Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

‘It's not Saltburn,' Jasper tells me. ‘Fear not, you won't be seeing me dancing naked through the parlour to "Murder on the Dancefloor".'

‘I bloody hope not,' I laugh, though I don't think he realises that having a parlour is not very normal for most people. In fact, the only time I hear that word used in everyday parlance is when it refers to ice cream or funerals. This may not be Saltburn but this place is Moormount House and oh my life, it feels like all those country houses my mum used to take me to when I was little for afternoon tea, the sort of house people get married in, not live in. I'm almost too scared to move, to touch anything. I might break an antique that I can't replace. I pull my bag towards the room that adjoins Jasper's and peek inside. It's an oak-panelled room mainly taken up with a four-poster bed, a dresser and a large circular mirror draped in Christmas berries and fir. The curtains are heavy brocade, and there's a dark green patterned rug on the floor. I look around and head to the window to see a stunning view of the drive framed by the lake and surrounding woodland .

‘There's a bathroom down the hall,' he tells me, heading over to an ottoman at the base of the bed. ‘And towels in here.'

I am quiet, peering over the ottoman to see a variety of white cotton towels, folded in neat triangles, and a robe should I choose to wear one. I head over to the side of my bed where there's a bowl of Christmas-scented pot pourri. I pick it up to smell it.

‘How many bedrooms are there, Jasper?'

‘Twelve.'

‘Oh.'

He stands there waiting for me to pass judgement but I have nothing. Every little moment of this house blows me away. The giant Christmas tree to the main atrium when we walked in could compete with the one we saw in the concourse in Waterloo. There was a grand piano in there, a suit of armour, huge paintings of landscapes hung to the walls. ‘You're in the East Wing,' Carmel said. Their house has wings. Do you know what I own that has wings? Sanitary towels. I walked in and there was a man there who bowed to me. I didn't know what to do so I hugged him and wished him a Merry Christmas.

I sit on the edge of the bed, looking around at the grand cornicing of my bedroom, and a painting that may or not be an original Turner.

‘I mean, I expected an en suite at least. This is disappointing,' I joke. He joins me on the edge of the bed and laughs. ‘Jasper, this is insane. We always joked about this and you always told us off.'

‘It's because I don't live here. I live in a maisonette in Golder's Green,' he corrects me.

I pull a face trying to get my head around that. He constantly complains about that maisonette and its faulty plumbing. He could live here and commute in. We could all move in with him and take a wing each. It would be awesome .

‘That's how the story gets all complicated. None of this is mine,' he says, putting his arms out.

‘None of it?' I question, noticing a sadness in his eyes. ‘Surely at some point, it will be?'

‘No,' he continues. ‘I was the bonus child that no one saw coming after my dad remarried. My father's first wife's family never really approved of me or my mum so they went out of their way to ensure we would never inherit the estate,' he tells me.

I don't quite know how to reply, it feels steeped in scandal but I also feel the weight of the emotion behind his words. ‘Oh. Is that allowed? But your mum, she's so nice.'

‘She's the bloody best.'

I put a hand in his. I have so many questions. But for now, there's something there that speaks of some disappointment for his mum, and perhaps his family not being as united and traditional as hoped.

‘I am sorry for all the times I may have mocked your poshness,' I tell him.

‘Oh, I am sort of posh. I went to a private school. I know someone called Tarquin.' I laugh. ‘Posh, just not rich like you may have assumed,' he informs me.

‘The man before who met us at the door, the one I hugged. I'll assume that wasn't a relative,' I ask quietly.

‘That was Philip, the head butler.' I don't say a word. ‘The estate has a team and yes, that includes butlers, maids and two groundsmen.'

‘Are they called Mellors and Willie? Is Willie Scottish and angry when people park on the grass? Does Mellors walk around with a shotgun and rabbits hanging off his neck?'

‘I feel like you're mocking me now, Maggie,' he says, nudging me with his elbow.

‘What do I do? Do I tip the butlers? Should I have brought them gifts? Will they turn down my bed? Draw me a bath?' I ask.

‘Oh, you're being serious,' Jasper replies. ‘You watch too much Downton Abbey . They mostly clean, do the laundry and accept delivery of the Ocado shop.'

I laugh under my breath. He's that sort of posh.

‘Fill your own bath, make your own bed, please. You won't wake up and find staff standing at the end of your bed waiting to dress you.' I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved but I also realise that apart from Philip and another gentleman who insisted he carried my bags, I've only met his mum, the rest of the people milling around have been decorating, hoovering, delivering glassware for tonight's party.

‘So can I ask where is everyone? Cressida, Albert, your dad? Maybe young Miles?' I enquire tentatively.

‘You are funny…' he says, plainly, still not really comprehending why I'm so excited to meet him.

‘Jasper, you have a boyfriend you never told me about,' I moan.

‘Well, do I look like the sort of person who'd have framed couples pics on my desk?'

‘Well, no…'

‘We're quite a low-key couple, you know? And remember when I told you about the old-fashioned relatives when we were on the train? Sometimes it feels like a safer option to protect ourselves from their opinions.'

I nod, trying to piece together what he means, about how he asked me for a favour on that train of my discretion. I salute him to show him I silently understand what I have to do this weekend. Complicated. I think I get what he means now.

‘The others will show their heads eventually too. Dad is napping before the party. Cressida is driving in from Fulham. You will hear Albert and his family before you see them. I have earplugs if you need them. I'll leave you alone now. You can start getting ready if you want. I am going to unpack and then make a cup of tea? Sound like a plan?'

‘Sounds perfect,' I tell him. ‘Jasper?'

‘It will be in a mug. We don't get the good china out for the commoners,' he jokes.

I giggle. ‘What I was going to say is that I'm glad to be here.'

He'll never say anything like that back, but he smiles and nods his head, going to his room, and closing the adjoining door, leaving a small crack of space open.

I don't quite know what to do with myself so I lie back on my bed and notice the carvings to the frame. Such is the problem with work and possibly men but I'm not the nosy sort to really delve into their family backgrounds. I did think I knew them all reasonably well, but none of them display photos at work and their social media is limited to memes and, in Jasper's case, political rantings on Twitter. They all have their own stories, they exist in these complicated dynamics and I suddenly feel grateful for my own mum and dad. We lived in a three-bedroomed semi in West London, just us three, and it all felt bound together tightly with love and appreciation for each other. I suddenly miss it. I feel grateful for the simplicity of it all, us sat around in our living room, eating fish and chips off our knees, watching Pointless . I can imagine Dad's face if he'd pull up to this place. It's nice and all but what's your electric bill like? I get out my phone and scroll through to the family WhatsApp group. Their last post to me was in some restaurant in Oslo where Dad was waxing lyrical about the herring.

Love you both. Hope you're both safe, Send me pictures xxx

The message is read straight away and three dots appear. However, a picture appears that maybe they should have kept to themselves. They seem to be in some sort of sauna, hot spring situation, some lengths of greenery protecting their modesty. I laugh heartily.

We're naturists now. It will save us so much money in clothes and laundry. Love you more beautiful xxx

I smile, perhaps thankful now that I'm not there with them. They are living their best lives and maybe that's the best Christmas gift they can give me. I scroll through my phone again. I really do need to text someone else, don't I? Have I left it too long? Should I have called? I am not quite sure what to say or how to open it… Hey, I saw your wang. Wanna chat about that? Obviously, no. Maybe We need to talk? Too serious. Last night was funny, eh? Too flippant. I take a deep breath and type.

Hey x

I sit there for a moment to see if it gets read, whether he replies straight away, not knowing if I'm willing him to be on the other end of the phone or hoping he'll pretend none of it ever happened. But nothing. I hope he's OK. Maybe the ‘hey' was too casual. It screams, ‘let's do it again' like I'm treating him like a booty call. I lie there on that opulent bed thinking about last night. Like he is in life, Leo went straight to the point, he knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted to do it, and there was some surprise that he even had that vocabulary hidden away inside him. I think about the sounds he made, how I was fixated by his thighs, the lowness of his Northern tones like whispers in my ear.

Not now. I exhale deeply to compose myself. Now is certainly not the time to be entertaining those thoughts in a guest bedroom, on this hugely regal bed. I've never had a bed with posts and a roof before. I always assumed they were for people who needed curtains for a bit of privacy and warmth, and the posts always felt a bit kinky. I get up and explore the room a bit more, opening drawers and cupboards and opening my bag to maybe put some things away. There's a glass bowl here. Is that to wash my face or is it a chamber pot? I line up bottles of moisturiser and get out my red dress to air it properly before wearing it again tonight. I'll have to find Philip and ask him for some Febreze. I hang it on the curtain rail and as I do, I see a car pulling up outside. It's a fancy Chelsea tractor style Land Rover and five people emerge from it, one of whom puts her arms out to welcome everyone who stands there in awe, looking up at the place. She wears a quilted gilet, knee-high riding boots, a pink shirt, pashmina and sunglasses and if I were to take bets, I would say this is Cressida. I stand there surveying them all from behind the thick brocade curtains. This material is lovely. I hold it to my waist. It feels like something a Tudor queen would make into a dress she'd wear to court. However, I suddenly also hear a voice next door.

‘Did you drive, was it busy?' Jasper says. I stand there still behind my curtain, spying through the small crack of the door at the hinge. It's Jasper in an embrace with another man. The other man is in a wool overcoat, chinos, blond hair and glasses. Much too young to be his dad. He's not part of the group that just arrived with Cressida. They hold the embrace, patting each other's backs before kissing each other and then parting. Hold up. That's Miles?

‘All good. Gave me a moment to grab some last-minute gifts too,' he says. ‘I got my mum that pepper mill she wanted.'

‘Excellent,' Jasper replies.

I notice Miles staring at my door, excitedly. ‘Is she next door? Can I meet her?' he asks.

Oh, shit.

‘I guess.' The door opens and I imagine Jasper pops his head through to look for me. I sit on the windowsill behind the curtain, perfectly still, tucking my feet into the rungs of the radiator. Oh dear. Hello, Jasper's boyfriend! I was sitting here pretending what these curtains would look like as a gown. Like Maria bloody Von Trapp. I'd look like a bloody loon. I don't know why but I hold my breath like I'm underwater.

‘Guess she must have popped to the loo,' he says. ‘Let's wait for her to get back.' They both come into the room, circulating it. Oh, shit. If I hide here any longer, they'll assume I've gone for a number two which is almost worse.

‘Do you remember we used to come in here and…' He doesn't have to finish that sentence for me to imagine what they got up to in here.

‘We were very bad,' Jasper says, his tone deepening. This is not good.

I spy a gap through the curtains and see them both sit on the edge of the bed. I should look away but whereas I thought they were about to get inappropriate, I see Jasper's hand in Miles' and I get a shade emotional to see them engaging in something so sweet. Jasper, this is proper companionship, it's super lovely.

‘Why are you nervous?' Miles asks him. ‘Your leg is shaking.'

‘It's because you're meeting Maggie. She's special to me. I just want this to go well.'

I sigh to hear Jasper talk of me like that, my heart swelling to know that me meeting his boyfriend would bring him anxiety like this.

‘It will, you muppet. I'm immensely likeable.'

‘This is true,' Jasper tells him, as he kisses him on the forehead and rests his head on Miles' shoulder.

‘Hello!' a voice weaves through from the other room. It's haughty, shrill like some sort of alarm.

Jasper and Miles both part ways quickly, jumping to attention.

‘Cressida, we're in here!' Jasper's voice hollers. I see his cheeks flush with colour.

The door swings open and through the gap in the curtain I see Cressida standing there, hand on the door handle.

‘Oh, balls. Carmel said that you got here first and bagged the good rooms. Are you and your friend sharing?'

‘Hello to you too, Cressida. Season's greetings,' Jasper replies. ‘No, I have the room next door.'

‘I told my friends they could have the view of the lake,' she says, petulantly.

‘Well, you'll have to tell your friends differently,' Jasper tells her plainly, and they stand there and eyeball each other.

‘Miss Cressida, the Hunter's Lodge is available if you and your friends wanted to stay there?' Miles tells her.

‘I thought Albie was staying there with his crew?' she says.

‘I think Mr Albert wanted to be closer to the house so we could keep an eye on the children during the party tonight.'

‘Is the hot tub working?' she asks.

‘It is,' Miles replies.

‘Then bingo bango. Excellent. I'll tell the troops. You back for Christmas, Miles?' she asks him.

‘Yes, I'm staying at the cottage with my mum and dad.'

‘Well, can you tell your father I may have run over a badger on my way in. It was that or a cat?' she says.

‘Yes, Miss Cressida.'

How do you run over what possibly could have been a cat and then drive off? But I try and piece together who Miles might be. Is he the groundsman's son? Jasper, that's not a relationship, that's a whole novel with saucy bits.

‘Is she here then? This girl you've brought. You never bring people here,' she says suspiciously.

‘She's in the loo.'

‘Is she a girlfriend?' she says in enquiring if cruel tones.

‘No,' he replies plainly.

‘Thought as much. Little Jaspy with a girlfriend doesn't really compute. '

Crumbs, this feels like another sister that wants a slapping. I sit back to control my anger but as I do, I slip back hitting the window. No no no no no. Maybe they didn't hear that. I hear silence in the room. They did.

‘Is that the robins flying into the windows again?' Cressida says.

‘Possibly,' Miles says.

And for no other reason than me being a complete idiot, I make a strange bird sound, a very meagre cheep. There is silence again. If it was a bird, you wouldn't be able to hear it would you? It'd be outside.

‘Maggie?' I hear Jasper's voice ask.

I want to cry. This is the worst first impression any person could make. They'll exile me. Maybe I can pretend I'm a ghost. This looks like the sort of place that has a resident ghost. Can I open the window? Could I jump down onto the gravel? I think I could make it. But instead, I emerge from those curtains, literally falling off that windowsill as the three people in that room look at me curiously, Jasper with a rather large grin on his face.

‘God, this house is massive, isn't it?' I say flustered. ‘Got completely lost in there.'

Jasper and Miles start giggling but Cressida looks very unimpressed.

‘Bathroom?' I ask them.

‘Down the hall, Miss Maggie,' Miles tells me.

‘Thank you. Lovely to meet you,' I say, shaking his hand, my cheeks burning with too much embarrassment to look him in the eye.

‘You too, Miss Maggie,' he replies gleefully before I take my leave, possibly doing a light curtsy before I run off.