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“I was going to give you three guesses, but you only needed one.” He smirked as he pulled it out and looked at it. “Secret Santa one year. We haven’t done it since. My mother believes I’ve thrown it out.”
“Never. That would be a travesty.” I picked up another adorned with three letters: UNT. “Unt? What’s that?”
“Put it down and look at the handle.”
I set it on the counter and bent down to look at it. The handle was black, like the letters, and I narrowed my—
Oh.
“Oh,” I squeaked. “That was not Gabi.”
He picked it up with a chuckle. “No, it was not. That was Fred’s idea of a joke on my twenty-first birthday.”
“And to think, I merely got a wine glass that proclaimed me the best twenty-one-year-old ever.”
“But you’re a twin.”
“Exactly. It’d be far more flattering if Eva hadn’t also received one.” I shrugged and looked back into the breadbin. It was a terribly strange place to keep them all. “What if your mum looks in here and finds them?”
“Don’t be daft. She doesn’t go in the pantry. It’s too high up for Olympia, and Boris knows all about it.”
“Boris knows?”
“Boris knows everything.”
“Indeed he does,” Boris drawled from the doorway. “Are you corrupting the young lady, sir?”
Alex grinned at him. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her and find out for yourself. Would you like some tea?”
Boris’s gaze flickered to the mugs. “If you don’t mind. Except I think I shall stick with a more tasteful cup.” He opened a cupboard and pulled out a Chelsea football team mug.
“If anything is corrupting me, it might be your awful taste in football teams, Boris. Chelsea? Really?” I shook my head.
“We might have to rethink this one, sir. We can’t be having this kind of dissention in the household.”
Alex laughed. “We all have our faults. Hers happen to be that she hates Chelsea and is a Lancastrian.”
“I would prefer not to get into the discussion of Richard the third and Henry the seventh again, sir. I need to refresh my arguments if we’re to go down that route.” Boris poured three cups of tea, giving me a mug that was far tamer than the other two.
All right, so it said that I didn’t give a flock accompanied by a nice image of a cartoon flamingo, but still.
He gave Alex the UNT one.
“Why, Boris, are you on my side?” I asked, stirring milk into my tea.
“I am neither here nor there regarding the Plantagenets and the Tudors, Adelaide. I believe both dynasties have their faults and their bright points, but I have not had enough alcohol for His Grace to finagle me into the finer details on this fine afternoon.” Boris put three spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, added the milk, and collected his mug.
I fought a smile and looked down. “Duly noted. Another time, then.”
“Indeed. Now, if either of you need anything, I will be found outside in the sunken garden for fifteen minutes of peace. Mrs. Anderson will send me to an early grave if I don’t disappear.” He looked at us both and hovered on Alex. “Do put that back in the pantry before your mother sees them. Especially that one.” He looked pointedly at the one Alex was using, and I hid my smile behind my mug.
He left us alone in the kitchen, and Alex dutifully put the rest of the mugs away and returned the breadbin to its home in the pantry.
“He’s rather fond of you, isn’t he?” I asked.
“Boris?” Alex smiled. “Someone in the house has to be.”
I rolled my eyes and perched on one of the stools. “You say it as though everyone hates you. I know for a fact that isn’t true.”
“No, but they aren’t my friends, either. That much I know for a fact.” He sat down, leaving an empty stool between us. “It’s not exactly easy, especially when my focus is on the estate lands and not the inside of the house right now.”
“That’s a lot of work.” I sympathised with him—I knew how hard Gabi’s dad worked to maintain their estate lands, and it wasn’t nearly as big as what Alex had to manage. “Oh, this is for you.” I slid the café bag towards him.
He frowned at me. “For me?”
“Yes.”
He was still frowning.
“You look confused. Has nobody ever brought you anything before?” I raised my eyebrows. “I was collared by Maggie, so I thought I’d ask her what you like. So here.”
Slowly, he opened the bag and pulled out two huge polystyrene tubs of soup, plus a small box. “Soup?”
“Potato, leek, and bacon, and…” I paused, biting the inside of my cheek. “And bean and tomato!”
“And the box?”
“A fresh cream éclair.”
He opened the box to peek in, then looked over at me. “And you got this for me?”
“Well, in the interest of being honest, she would only let me pay for the éclair,” I replied. “I think she wanted to get rid of the soup. She said it would be good for three days in the fridge, so that’s on her.” I held up my hands. “If you get a dodgy stomach, don’t blame me for it.”
