over.
While Killer had greeted Meg, Letty had greeted him with a handshake that was stronger than a man’s twice her size. Then she’d greeted her granddaughter with a hug that made Meg wince, and then she’d moved into organisational mode.
‘You in the back. Meg, in the front with Killer. I told Scotty I’d be back by nine-thirty so we need to move.’
They were moving. They were flying over the corrugated road with a speed that made him feel as if he was about to lose teeth.
‘So what do we call you?’ Letty said over her shoulder.
‘I told you; he’s Mr McMaster,’ Meg said, sounding muffled, as well she might under so much dog.
‘Mac?’ Letty demanded.
‘He’s my boss,’ Letty said, sounding desperate. ‘He’s not Mac.’
‘He’s 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
