Two men jumped down from the helicopter, reached back and grabbed garment bags and suitcases.  The squatted with their heads down until the big machine roared and rose straight up over their heads, as if it was being pulled on a string.  Then they straightened up, adjusted themselves, picked up their luggage and started walking to the house.

“This stunt is going to be all over the parish by midday,” Janet thought, and looked over at the main doors.  They were still closed.  That was good.  All the gossip mill needed now was the Duchess of Weldon running across the front lawn like a meadow fox in heat.

Janet knew Emily wasn’t some lovestruck schoolgirl, but she also knew that smart was no guarantee against getting tangled up with the wrong person.  And love may not always be blind, but even on its best day it was definitely near-sighted.

Janet went back to the table, stuck her pen in her book, pushed her chair into place and went out through the open door.  Time to meet what all the fuss is about.

In the entrance hall, there was utter chaos.  There were open boxes of decorations; a couple of ladders; a thick, half-strung garland stretched out on the floor; several wreaths spilling off a table; holly, candles and a bundle of giant barbershop candy canes on the floor.  The staff who’d been enlisted to help with the tree were casually mingling with the other staff – who just happened to be there for reasons completely unrelated to the gigantic helicopter that had recently landed on the front lawn.  Janet was halfway into the hall and about to take charge when Reynolds opened the double doors.  The low morning sun suddenly burst through the room, and the silhouettes standing on the threshold were surrounded by a crisp, winter light that made them look like two fallen angels still bright with heaven.  But before anyone could do anything or say anything, Lady Perry-Turner, Duchess of Weldon, skipped forward and flung her arms around the neck of the man on the left.  Instinctively, Janet turned her head and shot a fire and brimstone stare at the staff who collectively twitched and immediately found things to do.  Then she turned her head back, stepped forward to the other man and reached out her hand.

“Good morning!  I’m Janet Miller, the estate manager.  You must be Sydney?”

The man smiled – half smiled – it might have been a snarl without the mischief that crinkled in his eyes. “Pleased to meet you, but actually, I’m Dreyfus Sinclair.” He barely raised an index finger, “The young gentleman over there, being strangled, is Sydney.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.  I assumed …”

“No, no; not to worry.  It happens all the time.” Dreyfus set down his garment bag and extended his hand.

Emily let go of Sydney and stepped back.

“Sydney, Sydney!  It’s so good to see you.” Emily almost clapped her hands but thought better of it.

“Yes, ma’am.  It’s good to see you, too.”  Sydney was more than slightly embarrassed.

They all stood there for a couple of seconds in an awkward English silence.  Then Emily swiveled on one heel.

“Hello, Sinclair.”

Dreyfus reached out and delicately took Emily’s bandaged hand.  She didn’t move.  He held it like you would fragile glass and looked into her face. “How does it feel?”

Emily looked up at Dreyfus.  “It hurts,” she said like a whimper and then caught herself.  “And the itch is driving me mad.”

Dreyfus smiled and gently lowered her hand.

Over their heads and through the open doors, Janet could see the school bus pulling up.  Oh, my God!  They didn’t need to add thirty hyper children into the mix.

“Your Grace,” she said.

Emily, confused by the formality (Janet didn’t speak like that) just stood there.  Then, slightly shaking her head in recognition, “Oh, we haven’t ….”

“Actually,” Dreyfus turned back to Janet, “We have.  Just now.  And this,” Dreyfus opened his palm, “is Sydney.  Sydney, this is Janet Miller.  She’s the estate manager.”

Janet and Sydney leaned forward between Emily and Dreyfus in a clumsy handshake.  The murmuring conversations behind them were getting louder.  There was a clatter and exclamations as something fell on the stairs, and outside, Janet could see the bus had stopped.  She straightened back up.

“Your Grace.  The children?”

For a second, Emily’s face was empty, her eyes still on Dreyfus.  Then she looked at Janet and realized what she was saying.

“Of course.” She nodded and turned back to Dreyfus.

“You’ll have to excuse me for the moment: we’re on a very tight schedule this morning.  Reynolds will see to the luggage.  Reynolds?  Would you like to freshen up, or perhaps a coffee?”

“Coffee would be grand.”

“Janet, could you?  In the sitting room.  I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Emily turned back to the staff.

“Lillian, would you meet the teachers outside, please?  Give everyone a minute to clear up the confusion; then the tree is all yours.  And the rest of you are all here to assist with the tree?”  It wasn’t a question, and people started moving.

“Hannah, could you help me upstairs, please?”

Emily turned back to Dreyfus. “Thanks for coming, Sinclair.  I’ll be down in a bit.”

And she turned and walked away.

As Dreyfus watched her go, Sydney moved over towards him and whispered, “I think I’ll atay with the luggage, sir, and get the rooms sorted.”

“They’re not going to steal anything, Sydney.”

Sydney didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know about that.  It feels like we’ve stepped into an episode of Midsomer Murders.”

“Whatever you think, Sydney.” Dreyfus said laughing, and went over to where Janet was waiting.

“You must have a very busy job: the estate is quite impressive from the air.”

“Actually, Pyaridge is one of the smaller Midland estates.  We’re a bit of a backwater here.”

Dreyfus half laughed, “That’s why Sydney couldn’t find a train.”

“No, the trains don’t stop.  We haven’t had a station for over eighty years.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.  Just go through, Mr. Sinclair.  I’ll organize some coffee,” Janet said, stepping aside.

Tuesday — Part 6

The next morning was even colder than the day before with little feathers of frost in the corners of the Emily’s bedroom windows.  The sun was low and long, already cutting a few melting strips across the roofs, but the meadow was still wedding cake white – crisp and even.  Emily thought she felt better but wasn’t sure yet.  She’d spent most of yesterday in bed — asleep and awake — drowsy even without painkillers.  Janet had sent a nurse from the village who changed the dressing (it was smaller now and not so awkward) and said everything looked good.  She also sent the housemaids up with blankets and a portable electric heater.  They took Emily’s work clothes and laid out two heavy sweat suits, black and grey, and a pair of dark tan Uggs.  (Emily wondered if they were from Janet’s personal collection.)  Cozy warm clothes helped Emily’s mood, even though she’d struggled with the drawstring and zipper until finally, giving up, she found a big, bulk knit sweater that was loose enough to pull over her head.  She turned away from the window.  The fireplace looked lonely cold.  When she was a child, there had always been fires going on Christmas at Pyaridge Hall.  She remembered waking up to the sound and the smell of them.  But that was then, and it was time for breakfast and “morning prayers.”

At the top of the stairs, Emily saw the tree, towering in the entrance hall, two floors tall and a perfect cone.  She could see that they’d already strung the lights, and for a second she thought about switching them on in the dim morning but realized that she had no idea where the outlets were.  From the stairs, she could just reach the higher branches, and she touched them with her good hand, rubbing her fingers on the needles.  She leaned out as far as she could over the bannister, closed her mouth and took a deep breath of pine.  It smelled like Christmas, and now it felt like Christmas, and she knew she was feeling better.

Breakfast was the same/same, and Janet Miller was right on time, if perhaps a little more professional than usual.  There wasn’t much, mostly scheduling.

“I’ll need help today to dress for the children.”

Janet nodded.

“Anything special?” Emily added.

“No, the usual: cricket, student garden group.  The Doughty’s daughter won a poetry contest.”

“First name?”

“Uh. . . ” Janet consulted her notebook. “Tynal.”

“Tynal?”

“They’re from Birmingham.”

“Hmm,” Emily agreed.

“Don’t worry: I’ll have Lillian there with the crib.”

“Lunch here,” Janet gestured, “Thank you, thank you.  Then load them back on the bus.”

There was a hum it the air.  Janet noticed, paused and tilted her head. Then, unable to decipher it, she went back to her book.

“Anyway, here’s the details on the pagans.” Janet passed Emily a sheet of paper. “It’s Donald, not Ronald, and he was two years behind us.  It’s called Science and Sorcery, something or other.  I can do this if you like.”

“No, it’ll do me good to scold somebody.  I don’t remember him, though.”

Janet shrugged, “Apparently Billie knows him quite well.”

“Conflict?’

“No.  You know Billie.  He worships the water you walk on.”

Emily smiled and thought for a second. “What did he do with the Jag?”

The hum was louder.  Both women heard it and glanced at the windows.

“Left it in London,” Janet said, turning her head back to the table.  “Brought you home in the Roller.  Carried you upstairs.  Rolled up the rugs.  Banished the dogs.  I finally had to throw him out.”

Emily smiled, remembering close to none of it.

“The dogs!”

“Ah, they’re at the Dilfords.” Janet said, slightly distracted by the hum that was now a noise, “Moping.”

“I’ll bring them home tomorrow.”

The noise was getting louder.  Both women looked at the windows again.  Janet put her hand up.

“Just a moment.”  She got up and went to the window.  Outside, at the end of the drive, there was a school bus turning onto the estate and a full blue sky with – with birds?  Three big black birds were flying – but they weren’t birds?  They were . . . too steady, too symmetrical.

Janet turned back to Emily.

“Come see this,” she motioned.  By the time she turned back, both women could hear the unmistakable whoop/whoop of helicopter blades.  They were helicopters.  In fact, they were three R.A.F. Puma HC support helicopters, flying in formation towards the house.  Emily got to the window just as they settled high over the front lawn.  She looked up and one slowly began to drift down, as the others hovered above it.

“What the ….?”

Suddenly, Emily shot her hand over her open mouth and gave a short I-should-be-embarrassed-but I’m-not, breathless laugh.

“It’s Sinclair,” she said. “My God, it’s Sinclair.” And she laughed out loud.

The two women turned their faces to each other.

“I told you,” Emily said, spun around and ran out of the room.

“Mind your hand!” Janet shouted after her.

She turned back to the window just as the helicopter touched the ground.

Tuesday – Part 5

Emily tried to untwist the telephone cord that was tangled around her arm and finally, in frustration, just handed the receiver to Janet.  She carefully raised Emily’s hand and unwound it, put it back and set the telephone on the sideboard.  Then she came and sat down at the breakfast table.  The two women didn’t look at each other.  It was the silence of not knowing what to say and wanting the other woman to say it first.  If there had been a clock, it would have ticked.  If there had been an hourglass, they would have heard the sand fall.  It was the longest eight seconds in human history.  Finally, without moving, Janet looked over and caught Emily studiously “not” looking back, and in that silent apprehensive eye contact, the professional veneer collapsed and they were fifteen again, passing notes in Miss Cafferty’s chemistry class – and they giggled.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Magpie: spill it!”

“What?  Nothing.  He’s just a man I met in London.”  Emily twirled her coffee cup.

“Of course, and you always invite the men you meet in London home for Christmas?  This is what?  One in a row?”

Emily could hear Janet rolling her eyes.

“Well, no — you know – he — uh – we – uh – we get along really well.  I think he likes me.”

Janet nodded her head. “Could be?  He tracked you down and threatened to call the police if you didn’t come to the telephone.  Yeah, could be?  Oh, come on!  What’s he like?”

“He’s – uh – it’s hard to say.  I’m not sure ….   At first, you think he’s sort of not really there, but he has this way of … way of just being there.  Just ….”

Emily spread her hands and lifted her shoulders. “Not big … just …”

Emily put her teeth together and shook her head slowly. “More.”

“More?” It was a statement and a question.

“I don’t know, Jans.  He has this way of – uh – of getting everything to move around him, but not like he even means to do that.  It just happens.” Emily tilted her head toward her friend.  “And he was really sweet to me after the Russians cut off my finger.”

It caught Janet under the chin, and she snapped her head sideways. “WHAT?”

 “Oh,” Emily paused and shifted her eyes, “You didn’t know.”

Janet exhaled and shook her head.  Her eyes had completely lost their schoolgirl laughter.  She waited.

“Uh – it’s nothing, really.  I was doing some work for … evaluation work — for an insurance company … Well, not really an insurance company.  It was … It’s complicated.  It’s very complicated.”

“Russians?” Janet asked tentatively, “Like Russian gangsters?  What have you gotten yourself into?”

“No, no, it’s not that way.  Well, they were gangsters, I suppose.  They turned out to be, anyway.  But that’s the point.  Sinclair is the one who fixed it.  He stopped them and got me out of there.”

“After they cut off your finger!  God Almighty, is he a criminal too?”

“No, no, he works for the insurance company.”

“The one you weren’t working for?”

Emily slumped back in her chair.  Suddenly she was very tired.  Everything was so complicated.  She just didn’t have the energy to explain. “What did they say happened?”

“Billie said they told him you got your hand caught in a weaving machine.  An accident.  A bloody, stupid accident.” Janet’s voice was sharp with worry for her friend.

“Janet,” Emily reached over and touched her arm, “It’s over.  Completely finished.  I promise.  And when I’m feeling better, I’ll tell you the whole story.  I will.  But right now, I’m just too tired.”

Janet hooded the doubt in her eyes.

“Do you have anything else in your book?”

“No, no.  We’re done.” Janet said, without looking down.

“Alright, I’m going to go back to bed for a while.” Emily stood up. “You’re going to like Sinclair.  I know you will.”

Janet forced a smile.

Halfway to the door, Emily turned around.  Janet looked up.  She moved her index finger back and forth and nodded solemnly.  But she also made a mental note to tell Billie to keep an eye on this Dreyfus Sinclair – whoever he was.

Friday – Part 4