Christmas with her Boss (14 page)

Scott threw his sister a look of such gratitude that William had trouble not to laugh out loud. As he did with so many of the gifts they were opening, small jokes, trivia, fun.

And then there was a gift in his hands. He stared down at the box—small, flat, red and tied with gold ribbon.

‘You've done enough for us,' Meg said softly. ‘We can't possibly repay you, but this is the least we can do.'

He opened the box, feeling disoriented, as if he'd been transported to another world. Inside was a certificate, folded neatly.

He read through, trying to make it out.

He'd been given…a part-time dog?

‘Scott and I found it on the Internet,' Meg said as he looked
up, astounded. ‘It's an animal shelter in Manhattan, and it's not far from where you live. This gives you visiting rights. More. What you do is adopt a dog whenever you're in town. If you're based in New York for three months, then you take a dog for three months. You can take her back to the shelter at night if you want, or you can keep her at home, or you can simply take her out for a run each day. Whatever you want. You give your time and the shelter takes over what you can't provide. The only stipulation is that she's still available for permanent adoption. This plan means the shelter can take far more dogs than they could otherwise care for, and they don't have to put them down. But if someone wants to adopt one permanently, then you need to choose another.'

A part-time dog, he thought. Like Ned and Pip and Elinor. His part-time family. Good. Excellent.

So why did it make him feel empty?

Luckily, Scott was filling his silence. ‘The dog you've semi-adopted is Sheeba,' he told William. ‘Her photograph's in the bottom of the box. She's part greyhound, part Dalmatian. I reckon she should be your first.'

‘Because every man needs a dog,' Letty said solidly.

William glanced out towards the kitchen. The dogs weren't permitted in the sitting room. There were five dogs squashed in the doorway, each nose managing to claim an inch of sitting room carpet.

Every man should have a dog. A part-time dog.

He watched as Meg opened yet another extraordinary knitted object and hugged Letty and giggled, and then watched as Scott and Letty were both ordered to open their gifts from Meg together, so they did, and they were bazooka-like machine guns loaded with foam balls. Christmas immediately became a running battle between grandmother and grandson. Who'd have thought Letty had been close to death yesterday,
and who'd have ever thought of giving a grandmother a foam ball-shooter?

He looked at Meg and Meg was giggling like a kid—and he thought he was never going to see her again.

He started gathering wrapping paper, and then Letty remembered the turkey and Scott remembered flights.

‘Oh, whoops, sorry,' he said, firing a foam ball at Killer, who caught it neatly in his mouth, bit it in two and then looked expectantly for more. ‘Killer!'

‘Sorry, what?'

‘Your flights.' He looked to Meg, as if to confirm he was doing the right thing. ‘I checked while you were milking. If you really want to go…'

‘What have you found?' Meg asked.

‘There's a flight at nine tonight. You could catch the four o'clock train back to Melbourne and take the skybus to the airport. It all fits. Is that okay, Meg?'

‘He's used to private cars,' Meg said, not looking at William. ‘But it sounds okay.' She rose and headed out to the kitchen after Letty, tossing her words over her shoulder. Still carefully not looking at him. ‘Is that okay with you, William? You can have Christmas dinner and we'll drive you to the train.'

‘He'll need extra weight allowance after Grandma's pudding,' Scott joked and Letty hooted from the kitchen, but William didn't laugh.

He couldn't see Meg any more. She was behind the kitchen door, but he was willing to bet she didn't laugh either.

 

‘You don't need to come to church,' Meg said, but sitting back at the farmhouse without them seemed unthinkable. So he went and Meg orchestrated things so she sat with Letty and Scott between them. She was wearing another of her new dresses—lilac, simpler than yesterday's, but just as pretty.
Or more pretty. Or maybe it was that he was looking at her more often.

The service was lovely, a tiny community coming together in happiness, belting out beloved Christmas hymns with enthusiasm and as much tunefulness as they could muster. William could only stand for the first two hymns because, some time between the second and the third, Letty leaned against his shoulder and went to sleep. Meg saw why he wasn't standing and she smiled at him, the smile he'd worked with for three years and hadn't noticed, and he thought it was worth holding Letty to receive that smile.

Though, if he'd had a choice… He still would hold Letty, he thought, memories of yesterday's terror flooding back. She was an indomitable old lady and he could see why Meg loved her.

So he sat while the rest of the congregation sang and there were approving looks from many, and curious looks from more, and he thought Meg was going to get the full inquisition after he left.

After he left…

Maybe he could stay a few days more. Make sure Letty was okay. Give Kerrie a few more days off milking.

Get closer to Meg?

She was sharing a song sheet with Scott, and her voice was true and pure. He could hear her through the rest of the congregation—he knew her voice.

He wouldn't hear it again.

He shouldn't be here. This wasn't his place. If he got closer…

He'd hurt her. He didn't know the first thing about family.

He'd go home to his part-time dog, his part-time Foster-Friends role, his full-time career.

What was he doing? Surely he wasn't thinking he could stay here and milk cows for ever?

Maybe he could take Meg with him.

She wouldn't go.

‘Collection,' Scott hissed, and he looked at him in incomprehension.

‘Money,' Scott said and grinned and William realised he was being handed the collection plate. Everyone in the pew was looking at him. They must have thought he was as sleepy as Letty.

Before he could react, Meg dropped a note into the plate and handed it back to the server. ‘He's a bit tight,' she said, in a make-believe whisper which carried through the church. ‘He hasn't had any work since before Christmas, you know.'

He stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment and she grinned and then chuckled and Letty stirred against him and opened her eyes.

‘Have we sung
O Little Town of Bethlehem
yet?'

‘No,' he said, confounded.

‘Then why don't we?' she demanded. ‘Don't they know our turkey's waiting?'

 

Dinner came next. Kerrie arrived with her three children and it was hard to know who whooped louder, the children or Letty. Far too much food was consumed. The pudding flamed magnificently. Crackers were pulled. Silly jokes were read. Meg checked her watch for about the hundredth time and finally said, ‘It's time to go.'

‘It is,' William said. ‘You'll drive me to the station?'

‘I'll drive you,' Letty said with alacrity and grinned. ‘Meg can do the washing-up.'

‘Let Meg take him, Grandma,' Scott said with rare insight. ‘She'll want to say goodbye.'

‘I want to say goodbye,' Letty retorted.

Scott said, ‘Grandma,' in a meaningful voice and Letty gave a theatrical sigh and started clearing the table. But she wasn't exactly martyred. Kerrie and Scott were helping clear. Kerrie would stay on for milking—they'd organised that at some time over pudding. It'd only take Meg twenty minutes to take William to the station. Ten minutes there, ten minutes back and life would go on without him.

As it should.

He'd already packed his bag. He rose from the still laden table and felt… empty.

‘Thank you,' he said simply and Letty looked at him as if he was a sandwich short of a picnic.

‘Thank us? After what you've done for us?'

‘I'll send you pictures of my car,' Scott said shyly. ‘As it takes shape.'

‘I'd like that.'

There was nothing else to say. Meg was already at the door, keys in her hand.

Ready to move on?

W
HY
didn't he speak? The tension seemed unbearable. Thankfully, the station was only ten minutes' drive, otherwise she'd explode. Or something. She flicked on the radio and there were the inevitable Christmas carols. William flicked them straight off.

‘What's wrong with my carols?' she demanded, trying to sound offended.

‘I'm crossing the time line tonight. I'm facing another twenty-four hours of Christmas. Enough is enough.'

‘Two Christmases in a row. How appalling.' So much for offended. She knew she sounded miserable.

‘My Christmas isn't like your Christmas,' he told her. ‘Two of my normal Christmases would be appalling.'

‘Will you see your parents?'

‘No.'

‘You should. Even the media says they're lonely. Call them.'

‘You're telling me how to run my life?'

‘I forgot,' she said, suddenly contrite. ‘I'm still employed. I shouldn't tell you anything.'

‘But when you're not employed?'

‘When I'm not employed I won't be anywhere near you,' she whispered. There was more silence and then, thankfully, they arrived. She pulled up beside the platform—it really
was in the middle of nowhere. But this was where she had to leave him.

‘Here you are,' she managed, feeling ill. ‘The train will be here in six minutes.'

He looked around him in doubt. ‘How do I know you're right with your timetable?'

‘Trust me.'

‘Trust you to leave me standing on a platform in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a train, when I only have your word for it that it'll come?'

She sighed. ‘Okay, I'll wait. Sir. Do you want me to carry your bag onto the station?'

‘No,' he said. ‘Meg…'

‘We need to be on the station. If the driver can't see us from a way ahead he won't stop.' She headed onto the platform, leaving him to follow.

He followed.

More silence. They stood side by side in the middle of nowhere and he tried to think of something to say. So many things, but none of them suitable. None of them possible.

‘Reconsider your job,' he said at last and she shook her head.

‘I can't.'

‘Because I kissed you?'

‘I believe I resigned before that.'

‘Because I wanted to kiss you, then? And because when I did kiss you, it was wonderful?'

‘William, I can't cope with an affair,' she said simply. ‘And I can't cope with loving my boss.'

‘Loving…' The word made him feel as if he'd been punched.

‘I don't, of course,' she said hastily. ‘It's just that I might. Given time and enough…heat.' There was a faint speck on the horizon, a distant rumble and they both knew the train
was on its way. ‘So…so it's been fabulous. I've had the best time working for you and I can't begin to thank you for what you've done for my family this Christmas.'

‘There's no need to thank me.' Did he take her hands or did she take his? He didn't know. All he did know was that suddenly they were linked. The train was growing closer and she was just…
here.

He was holding Meg. Not Miss Jardine. He was definitely holding Meg. And he knew what he most wanted to say.

‘Come with me,' he said urgently, and her eyes widened.

‘What?'

‘To New York. You could have a second Christmas too.'

‘I've had Christmas.' The train was closer now. The driver had seen them and was starting to slow.

‘I want you to come.'

‘And leave Letty and Scott? Ring them up and say sorry, I won't be home for tea, can you get someone to cover the milking?' She sounded a little hysterical. Panicked. Her hands tugged back, but he didn't let her go. ‘What are you saying? Christmas in New York… That's crazy.'

He knew it was. ‘Crazy or not, I mean it.'

She met his gaze square on, and the flare of panic settled. ‘No,' she said, sounding sure. ‘My place is here. As yours is in Manhattan. Or Hong Kong. Or London. Wherever your business takes you. And here's your train. Say hello to Sheeba for me.'

‘Sheeba?'

‘Your part-time dog,' she chided and he stared down at her and thought—part-time dog, part-time life; he so didn't want to leave this woman.

But the alternative?

She couldn't go with him. There wasn't an alternative.

‘Goodbye, William,' she said gently and pushed his hands
a little, pushing him to let her go. Only the train hadn't quite stopped yet and his hold on her tightened.

‘Goodbye, Meg.' There was a blast from the train's horn, as if the driver was saying get on fast; the train surely didn't want to waste time sitting at this windswept, sunburned country railway siding. No one would want to waste time here. Least of all him.

He had to leave.

But how could he leave when he was holding Meg?

He must.

He looked down into her eyes for one last time, and then, because there was no way he couldn't, he pulled her tight against him. He cupped her chin, he tilted her face—and then he kissed her.

It was a fast kiss, fast by necessity as the train had now stopped. But still the kiss was strong and searching, and it ached to be more. For one precious moment she yielded against him, her mouth opened under his and she melted. Her body moulded against his and she was crushed against him.

Meg.

But the doors of the train were sliding open and the conductor was stepping onto the platform.

‘All aboard,' he snapped, straight at them, and there was no avoiding the inevitable. For one last moment Meg clung and he held, and then she was standing back and there was nothing he could do but lift his bag and board the train.

 

She drove home feeling sick. Life as she knew it was over.

Well, that was a stupid thing to think. She had cows to look forward to. And finding a local job. Plus there was a rather nice young farmer who'd been interested before she'd left to take the McMaster job. Letty told her every time she came home that he was still single. Maybe she could drum up some enthusiasm.

Only she'd taken the job with William for a reason and the reason still stood. She loved the farm, but it wasn't enough.

She'd adored working for William. For Mr McMaster.

For William. He could never be Mr McMaster again. She knew that. He was too cute, too warm-hearted, too…hot.

And too needy. See, there was the problem. What really hurt—or, if she was honest, what hurt almost as much as missing him—was the thought of him going back to his sterile life in Manhattan. Sure, he had his part-time kids and now he had his part-time dog. Sure, he thought he was happy. He was rich and confident and a powerful figure in the world's economy.

But he wouldn't call his parents and she guessed they wouldn't call him. He'd probably call one of his Cool-To-Be-Seen-With women to fill in the gaps in his life, and that made her think dark thoughts about life in general and Cool-To-Be-Seen-With women in particular. She dredged up an image of the erstwhile Sarah, and imagined the picture as a dartboard.

How childish was that?

She
was
being childish. But there was more behind what she was feeling than childishness, and she knew what it was.

For she'd fallen in love. Some time over the last two days, she'd fallen hard. Maybe it had been latent, waiting in the wings to strike when the time was right. Maybe she'd been in love with W S McMaster for years; she just hadn't known it.

And he was going home alone and she felt sick—and sad for him as well as for her. He'd go back to the life he knew and she didn't envy him one bit. He might be rich and powerful but she had Scotty and Letty and the dogs.

She didn't have William.

He'd asked her to go with him. How crazy was that? Oh,
but she'd wanted to. To board the train and leave, flying to Manhattan with William, stepping into his life…

His part-time life. For she was under no illusions as to what an affair with William would be. She'd made arrangements for too many such affairs in the past. Glorious indulgence and then mutual parting, no hard feelings.

She pulled the car off the road and got out. She walked round the car, then round again. It was no use going back to the farm until she had her head in order.

William was gone, and she had to move on. She had to walk into the kitchen at home and be cheerful.

Right. One more round of the car, or maybe two, and she could do it.

She must.

 

He heaved his bag up onto the luggage rack and he thought for the first time—he
had
been preoccupied until now—that his bag was heavier than usual. And, almost as he thought it, the zip burst open.

His luggage was quality. Zips did not burst.

Nor did plastic bags and plastic containers spill out onto the floor of the train.

But, over Christmas, W S McMaster had become William, and someone had packed leftovers in William's bag. The transparent containers held turkey, plum pudding, grapes, cherries, chocolates and more. There was also a plastic bottle labelled Brandy Sauce.

Meg would never do this. It must have been Letty. Meg was far too sensible to pack him leftovers.

Or was she?

He'd get rid of it at the airport, he thought, gathering the containers while bemused passengers watched. He travelled first class. Leftovers compared to the airline's best haute cuisine?

But then he thought, this was Letty's cooking and Jenny's cooking. Maybe there was even Meg's cooking in there somewhere. She'd definitely stirred the pudding.

Maybe he wouldn't get rid of it.

He started shoving the containers back into his bag and realised there was something deeper. He delved and found…a bazooka. Complete with foam bullets. It was the same as the ones Letty and Scott had found in their stockings, orange, purple and gold. A note was attached.

Ridiculous.

But… He
had
been jealous this morning as Letty and Scott had shot each other. As if he was on the outside looking in.

Pip and Ned would think this was cool.
He
thought it was cool. He wanted to try it out now.

Or not. Mature businessmen did not shoot foam bazookas on trains.

He read the note again.

Love Meg.

Don't go there.

He stowed the bazooka. He managed to get his bag refastened, and finally sank into his seat.

The train was almost empty. Of course. It was Christmas night. Who'd be travelling tonight except people going from one family to another?

There was a young mother in the seat opposite, hugging
her baby. Maybe she wasn't going from one family to another. She looked wan and tear-stained.

The W S McMaster of Friday would hardly have noticed. But now… ‘Are you okay?' he asked.

‘I…yes. Thank you.' She managed a watery smile; she clearly wanted to talk. ‘My husband's working on an offshore oil rig so we can save a deposit for a house. We only have one week together a month. It's only for a year but I hate being a part-time family. And I have to go back to my parents tonight… Night's my favourite time. When the day's over, snuggling down and talking about it… Oh, I miss him. I love him so much.'

She sniffed and blew her nose and there was nothing he could say to make her feel better. He retrieved some of his leftover chocolates. They shared their chocolate and their silence, and neither of them was happy.

I love him so much…

There was a lot in that statement to avoid thinking about. He decided he'd think about the rest.

Night's my favourite time…

He hated Christmas night. Christmas Day was usually bearable—there were always social functions, and last year he'd had Pip and Ned. Only at the end…

When the day's over, snuggling down and talking about it…

That was what was missing. He'd never figured it out. How could he miss what he'd never known?

Christmas night alone… He always did Christmas night alone.

Maybe he'd be home in time to see Pip and Ned.

He checked his phone and then remembered. No reception.

‘You can ring when we go through towns,' the girl told him. ‘Only you need to talk fast.'

When the day's over, snuggling down and talking about it…

The last twenty-four hours had been huge. Who could he talk about it with?

They were approaching a town. Sure enough, reception bars appeared on his cellphone. He rang Manhattan. Elinor. She answered on the first ring.

‘What's wrong?' She sounded breathless and he realised it was one in the morning back home. Night-time.

When the day's over, snuggling down and talking about it…

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I've woken you.'

‘Oh, Mr McMaster, it's you,' she said. ‘No, I was just stuffing stockings, so you didn't wake me. I'm glad you rang. I have such good news.'

‘You do?'

‘The children… Their mother's finally agreed to their adoption. The agency contacted me this morning. There's a couple… They lost their children in a car accident five years ago and they so want a family. They sound lovely and there's grandmas and grandpas; everything these children most need. So tomorrow, after Christmas lunch, they're coming to visit. It's only first contact, but oh, they sound nice. These children so need a family.'

‘They do,' he said and somehow he managed to keep his voice from sounding bereft. Bereft? Of all the stupid sensations…