Episode 4 – The Nuchslep

When Maxwell Sheffield came home from his business dinner with CC at Le Cirque, he was puzzled to find his butler waiting by the door with an expression of deep reproach.

"What's the matter, old man?" he asked. "Did I misplace another handkerchief?"

Niles sighed, the sort of sigh that builds up over several hours waiting to be aimed at the proper target.

"Mr. Sheffield, do you have any idea what you do to that poor woman?"

"What, Miss Fine? But I haven't done anything!" Unless one counted snapping at her over Brighton's smoking issue, or making her chaperone Maggie's date – but really, his conscience was quite clean in that respect …

"I refer," said Niles, with an exaggerated patience just this side of being condescending, "To Miss Babcock. 'An engagement dog', she said. What have you been saying to put that idea into her head?"

Every motion as he took off his master's coat and hung it up was stiff with suppressed anger. Maxwell laughed nervously.

"Well, I certainly didn't propose, if that's what you're asking. She meant to say 'engaging' – you know, as in charming, which Chester obviously is. It was just a slip of the tongue."

"Oh, really?" Niles' sarcasm was thick enough to cut.

"All I said," Maxwell thought out loud, walking past Niles into the living room, "Was that she deserved someone to come home to … you know, someone who loves her. Then I told her to close her eyes and put out her hand so I could give her Chester's leash. I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"A. Nice. Surprise."

Niles was beyond sarcasm and into deadpan monotony. Maxwell squirmed.

"The dog was your idea," he reminded his butler. "So why'd you get your knickers in a twist about it now? Or CC herself, for that matter. She's been cool to me all evening. I really don't see why – ooh … "

The memory of CC's face caught up to him; the odd tone in which she had whispered his name, with her hand over her heart. Someone to come home to. Someone who loves you.

"Dear God," he said, passing his hand over his face to clear his whirling thoughts, "Niles, you … you don't think she thinks … you don't think I'm giving her ideas, do you? About her and me? Ideas of the romantic variety?"

Niles threw up his hands . "And the penny drops!"

"Are you serious? Because that's just … I mean, she's my colleague. A colleague who just happens to bear an eerie resemblance to my mother!"

"For some men, that would be an advantage," Niles commented, smiling slightly at last.

"Not for me it isn't!" Helen Sheffield was a dragon in Chanel, a frosty socialite who could ruin her son's week with a five-minute conversation, as both men knew very well.

"If you don't intend to give Miss Babcock ideas, sir, I suggest you watch your phrasing," said Niles. "Oh, and no more massages, no matter how tired you get. She practically melted on the floor last time."

Maxwell paused in his round of pacing on the carpet to look sharply at Niles.

"Wait a minute … that may be very sound advice, and I'm certainly grateful, but why are you of all people standing up for CC? I thought you two hated each other."

If Niles squirmed (which Maxwell had rarely seen his childhood friend do) he did it internally. Nothing showed on his round, careworn face.

"I have no explanation. Will you be wanting anything else, sir?"

"Oh, no thanks. Good night, Niles," he called over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.

"Good night, Mr. Sheffield."

Keep your secrets then, old chap. Niles and CC's bizarre rivalry was something he'd long since learned not to interfere with.