October 1953, Boston, Mass.
Moving in to Charles' town house proved to be something of an adventure in itself for Ellie. She found he'd already had one of the bedrooms redecorated and refurnished for Beth, with a brand new nursery room next to it filled with toys.
"Honoria chose the wallpaper," he said, "And Mrs Brunson helped with the toys. But if there's anything you want to change, you'll let me know won't you?"
Ellie couldn't help but feel a little aggrieved that Charles hadn't consulted her about it, but she had to admit that she couldn't see anything to find fault with. And after all, it was rather touching that he'd obviously spent a good deal of money on a child he had only known about for just over a month.
"It looks perfect," she said, truthfully.
Charles guided her back along the corridor. "There's a bathroom across the hall, another bedroom here – one here – another one here, though it's turned into something of a junk room, I'm afraid. And along here –" he turned a corner and Ellie followed, finding a short flight of stairs leading up to a door on the left, "- is the master bedroom." He opened the door, led the way inside. "En suite facilities are through that door."
"And behind these?" Ellie pointed at the two sets of double-doors set into the opposite wall.
"Walk-in wardrobes. I've had your things put in the one on the right."
"Charles, just how many bedrooms do you have?" Ellie's head was spinning.
"Do we have," he corrected, gently. "Uh... five here, counting Beth's. Not counting the servants' quarters. I'm afraid the décor in here is a bit austere. If you want to brighten it up a bit, I'll give you the interior decorator's details. The study needs finishing too."
"Yes, I noticed the bare walls in there – looked liked there'd been cabinets and pictures at one time?"
He nodded, leading the way back downstairs and into the study again. "Till I got back from Korea, I had gun cabinets along there." He pointed at the wall beyond the desk. "And up there, I had a butterfly collection that my cousin Alfred had been trying to persuade me to part with since I was twelve. I was so proud of it." Folding his arms, he leaned back against the edge of the desk. "When I got back, I didn't want to see another gun as long as I lived – and I couldn't see any beauty in death." He closed his eyes for a moment and Ellie stepped closer intending to offer comfort; but after a second or two he straightened up and continued to talk as though he was absolutely fine. "So I sold the Purdeys, and gave the butterflies to the Museum of Natural History."
"I thought you said your cousin wanted them?"
He gave a twisted smile. "He did."
"Oh. Okay." Ellie remembered that Alfred had not been sent an invitation and decided not to pursue that one right now. "So the result is, you need the room redecorating," she said, briskly.
"Yes. The desk stays, the chair stays and the bookshelves remain untouched. Otherwise – do your worst!"
The redecorating kept her busy for the next few weeks, while she also learned to cope with running a house full of servants. She had thought that everything would just happen and the staff would know what needed to be done, but she soon discovered that that wasn't the case.
"A lot of the time, suh...staff behave as thought they don't have a brain between them," Honoria informed her, when Ellie telephoned in desperation one afternoon. "The best thing you can do is m...make friends with the housekeeper."
"Mrs Hall?" said Ellie, "I don't think she approves of me. Whenever I talk to her, I end up feeling like the second Mrs de Winter!"
Honoria giggled. "Well, I don't think you need to w...worry about her burning the house down. Don't worry about Mrs Hall – she just t...takes a little getting used to. And remember, you're a Winchester now – don't s...stand any nonsense from her."
"Yeah, well, being a Winchester takes a little getting used to too," said Ellie, "But thanks for the advice. Honoria, there's something else I need to ask you as well, if you don't mind?"
"Of course I don't, w...what is it?"
"Well, the redecorating's almost finished, and I'm sure once I get the hang of giving orders to people the place will run quite smoothly."
"Yes. So what's the p...problem with that?"
"Honoria, I have no idea what I'll do! I mean, there's Beth to look after and play with of course, but I can't do that all day every day, as much as I love her. What on earth do you do?"
"Ah! Yes, I do see your p...problem. Tell you what, come round for coffee t...tomorrow morning. I'll invite a few friends and we'll see what we can come up with."
"Will your friends come if they know I'm going to be there?"
"Oh yes, don't worry. I'm afraid my suh...single acquaintances still haven't quite forgiven you for s...snaffling one of the most eligible bachelors in town, but the young marrieds have moved on to gossiping about Samantha Rowe, who's just run off with her father's horse t...trainer. You'll be quite safe, I promise. Bring Beth."
Honoria was as good as her word. Beth was a great hit, and made some small friends of her own; and before long, Ellie found herself caught up in a whirl of coffee mornings, lunches, charity work, and swapping advice with other young mothers. She stopped worrying so much about what people were saying when she went out with Charles and was able to start to relax and enjoy the music, art and literature that Boston had to offer.
If she had believed that Charles loved her, she'd have been quite content. But she couldn't help but notice that he put in some very long hours at the hospital. Was that her fault, she wondered, or would he have been pulling those hours anyway? True, he never gave any overt indication that he minded the situation they'd gotten themselves into – it was just that the more she loved him, the more she worried that he might come to resent her.
With Thanksgiving approaching, her anxiety only increased. It was supposed to be a time for family, for the different generations to get together in celebration, but here Charles was, his first Thanksgiving on home soil for three years, and he wouldn't be spending it with the parents he obviously loved.
"I'm not going over there without you and our daughter," he'd said, stubbornly, when Honoria had phoned them with a message that Charles would be welcome to drop by their parents' house, "In any case, I'll be working Thanksgiving."
"Working...? Oh, great! When did you decide that?" Ellie had been kneeling beside Beth, but gave the child the teddy she'd been holding and jumped to her feet.
"People get sick all the time, Ellie, not just office hours," he said, defensively, "Someone has to work over the holiday and I thought it might as well be me. Beth isn't old enough to care whether her dad's home for Thanksgiving or not."
"Didn't it occur to you that I might care?" said Ellie, "Didn't you think to ask me whether I'd invited people over, maybe, or...or planned us an outing or something?"
"Uh...no." He looked sheepish. "Have you?"
"No. I had this crazy idea that it would be nice for us to spend our first Thanksgiving together... together. Play some records maybe, listen to the radio – take Beth to the park if it didn't rain. Just..." She realised she'd raised her voice top a pitch that was upsetting Beth, and took a deep, calming breath before going on, quietly, "I just wish you'd asked me is all. Now what am I supposed to do? It's too late to start thinking of inviting anyone over – everyone else'll have plans already." Frowning, she dropped onto a chair, folded her arms. "I should have known you wouldn't think of putting me first."
"Ellie, that's not fair! I can't help it if I'm busy can I? Be grateful I'm not on call twenty-four hours a day any more!"
"You might as well be, for the amount of time I see you! When you are here you're with Beth, or working in your study – where do I come in to the picture?" She knew she was being unfair, but she was too annoyed about Thanksgiving to care. "Look, I'm sorry I messed up your life, but marriage was your idea, remember? And last I heard..."
She stopped mid-sentence, as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Mrs Hall, who had come to tell Charles that he was wanted on the phone: "It's the hospital, sir," she added.
He rushed off to take the call, and the housekeeper turned to follow, but Ellie, in a moment of inspiration, called her back. "Oh, Mrs Hall?"
"Yes, madam?"
"Doctor Winchester and I have been – ah - discussing plans for Thanksgiving, and as we won't be entertaining this year, we'd like to give you and the staff the day off to go spend with your families."
"All the staff, madam? Including cook?" Mrs Hall looked a little stunned, and Ellie half-expected her to say 'the first Mrs de Winter would never have allowed that!'
She smiled, determined not to betray even a hint of her quarrel with Charles. "Certainly including cook, Mrs Hall. So long as all the provisions are in the kitchen, I'm sure I'll be able to cobble something together."
"Well! Thank you, madam." Mrs Hall's face was suddenly transformed by the first smile she had ever bestowed upon Ellie. "Will there be anything else?"
"No, Mrs Hall, thank you, that'll be all for now," said Ellie, feeling that she might finally have made a breakthrough with her starchy household supervisor.
"I have to go." Charles stood in the doorway, pulling on his coat and scarf. "Lives to save, if that's alright with you."
"Charles," she said, "I didn't mean..."
Ignoring her, he crossed the room to lift Beth up for a kiss. "Bye, sweetie," he said, and was gone before Ellie could say anything more.
Ellie sat on the sofa in the music room, nursing a drink and listening to Madam Butterfly on the record player. She was surrounded by luxury: velvet cushions, Persian rugs, original oil paintings, beautiful ornaments, a Steinway piano, and a collection of orchestral recordings that would have put Juilliard's Music Library to shame.
She'd never felt more miserable in her life.
She thought she'd done with crying but, when the front door slammed and she heard Charles talking to the butler in the hall, she found tears welling up again. She dashed them away and drained her drink – but couldn't look round when she heard Charles come in and close the door behind him.
"Eleanor, I am sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to make you feel... It's just... I'm so used to trying to be by myself, you know? I'm still getting used to my job as well as... as well as you. This having to think about others is still kind of new to me." He took her empty glass from her, sniffed it and put it down on the table. "Whisky and a suicidal soprano? Not exactly the best way to cheer yourself up," he went on, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.
"Who wants to cheer up?" she said, grumpily, bracing an elbow on the arm of the sofa and propping her chin on a hand.
"Ellie, what do you want me to say?" He sat down next to her, put a hand on her shoulder, "Look, I can't do anything about Thanksgiving, but I will take a couple of days off next week and... we can do those things you had planned. If you still want to." He sighed. "Or, I could just refill your glass and leave you to wallow, if you'd rather?"
Ellie bit her lip, as a smile threatened to surface. "What would you know about wallowing?" she asked, defiantly.
"Got a sister, haven't I? I learned a long time ago that when she locked herself in the music room with a supply of sherry and Dido's Lament, she was looking forward to an evening of abject misery."
"Good. You understand then," she said. Damn him, he'd succeed in making her laugh in a minute if she wasn't careful!
"Good Lord, I wouldn't pretend to begin to understand!" he said, "I merely know how to recognise the symptoms!" She didn't reply, and after a moment he got to his feet again. "I'll go look in on Beth."
"Charles, wait!" she called, as he made for the door. She shrugged. "Apology accepted," she added, quietly. "When you've checked on Beth, maybe we can sort out somewhere to go on your days off?"
"Can we do that over dinner?" he suggested, hopefully, "I'm starved!"
Ellie suddenly realised that she was hungry too – and no longer in the mood for Puccini. "I'll get that sorted out," she promised, "While you're upstairs."
November 26th 1953 – Thanksgiving
"Mmm, looks good," said Charles, tying his tie as he wandered into the kitchen and leaned over Ellie's shoulder to look at the eggs and kippers she was cooking. "I may fire the cook."
"There's four slices of burnt toast in the bin says you won't," said Ellie, dryly.
"Wondered why it smelled burnt. Beth still asleep?"
"Yep. And speaking of sleep – are you alright?"
"Perfectly. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Don't give me that 'I'm fine' routine, Charles. I was there last night when you woke up screaming, remember?" She looked around at him.
"I remember you administering first aid," he murmured, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.
Ellie felt her face grow warm with a heat that had nothing to do with the stove. "Never mind that," she said, "I asked if you were okay."
"And I told you I'm fine," he insisted, "Ellie, I can't expect to not have nightmares occasionally. I'm just grateful they don't happen more often."
"Wish there was something I could do."
"There was, and you did," he grinned, making her giggle and blush again. "And those kippers are done."
She slid the eggs onto the two slices of toast she had managed not to burn, added the fish and handed him the plate. "I'd better go check on the baby," she said, "While you get yourself around this. Oh – you'll have to eat in here," she added, "I haven't had time to set the table in the dining-room."
She expected him to protest, but he just laughed and sat himself down at the kitchen table. "That'll teach you to give everyone the day off," he said, "Just thank your stars you haven't had to hand-pump the stove."
"Huh?" She gave him a quizzical look, suspecting there was a story behind that remark, but he didn't elaborate, concentrating on his food. "Hey, I'm putting an egg on for Beth," she said, running water into the saucepan and dropping in an egg, "D'you think you could watch for it boiling? Needs timing for three minutes when it does."
As she went out the door, she heard him protesting, "But that's not how you boil an egg!"
"So sue me!" she called back, heading for the stairs.
She heard the doorbell ring as she was washing Beth and hoped Charles would answer it - she had her work cut out with the baby, who was fractious and playing up. It took Ellie much longer than usual to get her cleaned, dressed and changed. "You would pick this morning to be difficult," she chided, sucking her thumb where she'd stuck the safety pin into it. "Damn' saucepan will have boiled dry, and your daddy'll sit there and let it. Come on!"
Carrying Beth downstairs, she met Charles in the hall, putting his coat on. "Egg done?" she asked.
He snapped his fingers. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten," he said, kissing the baby and picking up his bag. "Oh, by the way," he added, as he opened the front door, "There was a...uh...special delivery for you while you were upstairs. You'll find it in the kitchen. Bye!"
The door slammed behind him and Ellie trooped through to the kitchen, expecting to find some sort of parcel on the table and a room full of steam. Instead, she found Brandy Doyle nursing a coffee cup, in front of a plate of buttered bread 'soldiers' and an egg-cup that was covered with an egg-cosy. The saucepan was in the sink. Ellie wasn't sure what surprised her the most.
"Brandy!? Oh my goodness – what... how?"
"Hi, hon!" Brandy jumped up to give the both of them a hug, "Surprise eh? Charles called me – sent me the airfare and everything. Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Charles... Wait, did he do this?" Ellie pointed at Beth's breakfast.
"Well, I sure didn't," said Brandy, "I thought you had."
"Here – take care of her for a second, will you?" said Ellie, handing her Beth and running back through the hall. She wrenched the front door open, saw Charles was driving the car around from the garage, and hollered his name.
The car ground to a halt and he wound down his window and looked back at her. "Yell a little louder, I don't think they heard you in Harvard," he called.
"Charles Emerson Winchester," she shouted, as though his window was till closed, "I think I'm gonna marry you!"
He gave her one of his schoolboy grins and a wave, set the car moving again. Ellie watched him go, then realised it was too cold to be standing outside in her dressing-gown, and hurried back into the warmth of the kitchen.
Brandy had managed to install Beth in her high-chair and was taking a crack at the egg with the butter-knife.
"I always use a spoon," said Ellie, suiting the action to the words, "And bash the top in first. Boy, would you look at that – cooked to perfection. How'd he do that?"
"Honey, I thought you had staff to do that," said Brandy, "And to answer the door too, come to think of it."
"It's my own fault," said Ellie, with a smile, "I gave everyone the day off. I wasn't expecting to have a visitor to entertain."
"Aw, Ellie, this is me, Brandy! If there's any entertaining to be done around here, I'll be the one doing it – right?"
"Right," grinned Ellie, spooning a little of the egg into Beth's mouth and handing her a slice of bread and butter, "Hey, how about I get my new accordion out later, it's high time it got an airing."
"Oh, that'll be fun," said Brandy, pouring them both more coffee, "Assuming I can remember any songs that you'll be happy for me to sing in front of Beth, that is!"
The day passed quickly while they played with the baby, reminisced and sang a few duets. When Charles walked into the drawing-room and picked up Beth to give her a 'hello' kiss, Ellie was surprised to find that it was already nearly 6 o'clock.
"Oops. And I didn't start dinner yet," she said, scrambling to her feet.
Charles held up a hand, his sigh stopping her in her tracks. "Ellie, do you know how long a turkey is supposed to be in the oven for, before the risk of contracting food poisoning from it is reduced to zero percent?" he asked.
"Uhh...um...ah...." she guessed, sitting down again.
"Thought not. Brandy, you are more than welcome to stay for dinner – so long as you don't mind not having turkey," he offered. "Ellie, stay here and keep our guest happy. I'll go and see what's in the fridge."
"You taking Beth with you? She'll be in your way."
"Not in her high chair she won't." He gave Beth another kiss. "Come on with me, small one, and watch a master at work."
"He sure loves that kid," said Brandy, as the door closed behind him.
"Yes he does, and she loves him right back. Kinda makes me feel guilty that I didn't tell him about her sooner."
"You did what you felt was right at the time, darlin', don't feel bad."
"That's easy to say," said Ellie, "But..."
The doorbell rang and she got to her feet again. "'Scuse me, Brandy. I guess I'd better go this time."
Honoria stood on the porch, carrying a couple of bags with exclusive store labels on them. "I can't stop," she said, before Ellie could invite her in, "Dinner's at 7.15. B...but I wanted to stop by and say 'happy Thanksgiving' and give you these." She held up the bags.
"But Honoria, you already gave us..."
"Uh-uh. These are from my p...parents. For Beth."
"What!? I thought they didn't want anything to do with her?" said Ellie, taking the bags and glancing inside at the beautifully-wrapped parcels.
"Ah. Well, that's still the suh...story they're s...sticking to with each other," said Honoria, "But last week dad g...gave me that –" she pointed to the bag in Ellie's left hand "–and told me strictly on the QT that I should s…slip it to Elizabeth when mother wasn't looking. And yesterday, mother did exactly the s...same. Hence, t...two presents. Hope they haven't both b...bought the same thing!"
Ellie grinned. "Thanks, Honoria. How long do you think it'll be before they admit to each other that they'd quite like to meet their granddaughter?"
"Well, Christmas is coming," said Honoria, "Who knows? I m...must go. Say hello to Charles from me."
She hurried back to her car and drove off with a cheery wave, and Ellie closed the door and let out a low whistle. "Well, whaddya know," she muttered to herself, "Maybe miracles happen after all."
Now that they had had the first suggestion that Charles' parents were starting to become reconciled to their situation, Ellie decided to stop fretting about them and start worrying about what to get her husband for Christmas.
Trouble was, she couldn't think that there was much he didn't already have; and besides, it still rankled with her that she would be using 'his' money to buy something for him.
"What we need," she said to Beth, as she tucked the child into her cot, "Is something money can't buy. Any ideas?"
"Dah-dee," said Beth, following it up with an equally unhelpful "Gung-gung."
"Wish I could figure what you mean by that," smiled Ellie, setting the musical mobile above the cot spinning, "It doesn't come close to anything I recognise as English!"
She waited by the cot till Beth showed signs of dozing off, gave her a gentle kiss and tiptoed out.
Downstairs in the music room, she sat at the piano and began to play the Moonlight Sonata, while her mind turned over the Christmas present problem again. She was halfway through the second movement when she heard the front door shut, heralding Charles' arrival home.
"No, don't stop," he called from the hallway, when she broke off playing. A moment later he appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie. "At least finish the Allegretto," he said, "While I go say goodnight to Beth."
"You sure?"
"No – but play it anyway." He leaned against the door-jamb for a moment, hands thrust in his pockets and that familiar half-smile on his face while Ellie checked back a bar or two and resumed her playing. When she glanced back toward the door, he was gone, but a few minutes later she could hear his footsteps overhead, moving across the Nursery.
"Dammit," she muttered, drawing the movement to a close, "What the hell do you get for the man who has everything?"
And then she tidied the sheets of music on the top of the piano, saw the name Ravel in the corner of one of them – and knew what the answer was.
"You're looking very pleased with yourself," said Charles, when she found him in the study a little later, "What have you been up to?"
"Nothing – yet," she replied, giving him a mischievous smile and perching herself on the edge of his desk, "I thought I'd take Beth to see Santa tomorrow."
"Isn't she a little young to be telling him what she wants for Christmas?" he said, "She's only just mastered 'daddy'."
"Yeah, and it's going to be a while before I hear the last of that, isn't it?" she replied, leaning sideways to prop an elbow on his blotter. "I think she'll like the Grotto. Emilia Scott says they've got little puppet elves and clockwork toys and stuff."
"Mmm, sounds more fun than my agenda!" He sat back, and stretched. "I've got a deskload of paperwork to catch up on."
"Is that what you're doing now?"
"This?" He tapped the sheet of paper on the blotter under her elbow. "No. This is a – ah – variation on a Winchester tradition."
"Oh, not another one!"
"Don't be so cynical! You'll like this one."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." He mimicked her accent, drew her off the desk to stand beside him as he explained. "It's a Winchester tradition that at Christmas we give to those less fortunate than ourselves. We'd go out in the car on Christmas Eve and leave boxes of the finest chocolates on the doorstep of the orphanage or the Children's Hospital. It has to be done anonymously, otherwise it isn't a true act of Charity." He sighed. "It didn't occur to me to think about what those kids really needed, till I got taught a lesson in Korea. I left candy bars for the children at the local orphanage, and the man who ran the place sold the lot on the black market – to raise money for rice and cabbage. This - " He pointed at the paperwork again " – is for tinned food and fuel for Father Mulcahy's orphanage. I just need to make sure he doesn't know it's from me – us."
She put an arm across his shoulders and ran a finger down the side of his face. "You can really be very sweet, when you get down from your ivory tower, can't you?"
He smiled up at her, his eyes twinkling. "Don't tell anyone will you? I have a reputation to protect."
"So," said Charles, adjusting his bow tie in the hall mirror, "I am all dressed up, without the first idea where we are going. When are you going to enlighten me?"
"I told you, it's a surprise," she said, slipping into the fur coat the butler was holding for her, and taking Charles' arm as they walked out to the car, "For Christmas. Come on."
She refused to be drawn further till the car pulled up outside his favourite restaurant.
"You're buying me dinner?" he said, as he helped her out of the vehicle. "How very... liberated of you!"
"That's not the surprise," she said, as they went inside, "He is." She pointed across the room to a young man chatting to Honoria at their favourite corner table.
Charles stared. "David? David Sheridan?" He turned to Ellie, his delight written on his face. "How did you...?"
"Find him? Took a bit of detective work, starting with a phone call to Crabapple Cove to enlist some help from your friends. Then Honoria volunteered to look after him here this evening while I fetched you." She stretched up to kiss him. "Happy Christmas, Charles. I know it's not for a few days yet, but David has to fly back to Washington in the morning, to spend the holiday with his parents."
He took her hand, squeezed it gently. "Thank you, Ellie. I think that may be the nicest Christmas present I've ever had. Shall we go say 'hello'?"
"Hey, Major, great to see you again," said David, jumping to his feet and theatrically stamping his left leg, "See - good as new, just like you promised!"
"It's not 'Major' any more, David – thank God," said Charles, shaking the other man by the hand, "My name's Charles."
"Emerson Winchester. I remember." David smiled as they got seated. "I'm not likely to forget the man who saved my leg and my sanity."
"I'm just sorry I couldn't do more for your hand," said Charles.
"Oh, I manage pretty well with it really," said David, "I took your advice – managed to get myself a post as director of music at the Lafayette Philharmonic. Been there for over a year now."
"Congratulations."
"He's been composing too," said Honoria, "W...What was it you called that p...piece you wrote for yourself, David?"
"Study for the left hand and three fingers," he replied, with a grin. "Ravel it isn't, but it's a start. I'm working on a piano concerto too," he added, "I thought it might be – I don't know, cathartic? – if I tried to get the war somehow set down in music." He sighed. "Trouble is, I just can't get the third movement right. At least – I haven't got it right yet. But I will." He looked across at Honoria and smiled. "All I need is the right inspiration."
To be continued...