Page 39 of Christmas Spirit
He had to check, he had to make sure, he—
“Mr. Fletcher Jones.”
Roland swung around.
Nicholas stood in the doorway, holding a large tea tray. The old man, for once, wasn’t smiling. His eyes were sad, their normally twinkling blue muted and dulled. But there was something else there, too. Assessment, appraisal. A tingle shimmered down Roland’s backbone. Yes, appraisal, and he was found wanting.
“Do you know where Georgie — Mr. Forrester — is?” Roland croaked. “I’ve not seen him since this morning and I was wondering—”
“He’s not left.”
Roland flinched. The other man had read his every thought.
Nicholas set the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It was set for two, but Roland didn’t think Georgie would be making an appearance, to drink tea and make small talk.
“I doubt Mr. Forrester will be joining me.” Roland nodded towards the tray.
“No, I doubt he’d want to.”
Roland started. Nicholas’ mild words were a hard slap across his face.
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nicholas said nothing as he sat down and calmly poured two cups of tea.
“He’s a sensitive soul, young Georgie. He tries to not let it show, but he doesn’t always do a good job of hiding it, as I’m sure you’ve found out. Please, I’d like you to join me.” Nicholas indicated the cups.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roland said, his throat dry and his voice rough, as he lowered himself onto the sofa. He ignored the tea as he stared at Nicholas.
The old man tilted his head to the side, but his piercing blue eyes never left Roland’s.
“Life hasn’t been kind to him. He never had the best of starts, and his opportunities have been limited. He has ambitions to be a chef, which you know about. But he’s just the lowly kitchen boy, abused and despised by all. He tries so hard, but nobody will offer help, or a crumb of encouragement, to give him a start. People can be so very cruel, don’t you think?”
Nicholas’ words sliced deep into Roland’s chest, every one a cut from a rapier.
Cruel? Yes, people could be cruel. He’d been cruel.
“He’s told you all this?” Roland said, his voice raspy.
“Oh no, he doesn’t have to. But it’s easy enough to see if you take the time to look. He’s lost and unhappy, more so now than ever, because he caught a glimpse of what happiness looks and feels like. Just a glimpse, before it was snatched back from him. A little warmth and sunshine, before the world turned cold and hard again.”
Nicholas’ gaze shifted, moving from Roland and settling on the window behind him.
“No, Georgie’s not had much happiness in his life. He’s alone and he’s lost and he’s struggling. He needs help. But he’s not the only one, is he? Because you’re unhappy too. You’ve been unhappy for so long.”
“What? How dare you…” But Roland’s protest died and faded as the truth of the old man’s words reached into his soul.
Unhappy. He’d been unhappy and alone and cut off from everybody around him for so long, he’d forgotten what feeling whole and complete could be like. Yet hadn’t he felt that with Georgie? But fear had grabbed at him and pulled him back, whispering with its foetid voice that it couldn’t and wouldn’t work, that he was putting himself in danger, he was opening up, he was making himself vulnerable and weak.
“It doesn’t have to be like before.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ice filled his stomach.
“Oh, I think you do know, Roland. May I call you Roland?”
“I—”
