Page 20 of Christmas Spirit
“Excuse me?” Roland stared, brows arched high in surprise, from across the table.
You didn’t expect that, did you?
Georgie couldn’t resist a satisfied smile at the shock on Roland’s face.
“Yes, it was. I suppose you would have picked up on things in the kitchen, even though—”
“I spend all my time washing up and polishing glasses that don’t need it?”
Roland inclined his head. “If there was no washing up, there would be no plates for the food. I accept it’s the worst job in the kitchen, but it’s a vital one. And I will speak to Bernardo.”
Georgie nodded. He wouldn’t say anything more because he didn’t want to upset the fine balance of the evening, which was turning out to be better than he could have imagined.
The only thing he’d picked up in the kitchen at the Manor was a bad case of dermatitis. He knew what he knew from reading foodie magazines, when he could get his hands on them, and from the term he’d spent at catering college before his life went down the drain. Roland would have known that, from his application, and he’d told him too, when he’d—
Georgie buried his face in his glass as his cheeks throbbed with humiliation at a memory he thought he’d shoved aside.
Alone in the kitchen with Roland, something that never happened, he’d believed it had been meant to be, and he’d seized his chance. He’d stood before Roland, stammering out his hopes and dreams, only to have them thrown back in his face. At which point the kitchen had filled up with the rest of the staff, and he’d slunk back to his never ending mountain of washing up, followed by sniggers, tuts, and contemptuous smirks.
Roland had forgotten, and he wasn’t going to remind him.
“Gentlemen, may I clear?”
Georgie jumped, blinking hard as he stared up into Nicholas’ smiling face. Sure, he’d been caught up in memories he’d rather not have, but how had the man appeared without him noticing? Because it was impossible to miss a large, round, white-bearded man, wasn’t it? He looked across at Roland, and their eyes met, holding each other’s gaze for a heartbeat.
He didn’t see Nicholas come in, either.
“Thank you,” Roland said, slowly, still holding Georgie’s gaze.
“I hope the casserole met your expectations?”
“Yes, it was excellent. I would like to meet the chef. Would that be possible?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. The chef has left for the day. If I may, I’ll serve—”
“So, the roads are open?” Georgie cut across Nicholas.
The snow ploughs had been out, they’d cleared the roads — which meant he could get to the station in the morning. He looked over at Roland, who nodded.
“If you’d be so kind as to give me directions to town, Mr. Forrester and I will be leaving in the morning, as soon as it’s light.”
“Ah, I’m afraid the roads haven’t yet been cleared—”
“But you said the chef had left for the day,” Georgie said. “He, or she, must have driven here, so if they’ve gone, the roads must be drivable.”
Unless… Oh.
“That’s right, sir, it’s a live-in position. They have a small cottage in the grounds. But please don’t worry, because everything will be taken care of.”
“Taken care of? Will the roads be cleared overnight, is that what you mean? So, we will be able to—what the—?”
With a bang, the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m so sorry, gentleman. It’s the weather, you see. It affects the power grid in these parts.”
The only light came from the glowing embers of the fire, and the moon, shining its cold light through the bay window.
