visible from the next state.

      ‘Oh, my…’ Meg breathed before William could even get his breath back. ‘Grandma, what have you done?’

      ‘We both did it,’ Letty said proudly. ‘Me and Scotty. You like our sleigh?’

      The house had two chimneys, with what looked like an attic between them. The sleigh took up the entire distance between chimneys. There was a Santa protruding from the chimney on the left. Or, rather, part of Santa. His lower half. His legs were waving backwards and forwards, as if Santa had become stuck in descent. The movement wasn’t smooth, so he moved gracefully from left to right, then jerked back with a movement sharp enough to dislodge vertebrae.

      The house was Christmas City. There were lights from one end to the other, a myriad of fairy lights that made the house look like something out of a cartoon movie.

      ‘It took us days,’ Letty said, pleased with the awed hush. ‘When you rang and said there was a chance you couldn’t get home tonight Scotty and I were ready to shoot ourselves. We’ve worked our tails off getting this right.’

      ‘I can see that you have,’ Meg said, sounding as stunned as he was. ‘Grandma…’

      ‘And, before you say a word, we got it all over the Internet,’ Letty informed her. ‘Scotty found it. It was a package deal advertised in July by some lady cleaning out her garage. She’d just bought the house and found it, and she practically paid us to take it away. Some people,’ she said, slowing the car so they could admire the house in all its glory, ‘have no appreciation of art.’

      ‘But running it,’ Meg said helplessly. ‘It’ll cost…’

      ‘It’s practically all solar,’ Letty cut in. ‘Except Santa. Well, there’s not a lot of solar Santa Claus’s backsides out there. We haven’t quite got the legs right, but I’ll adjust them before Christmas. Still…What do you think?’

      There was suddenly a touch of anxiety in her voice. William got it, and he thought maybe this lady wasn’t as tough as she sounded. She surely wanted to please this girl, Meg, sitting somewhere under her dog.

      ‘You climb up on that roof again and I’ll give all of your Christmas presents to the dogs. But I love it,’ Meg said as the car came to a halt.

      ‘Really?’

      ‘I really love it.’ Meg giggled. ‘It’s kitsch and funny and those legs are just plain adorable.’

      ‘What do you think?’ Letty said, and she swivelled and looked straight at him. ‘Will?’

      ‘William. Um…’

      ‘No lies,’ she said. ‘Is my Meg just humouring me?’

      Meg swivelled too. She was covered in dog but somehow he managed to see her expression.

      Mess with my grandma and I’ll mess with you, her look said, and it was such a look that he had to revise all over again what he thought of his competent, biddable PA.

      His hostess for Christmas.

      ‘Adorable,’ he said faintly.

      ‘You’re lying,’ Letty said, and he found himself smiling.

      ‘I am,’ he agreed, and he met Meg’s glare square on. ‘There’s nothing adorable about a pair of crimson trousers stuck in a chimney. However, it’s fantastical and truly in the spirit of Christmas. As soon as we came over the crest I just knew this was going to be a Christmas to remember.’

      ‘Better than being stuck in the office?’ Meg said, starting to smile.

      ‘Better than the office.’ Maybe.

      ‘Then that’s okay,’ Letty said, accelerating again. ‘If you like my decorations then you can stay. The pair of you.’

      ‘You’re very generous,’ William said.

      ‘We are, aren’t we?’ Meg agreed, and hugged her dog.

      And then the car pulled to a halt beside the house—and straight away there was more dog. Killer’s relatives? William opened the door and four noses surged in, each desperate to reach him. They were all smaller than Killer, he thought with some relief. Black and white. Collies?

      ‘Fred, Milo, Turps, Roger, leave the man alone,’ Meg called and the dog pack headed frantically for the other side of the car to envelope someone they obviously knew and loved. Meg was on the ground hugging handfuls of ecstatic dog, being welcomed home in truly splendid style.

      William extricated himself from the car and stared down at her. Any hint of his cool, composed PA had disappeared. Meg was being licked from every angle, she was coated with dog and she was showing every sign of loving it.

      ‘Killer’s Meg’s dog,’ Letty said, surveying the scene in satisfaction. ‘Fred and Roger are mine. Turps and Milo belong to Scotty but they all love Meg. She’s so good with dogs.’

      Meg was well and truly buried—and the sight gave him pause.

      In twenty-four hours he should be entering his apartment overlooking Central Park. His housekeeper would have come in before him, made sure the heating was on, filled the place with provisions, even set up a tasteful tree. The place would be warm and elegant and welcoming.

      Maybe not as welcoming as this.

      He would have been welcomed almost as much as this on Christmas Day, he thought, and that was a bleak thought. A really bleak thought. The disappointment he’d felt when he’d learned of the air strike hit home with a vengeance.

      He didn’t show emotion.

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