Page 40 of Christmas Spirit
“Thatboy,” Nicholas said, “the one who betrayed you, he was a kitchen boy too, wasn’t he? But that’s as far as the comparison goes. He was vicious and venal, which you soon found out. Why he did what he did, we’ll never know. It saddens me, that there is often no reason for cruelty. He almost wrecked your career, just as it was about to truly take off.”
Roland couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could hardly even breathe as the memories he’d locked away years before broke through the wall he’d built around them.
A torrid, feverish, secret affair, the boy had burrowed under his skin and taken hold, like the parasite he’d turned out to be. A blackmailing, hard-eyed, leeching parasite.
“How do you know, howcanyou know…?”
Fear gripped at Roland’s heart. Everything from those dark and desperate days, he’d buried it all deep, and now this old man knew, when there was no way he could—
“I know because I do. I’ve known the secret fears of so many, over the years.” Nicholas sighed. “The way I know yours, and what you must do to overcome them. You were a different man, then. Full of generosity, and goodness of spirit. You wanted to nurture and protect him, and help him. And he knew that, and used it against you.”
“He could have ruined me. I wasn’t ready to let the world know who I was, inside…”
Roland stared into the fire, seeing not the flames but the man he’d been.
Young, his career ready to fly high as he took the reins of his first high status, professional kitchen, with everything to prove. On the surface he’d been so confident, but it had been nothing more than window dressing. Underneath, he’d been terrified of letting the world know who he was, of his true nature. Stupid, so damn stupid. If he’d been honest from the start, if he’d held his head high and looked everybody in the eye… Because it didn’t matter, nobody gave a damn.
What had happened, had been because of his fear.
Roland dropped his head into his hands.
“There’s nothing from that time that can hurt you,” Nicholas said, resting his hand on Roland’s shoulder “It’s past, it’s gone. You’re the only one who’s hurting you. The photos and recordings, you got them back, but you paid heavily for them. Not with cash, that doesn’t matter. Yes, you lost a lot of money in the process, but you lost something far more valuable. You lost your trust and compassion as your heart turned cold.
“What’s lost can always be found again, and what’s cold can be warmed. But only if you want it to be. And I think you do want that, Roland, but you’re scared of being hurt again, of risking your heart, of laying yourself on the line.
“You have no reason to be scared, not of Georgie. He’s not like the one whose name you will never say again. You can trust him, always. You could even love him, but only if you allow yourself to, only if you let go of your fear, and unlock that warm and generous heart I know still beats strong within your chest. Look.”
Roland raised his head and followed Nicholas’ gaze.
Outside, as the snow beat down, was Georgie. His thin coat, no defence against the brutal weather, flapped in the wind. His collar was turned up but his hat, scarf and gloves were nowhere to be seen as he tried his hardest to build a snowman, fighting the buffeting wind that was making a mockery of his efforts. The snowman Georgie had said they should make together, his face alight and alive, happy and radiant, until Roland’s cruel words had turned off those warm, bright lights and sent Georgie, with held back tears glittering in his eyes, from the bedroom.
“He’s trying so hard,” Nicholas said softly, “but he’s struggling. It’s how his life has always been. He needs to be nurtured, and protected. He needs help to become the man he wants to be. The whole world’s against him, but he never gives up. But I’m not sure how much longer he can go on, because a person can take only so many knocks before they fall and never get up again.”
Roland’s heart twisted and turned, the knots pulling tighter, as the snow Georgie heaped up fell away. Because Georgie was alone, because he had nobody to help, nobody to share the load with.
“I—”
“Help him, and help yourself. Go to him, and show him the man you were before, and the man you can be again. Go now, before it’s too late for either of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
No matter how much Georgie heaped the snow up, lumps fell away, defying all his efforts as the hard and biting wind buffeted him. But he was going to do it, no matter how long it took, no matter how numb his hands, no matter how his frozen tears bit into his cheeks.
He’d walked away from Roland’s cold eyes and colder heart, but he hadn’t run. He had his pride, but it felt like such a fragile, frail thing.
What had he done that had been so wrong? He’d shown Roland his heart, had opened himself up to the man, and he’d believed Roland had done the same with him. But he hadn’t. The shutters had gone up, he’d been as distant and disdainful as always, and Georgie had been no more than a fool for believing in something he had thought so good. The kitchen boy was back in his place, and that was where he was going to stay.
He’d find a way to get back to London. He’d get a job. He’d fulfil his ambition. He’d show Roland Fletcher Jones he didn’t need or want him. He’d make it all by himself. He’d do it all alone with no help from anybody. Because hadn’t he been doing that all his life? Hadn’t he always been alone? Hadn’t it always been just him, whenjust himso often felt like it wasn’t enough?
The wonky ball of snow that was supposed to be the snowman’s head tumbled from his body and fell at Georgie’s feet, breaking up into nothing.
Just like his life was breaking up. Just like he was breaking up.
Georgie buried his face in his hands and fell to his knees. Hot, fresh tears streamed from his eyes as his shoulders shook with gulpy, gasping sobs. He could tell himself he could do it, that he’d get through, that he’d make it on his own, but the words were as empty as his heart.
A pair of strong arms enveloped him, and Georgie gasped as he was lifted to his feet. Arms that held him firm and sure, and didn’t let go.
Roland stared down at him, his silver-streaked, dark auburn hair covered in a light dusting of snow.
