Episode 8 – Christmas Episode

This beats the record for the worst Christmas of my life, thought CC sourly, staring out the window into a pile of clouds below the airplane.

She shouldn't have knocked that Santa-suited charity fundraiser out with his own bell. The bribes she'd had to give the security guards not to arrest her were astronomical. Besides, it was not only wrong, but plain undignified – conduct unworthy of a Babcock. Saying one just couldn't help it was no excuse. Still, it was all the excuse she had.

Maxwell had abandoned her at the airport, taking advantage of the delayed flight to visit Saint Patrick's with his servants and children. Then he'd called to tell her he had sat on a vase, of all things (serve him right for giving Nanny Fine such an elaborate gift, and since when did he give presents to his staff anyway?) and she would have to travel alone. To a charity benefit. Even though she hated airplanes. Even though she'd have to charm potential donors and make herself likeable, which had always been Maxwell's side of the business. All so her handsome but deluded partner could have what he saw as a proper family Christmas. Family Christmases were overrated. Hadn't she come through her childhood perfectly well without them?

That fundraiser in his stupid costume, ringing, ringing, ringing that stupid bell … she could still hear it ringing inside her head.

The plane gave a shudder, making her grip the armrests of her seat until her knuckles turned white. She was starting to regret that last glass of wine. Even in business class, planes still made her stomach squirm. She dove for the purse under her seat and began rooting through it, searching for her motion-sickness pills. Triumphantly, her hand closed around the small plastic bottle, pulled it out and –

"Damn it, Niles!" she snarled out loud, ignoring a glare from the white-haired businessman in the seat next to hers. It had to be Niles. Who else would have replaced her pills with red and green Tic Tacs?

There was a small piece of paper rolled into the bottle, which she pulled out and unfolded. In green ink and a precise, elegant cursive, it read: Any more drugs, Babcock, and I'll stage an intervention. Merry Christmas.

She snorted, popped a handful of Tic Tacs, and resigned herself to a long and nauseous flight. All the same, the thought of Niles made her momentarily forget her grim mood. She smirked like a cat who'd found the cream. Just wait until you find my present,Rochester …

/

"Cooking For Dummies?" Niles read off the cover of a fat yellow paperback, sounding affronted as only an Englishman can. "Now where did this come from?"

"Isn't there a name on it?" asked Maxwell.

Niles peered at the golden wrapping paper he had just neatly removed. "Just mine."

"Maybe it's from Santa," suggested Gracie, still glowing with renewed faith since that broken vase had made her Christmas wish come true.

"I would hope Father Christmas knows better than to suggest – hmm … " flipping through the book, Niles paused at a particularly tasty-looking photograph of a roast turkey and was distracted by the recipe on the next page.

Well, bless my soul, he thought. Even for a professional like me, this might actually be useful. Not that I'd tell the Sheffields, after all. One does have one's dignity to uphold.

Just wait until you come back, CC Babcock …