Twenty-eight:
The More Things Change…
Christmas was hell. Absolute hell.
Harry oversaw everything, from the installation of the traditional fifteen foot tree in the main foyer to the stringing of the fairy lights in the windows on the lower levels of Kindwell House, feeling hollow as he did. He followed cursory instructions on an old, folded piece of paper that had small holes in it from moths that had been left him from his father; the traditions that had been passed down since just after the conclusion of the second World War, when they'd been in danger of losing everything. The house was mired in tradition and ritual, and now it was his place to continue where his father had left off.
Ruth came down the staircase and saw him sitting on the floor in front of the giant Christmas tree, looking up at it sadly; her face was a blank mask, but he knew she pitied him his broken dreams and fractured reality. Since his father had died, he could count on one hand the number of days he had spent with Ruth and Portia. Mostly because Ruth and Portia were in the city and he was stuck out in the boonies, trying to hold together the estate in the aftermath of the Earl's passing.
Now he was the Earl, and god knew how he was going to hold it all together.
"It looks lovely," Ruth said softly. "You picked an amazing tree."
He looked up at her tiredly. "We tried," he said softly. "How was the trip up?"
"Long," she said gently, settling onto the floor beside him, looking up at the tree with its gleaming silver decorations and scarlet velvet ribbons and the dichroic glass star at the top. "Portia's in with Mrs. Whatley, helping with the biscuits." She leaned into him and he felt the beginning of a smile on his lips. "Catherine and Joe will be here tomorrow with the kids, and Graham and Sarah on Christmas Eve."
"We've been gathered together too many times recently," he commented sadly. "And apart far too much, as well."
She put her arm around his back, gently holding him in her wise, sweet Ruth way. "I've missed you," Ruth said very softly. "Talking on the phone isn't the same as being able to tell you what an arsehole you're being."
Harry bit back a laugh. "God, I love you, Ruth," he said, voice low and weary when the mirth had passed. "I don't know if I can do this. I'm going mad already. Nothing is right; I don't remember so many things, and the traditions are so important –"
"So we make new traditions that are rooted in the old ones, but are more modern," she said gently. "I love the tree, by the way. It must have taken you ages…"
"All afternoon," Harry acknowledged with a sigh. "The tree arrived this morning, and it took a bit to get it set up properly. My father always supervised the Christmas tree, from the time he was a boy – my grandfather made it my father's most important holiday job. And after the tree, the village fete." His voice trailed off. "There isn't a fete this year. Because of my father's passing. So that means next year's will have to make up for the lack of one this year… I'm in so far over my head."
"You're doing just fine," Ruth murmured.
"I would be doing better if you and Portia were here." There it was: the elephant in the room. He felt badly for having said it at all, but it was the truth. And after so many years of lies, he was entitled to a few truisms. Wasn't he?
"I think we all would be much better off if we were together," she said quietly, snuggling up against him. "Aren't we a bit old to be sitting on the parquet floor, moaning about what shitty lives we have?" she teased in a gentle tone. "Especially when Mrs. Whatley has mulled wine and sugar biscuits in the kitchen?"
"I love you," he repeated, wanting her to know, if nothing else, that those words were ever so true.
"I know you do," she murmured. "But it's far more comfortable off the floor than on it," she teased.
"We have another tree arriving tomorrow for the sitting room," he commented. "I'd like you and Portia to decorate it. We'll start a new family tradition."
She looked up at him and smiled. "Just being here, with you, is a new family tradition," she whispered. "Last year, we put up a little white tree on the table in front of the front window and didn't even put any decorations on."
"Well, this is slightly better than a little white tree with no decorations," he teased softly. "I love you, Ruth. I'm sorry I'm not exactly good company."
She gave him a gentle kiss and murmured, "Come on – let's go get some wine and biscuits before our daughter eats them all."
He let her pull him to his feet and they walked together to the kitchen. Portia was propped up at the table with her current book, a glass of milk, and an array of sugar biscuits.
"Now, it's been a while since I've seen you," Harry said, getting her attention, "but I think you've grown just a little bit, sweetheart."
Portia smiled over at him. "Hi, dad," she said. "We had to go shopping because all my jeans are too short now. Mom was a little mad, because it's right before Christmas, but we found some."
Harry smiled at Ruth and said, "I'm sure she was a bit upset. Shopping during Christmas season is brutal, love."
Portia nodded. "I know," she said. "It was awful, daddy."
Mrs. Whatley stifled a laugh. "Christmas shopping around here is a lot friendlier than down London way," she commented.
"Of course," Ruth said with a small smile. "But being dragged out on a Saturday for trousers during Christmas season is not exactly my idea of a good time."
Portia finished her biscuit and slid off the chair. She rushed over and gave Harry a big hug. "Can we go out and walk in the snow tomorrow?" she asked. "Mom said if you don't have anything important to do, we can."
"There is nothing more important than going for a walk in the snow with you, Portia," Harry said softly. "I've missed you and your mum something dreadful."
Portia smiled and gestured for him to bend down to her level. He did, with difficulty, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "We're here now," she announced cheerfully.
"You are," he agreed, kissing her back. "But it's getting late…"
"Yeah, I'm sleepy," Portia replied. "I'm going to go up to my room and go to sleep if that's okay."
"Of course it's okay," Ruth said. "You've had a long day; school and the trip up. And you want a good night's sleep if you and your dad are going out tomorrow."
"What, you're not coming?" Harry said.
"I've got a few things I have to do," Ruth replied. "Nothing dire, Harry – wipe that look off your face."
"It's Christmas," he protested. "And it's meant to snow more tomorrow, so getting the tree for the sitting room might just be all we get done before the others arrive."
"I'm still on-call," she sighed. "We'll talk about it later, okay? Right now, it's time to get Miss Portia here off to the land of Nod."
Portia smothered a yawn. "I'm on my way," she mumbled.
"Good girl," Harry said gruffly. "Would you like me to read to you tonight?"
"Yes, please," Portia said, stifling another yawn.
"Well, we better hurry up, then, or you'll be asleep in no time," he teased. He glanced over at Ruth. "I'll be back shortly. And then we'll talk." About things. Everything. Nothing. Things.
Ruth was finishing up going over the Christmas Day menus with Mrs. Whatley when Harry came back to the kitchen. "We had a lovely curry tonight," he said, making the two women look up from the list of possible puddings. "I assume you didn't eat anything much on the way up – I can reheat some of the leftovers…"
"You'll do no such thing, m'lord!" Mrs. Whatley gasped. "Can you imagine what people would say about me not doing my job if they ever found out?"
Ruth bit back a giggle as Harry looked incredibly perturbed and frustrated. This new life of idleness clearly wasn't doing him any good. "It's fine, Mrs. Whatley – I'll just have a couple more biscuits and another glass of wine before bed," she assured the housekeeper. "And before you say anything, I'll be helping you turn down the guest rooms tomorrow."
"I would be grateful of the help, m'lady," Mrs. Whatley said, "but you mustn't put yourself out on my account."
Harry grunted and said, "Why is it you accept her help with no qualms, but my help is unwanted?"
"Because you're His Lordship, and you're not meant to help," Mrs. Whatley shot back irritably. "You probably couldn't make a bed if your life depended on it –"
"I was in the Army," he pointed out unnecessarily.
Ruth held up a hand. "Enough," she said. "Harry, you can help turn down the beds if you want, but I think you'd be happier out in the parkland with Portia, looking for the perfect Christmas tree."
He looked grumpy for a moment, then sighed. "You're probably right," he muttered.
She gathered up a plate of biscuits and grabbed her glass of wine. "Okay, time to retreat upstairs," she said firmly. "So we can get some rest."
"Rest is the last thing on my mind right now," he groused.
"M'lord!" Mrs. Whatley exclaimed.
"Harry!" Ruth cried. Though, truth be told, she wanted him just as much as he obviously wanted her… but to say so in front of the help was incredibly rude and inappropriate. And god knew Mrs. Whatley was already head and shoulders above everyone else in the 'judging Janet Pearce' competition.
"All right, fine," he huffed. "We'll go upstairs and rest." His emphasis was unsubtle at best and coarse at worst.
Ruth rolled her eyes and gave Mrs. Whatley a suffering look. "Yes, dear," she said. "Good night, Mrs. Whatley – I apologize for my husband's behavior."
Harry grunted something inaudible, but most likely damning, and possessively put his arm around her waist. "Let's allow Mrs. Whatley to wash up, darling," he said pointedly, almost dragging her out of the room.
They were barely halfway up the first flight of stairs when he plucked the tray of biscuits out of her hand and set it down on a very expensive-looking marble sideboard. He took her wine as well, leaving it with the biscuits, and pulled her into a room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, he locked it, and pressed her up against the door. "My god, Ruth, how am I supposed to behave myself –"
She bit back a laugh and kissed him back. "Harry, where are we?"
"Home," he said simply, smiling a little. "The master suite."
She blinked. "Your father's –"
He shook his head. "My father's room was downstairs after he stopped being able to manage the stairs. It's been empty for… god… fifteen years or more." He met her lips again, and she wanted to protest, but didn't have it in her heart to care much more than that. She was enjoying the feel of him, the solidness of the door behind her… and she wished they were both much younger for the first time in years. He saw the change in her face, however small it was, and Harry whispered, "What is it? What's wrong?"
She swallowed hard and whispered back, "Just… I don't want to lose you yet."
He blinked, clearly not expecting that. "I'm not going anywhere, Ruth –"
"No, I know, but… intentions and things that happen are two different things and everything is so fleeting – god knows Cotterdam hammered that into me more than you can ever understand," she said quietly. "And our age difference means that it's more likely I'll lose you –"
"I am not going anywhere," he promised softly. "Mrs. Whatley has instructions from my cardiologist and she's making changes to the house diet on her recommendations. I'm taking my pills. I'm… bloody hell, I'm going out and exercising with the dogs," Harry blustered. "I'm trying to take care of myself, Ruth, because the last thing I want is to leave you and Portia before I'm old and infirm."
"Oh, Harry," she whispered, cupping his face in her palms like she'd done so many years before on the docks, waiting to go away forever. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
He blinked, momentarily stunned. "I've surely said something that means more than that –"
"No," Ruth breathed. "Nothing will ever mean more than that, Harry. Nothing." She drew up on her tiptoes and kissed him firmly. He eventually pulled back to breathe, and just watched her for a long moment before he took a step back.
"We're too old to make love against a door," Harry pointed out. He took her left hand gently in his and pulled her through the alcove, pausing long enough to flick a switch and pull the velvet curtains back so they could proceed into the main bedroom. It was larger, even, than their suite in London. The bed looked so tiny amidst the sheer enormity of the room.
Ruth paused, then said, "Is that… that's the bed from your house. Isn't it? Harry?"
"Call me a sentimental old fool," he said very quietly, "but I couldn't get rid of the bed we first made love in, could I?" Harry paused, then added, "Of course, I bought the best mattress money could buy because, well –"
And her things, all of her books and trinket boxes and –
"I emptied your house myself," he said quietly. "It's all been in storage till my father died, and I thought…"
Ruth was on the verge of tears, and his stumbling, bumbling excuses made her launch herself at him without warning, propelling them both onto the bed till they were horizontal. She was squarely on top of him, and his eyes were wide as she began to kiss him like her life depended on it.
What he would never know… never understand… was that he had handed her back her life. Moreso than even having her name back could ever have done.
And she was so happy she could burst.
"Janet, Janet, Janet!" Gracie cried, running through the corridor to fling her arms around Ruth. "Oh my gosh, I gotta tell you something super cool!"
"What?" Ruth asked, hugging the little girl for all she was worth. "Did you have a good trip up?"
"Uh-huh! We're moving to London!" Gracie exclaimed. "Mom and Mr. Joe are getting married and we're going to live in his house in London."
"Gracie!" Charlie yelped. "You weren't supposed to tell! Mom's going to be really mad –"
"Jan, Jan!" Maisie cried, chugging along the hall with her doll in hand. "Hi!"
"Oh my goodness," Ruth said, really to everything from Gracie's surprise announcement to getting mauled by three children in rapid succession. "Where's your brother?" she asked Maisie.
"Daddy's mad at him 'acause he frew candy on the helichopper," Maisie said. "So he's being talked to." She paused, then smiled. "You're gonna be my granny, Jan."
Ruth welcomed all three girls into her arms and murmured, "I am very grateful to be your grandmum, then."
"Where's grandpa?" Charlie asked. "He's supposed to be here now –"
"He and Portia went out with the dogs for a walk," Ruth said with a smile. "They'll be back very soon – they will have seen the helicopter and will be making their way back now."
"You gots dogs?" Maisie asked.
"They were granddad's dogs," Gracie said. "But they're grandpa's dogs now –"
"They're good dogs," Ruth assured the littlest girl. "They'll just lick you and cuddle you."
Maisie paused, then nodded. "Okay," she said very softly. "Can I call you granny?"
"You can," Ruth murmured. "All of you can. Or grandmum. Or… whatever."
She looked up and Catherine was nearby, clearly having overheard part of the conversation. "I see someone's spilled the beans," Catherine said, smiling a little.
"It was me," Gracie admitted quietly.
"It's okay," Catherine assured her. "Where's dad?"
"He and Portia took the dogs out," Ruth replied. "They'll be back soon." She picked Maisie up and said, "But why don't we go into the kitchen and see if Mrs. Whatley has some biscuits and hot cocoa?"
"Oh, yes, please!" Maisie cried.
"Did someone say biscuits and cocoa?" Joe asked as he led Billy over to them. "I think a nice spot of tea sounds lovely, myself… Hello, Jan. That's quite a Christmas tree you've got over there."
Ruth smiled and said, "That's just for show. Harry and Portia went out this morning and chose a lovely tree for us all to decorate tomorrow when Sarah and Graham arrive."
"Oh, goodie!" Gracie cried. "I love decorating the tree!"
Ruth nodded and smiled. "I know you do –"
"You're here, you're here!" Portia shrieked as she and Harry came inside. She didn't take off her parka or her boots, just ran over the tiles, slipping a little, to embrace Charlie. "I missed you so much!"
Harry hung back, shedding his heavy boots and greatcoat and passing them passively to Alison. He caught Ruth's eye and smiled a little, quicking the corner of his mouth up. She smiled back. "We're just about to go have drinks and biscuits," she called to him.
"I'll have a spot of tea and no biscuit," he called back. "I've got to attend to something, but I'll be in in five minutes."
Ruth knew that by 'attend to something', he meant making sure that the dogs were properly fed and watered. "Of course, love," she replied.
Billy looked up at his dad and said, "Can I help Mr. Harry, dad?"
"If you want," Joe said, "and if he'll let you."
"Come on, lad," Harry said with a smile. "You can meet Daisy and Dominic, then, and give them their bones."
"Granny, I want a biscuit," Maisie complained.
It took about five minutes to get everyone into the kitchen and squared away with tea (or cocoa) and biscuits, and Catherine came over to lean against the counter with Ruth. "We are happy," Catherine said. "Joe and I, I mean."
"He's good with your girls," Ruth replied, watching him interact with the four girls at the table. "I'm glad you're happy."
"I'd like to tell dad that we're getting married, though," Catherine said softly. "He'll flip his bloody lid if anyone else does it."
"Oh, no, he'll flip his shit if anyone but you tells him that you're pregnant," Ruth commented dryly. When Catherine recoiled and stared at her, she simply said, "Peppermint tea and no biscuit."
"Ah, well, it's early days, so best we not mention it in case…" Catherine said very quietly. "But I will tell him, yes. And we're moving back to Britain soon." There was a moment of silence between the two women, then they both laughed. "God, who'd have thought a year ago when we were eating Hot Pockets on Christmas Eve because Charlie and Portia made supper that now you'd be the Lady of the Manor and I'd be marrying Joe, of all people."
"A year changes everything," Ruth murmured, smiling. "By the way, Hot Pockets and three bottles of wine with my best friend was the best Christmas Eve dinner I've ever had." She reached over and held Catherine's hand for a moment, then let go. "I just can't get over that I'm a grandmother by proxy. It still weirds me out a bit."
"You're a good one, though," Catherine said with a chuckle. "I assume you didn't let dad buy the Christmas presents?"
"Oh no, I've been scooping things up," Ruth replied with a small smirk. "It was all delivered last week. Harry doesn't even know the gifts are here, as I've talked Alison into hiding them."
Harry and Billy came into the kitchen, and Billy yelled, "Dad, Mr. Harry has big dogs!"
"Oh he does, does he?" Joe said. "How big?"
"Bull mastiffs," Harry said. "A breeding pair – they were my father's. We've got a litter of puppies due in a couple of weeks, actually, if you need a guard dog."
"I might take you up on that," Joe replied.
Ruth held up Harry's cup of tea and he came over to take it from her hand – as well and give her a kiss. "I love you," he murmured in dulcet tones. "So… how was the trip up? It's gotten bloody cold…"
"It has," Catherine agreed. "And this area is meant to get more snow tonight –"
"Yes, it will be a bloody travesty if your brother and Sarah don't make it up for Christmas," Harry said, his voice dropping with a bit of disappointment. "God knows your mum tries to get her claws in everyone for the holidays…"
"Yes, but she's had how many Christmases with us?" Catherine said. "And now you're more settled and all, the kids want to spend time with you."
"I want to spend time with them," Harry replied.
"Good," Catherine said. "So you'll be pleased that the girls and I are moving to London, then."
Harry spluttered, nearly spitting out his tea. "What?"
Catherine shrugged. "My show's ending in May and I think it's time we come home," she said.
"Well… I don't know where we'll put you all –"
"Dad," Catherine said, holding up her left hand, "you don't need to put us anywhere. Joe's got plenty of room. You know that."
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered. "Give a bloke a heart attack, Cate –"
"You'll give us your blessing, then?"
Harry paused, then exhaled. "You're an adult," he said, finally, "and you don't need my blessing. But if it makes you feel better… you have it."
"Good," Catherine replied. "So you'll be grandpa to Maisie and Billy, too."
Maisie hurried over with biscuit crumbs and chocolate around her mouth, and she threw her hands up in the air. "Granny, I want a hug," she insisted loudly.
Ruth immediately stooped down to the little girl's level and hugged her tightly. "There you go, love," she said, and the little girl scampered back to her father.
Harry smiled, just a little, catching Ruth's eye. She smiled back.
Life as they knew it was changing, but everything was still fundamentally the same: they loved one another with a ferocity that would never go away.
END PART TWENTY-EIGHT
