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‘But…’ Megan smiled apologetically, and swore to herself that she would do untold damage to Robbie just as soon as they were in private somewhere.
‘Of course.’ Alessandro looked at her, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other slung round his fiancée’s shoulder. ‘Why not?’ He kissed Victoria on her temple. ‘What do you say? My chef is on duty twenty-four-seven. He can get our lunch prepared and we can head to…where it’s all happening…’
‘It’s a very small house…!’ Megan glanced at Dominic, because the one thing kids hated was to be confronted by their teachers out of school hours. Unfortunately he didn’t appear to be conforming to the stereotype. ‘It’ll be very crowded…’ she stammered. ‘You wouldn’t believe the amount of people who seem to have nothing going on on Christmas Day…I’m sure you’ll be all wrapped up with…opening presents…and stuff…’
‘Of course we wouldn’t dream of intruding,’ Dominic’s mother said, her exquisite good manners coming to the fore.
Megan smiled weakly. ‘No—you wouldn’t be, Mrs Park. It’s open house…as Robbie said…just drop in, if and when you get the chance!’
‘And please do stop calling me Mrs Park…’ This time the smile was real, and it didn’t look as though it had required lots of effort. ‘I realise that it’s not exactly protocol, but do call me Victoria.’
‘Victoria…right…’
What a tableau they must make. She, Robbie, a kid who seemed to be undergoing a severe case of sudden hero-worship syndrome, and a man and a woman who might have stepped straight out of the pages of a magazine—although she was slightly gratified to notice that Alessandro’s pristine suit was no longer in quite the same condition as it had been an hour before.
‘And of course I’m Megan.’ She winked at Dominic, and tried a friendly, teacher-like chuckle, but he was still staring at Robbie. There was ketchup smeared round his mouth and he was clutching a chip as though it was a once-a-year treat that might just vanish at any moment. ‘And, yes…please…feel free to join us on Christmas Day!’ Her laugh sounded a tad hysterical. ‘The more the merrier!’
CHAPTER THREE
THINGS were under control. In support of the three vegetarian guests coming, and in frank and open acknowledgement of the fact that neither she nor Charlotte were any good in the kitchen—particularly when the meal involved handling raw meat—turkey was off the menu. Instead they had gone for loads of salads and a poached salmon, which their local fishmonger had kindly supplied, cut-rate, for his two pretty customers. In return they had given him a Christmas present of a ceramic vase—made by Charlotte, materials provided by Megan—which he solemnly promised would take pride of place on his mantelpiece.
Drinks were in liberal supply. Homemade punch, which was lethally strong, several bottles of wine, and some beer for the guys.
It had left a satisfying amount of time for Megan to take her time getting ready, and she was going all out. They had decided on a colour theme for the guests. Green and red. Christmas colours. Accordingly, Megan had found the perfect red dress. It clung like a second skin to mid-thigh, and was offset by some lacy tights in an interesting shade of bright green. Megan was pretty sure she looked like a deranged elf, but nevertheless she was pretty pleased with the result.
Being a teacher was in danger of turning her into a conformist. She felt that she should be allowed to be ridiculous for one day in the year.
Some might say that the red hair was taking things a bit too far, but it was a wash-in, wash-out colour, so that was all right.
She looked critically at her reflection in the mirror, not sure whether red hair really suited her, but it made a change from being blonde. Made her look wild. Especially with the cling-film dress, the fluorescent tights and the fabulous red shoes. She was sure she would never be able to walk properly in them.
It had turned out in the end that Alessandro and entourage weren’t coming. Robbie, who seemed to have developed a cordial relationship with Victoria over the very short space of a week, had reliably informed Megan that she would be too busy in the morning, doing ‘Christmas stuff’.
‘Fiancé’s chef will need some supervision,’ he had said, shaking his head. ‘No nanny and a chef unfamiliar with the territory. Never let it be said that life in the fast lane can’t be tough.’
‘I know,’ Megan had replied, relieved that she wouldn’t have to face the ordeal of feeling persecuted in her own house on the one day when she was owed relaxation. ‘Much easier to just scrap the Christmas meal altogether and head for the salad counter. Somewhere in the country there’ll be a turkey thanking us.’
