Page 4 of Christmas Spirit
“A fiver should do it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m giving you a lift, but I’m not a bloody taxi.”
The boy really thought he’d take his money? Roland rammed the gear stick forward, grinding the gears. As soon as he could dump Georgie in town, the happier he would be and so would Georgie, if his reflected image, staring out over the barren fields, was anything to go by.
Chapter Three
The snow had begun to fall in earnest almost as soon as they’d turned onto the road. Julia had been right, and Georgie hoped she made it home in her little car without any mishaps.
He couldn’t say the same for Roland, silent and stiff-shouldered behind the wheel. Or not until he’d dropped him near the station. After that, as far as Georgie was concerned, the guy could take a wrong turn and get lost in the snow for all he cared. If his car broke down, and he was found half-eaten by wolves months later, so much the better. Not that there were wolves in Hampshire, and not that he wished Roland to end his days as a meal for them. Georgie suppressed a sudden snigger. No, he didn’t wishthat,because he loved animals and Roland would only give the poor things indigestion. Or food poisoning.
The silence in the car was deafening. Roland hadn’t said a word to him from the moment he’d offered a contribution towards the petrol. Georgie didn’t care that Roland had said no, he was going to give Roland the fiver even if he had to stuff it up his very tight arse.
Georgie wasn’t even going to try to make small talk. It would be painful for them both, but he especially wasn’t going to when the man was treating him as though he were not there. Not that that was anything different to what usually happened, except when he was being chastised for not doing things right, or fast enough, or in the right order. Georgie champed down on his lower lip. Roland always seemed to be tearing him a strip, criticising him for not being that, for not being this, and always in front of the whole kitchen, and making him feel stupid and smaller than small. And everybody followed his lead.
Georgie glared at the back of Roland’s head. A few silver strands intermingled with his short dark auburn hair. The man was only just forty, Georgie knew, and he was already going grey. Or silver. Those telltale hairs should have aged him, Georgie wanted them to age him, but instead they made him look distinguished. Just like the small creases at the outer edge of his eyes did, which were only really noticeable when Roland smiled. Not that the man did much ofthat. But, if Georgie really, really,reallywas forced to admit it, the combination was kind of hot. But it didn’t matter how much Roland was rocking the whole silver-fox-in-training look, he was still an arrogant dick who was on a mission to make Georgie’s life a living hell from the minute Georgie walked into the kitchen at some godforsaken time of the morning, to the moment he trudged his way to his tiny attic room that was no bigger than a cupboard, bone-tired and demoralised, hours and hours later.
The snow was falling at a steady rate, coating the surrounding fields and the low hedges lining either side of the road.
They were on the main road that took them directly to town, but there was no other traffic, either up ahead or behind them. That lift he thought he might have hitched had been nothing more than wishful thinking. Georgie licked his lips, because it was better than gritting his teeth. As much as he didn’t want to be in the car with Roland, he wanted even less to be wading through the snow. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the back of the passenger seat.
“Thank you for doing this. I’m sorry if it takes you out of your way.”
“You need to be more organised. If you’re not organised, things go wrong.”
Georgie clenched his jaw. He was saying thank you, he was acknowledging he was an inconvenience, and all Roland could do was come back at him with a nasty little barb. Georgie knew it was about way more than his oversight in not arranging transport to the station.
Well, fuck you.
Georgie slumped back into the seat. Why couldn’t the man be civil? He didn’t have to say he didn’t mind, because they both knew that was bollocks. Roland could have just nodded, but instead he had to have his little dig.
Georgie stared back out at the snowy countryside, drumming his fingers hard on his knee, willing the car to go harder, faster, anything so he could jump out and not see Roland Fletcher Jones’ scowling, grumpy face for the next couple of weeks. But Roland was driving neither hard nor fast as big, fat flakes beat against the windscreen, the rapidswish, swish, swishof the wipers no match for the snow.
It would be a while before they got to the station. Georgie settled back into the soft, plush leather. The car was warm and comfortable, the purr of the engine deep and seductive, and he closed his eyes.
God, he was tired. In the last few weeks, he had worked harder than he had ever done before. Not that he was afraid of hard work, and he loved to be busy, but he wanted to be busy doing more than scraping plates clean of leftover food, washing up, and mopping floors.
He ran a thumb across his knuckles, and winced. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know how cracked and dry his hands were. Bernardo, second only to Roland in disdainful, snotty arrogance, insisted that all the wine glasses were washed by hand, but Georgie was allergic to the rubber gloves he’d been provided with. They had brought his hands out in painful welts and blisters, and he’d been forced to abandon them as he waited for the promised replacements that wouldn’t make his hands swell up like giant hams. They hadn’t materialised. Day after day, the constant plunging of his hands into hot soapy water felt like it was ripping the skin from his bones, leaving them raw and stinging.
Maybe it was time to move on from the Manor. Maybe stay in London. But life there was expensive, and with no home of his own and with nothing more than the goodwill of friends to put him up… His options weren’t just limited, they were non-existent. He was trapped. But maybe the New Year would bring a change to his fortunes, or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Ensconced in the warmth and comfort of the car, with the background drone of the engine, he could dream about a new and better life, even if he couldn’t live one.
“Oooffff!”
Georgie was thrown forward hard, and yanked back even harder, by his seatbelt, from the semi-doze he’d fallen into. They’d stopped. Were they already in town? Georgie blinked hard and looked out of the window, seeing not the shops and houses or the sign pointing to the station but—
Jesus.
Snow, nothing but snow. The fields and hedges were a featureless mass under the heavy white blanket. It hadn’t been as thick as this before he’d dropped off — had it?
Huge flakes whipped against the windows as the snowfall came down heavy and fast. Georgie had no idea how far they had got since they left the Manor, and it was impossible to know where they were, as the snow obliterated any recognisable features.
“Why have we stopped?” Georgie asked, as he leaned forward. What he saw, filling up the windscreen, answered his question.
A big red metal sign, with the wordsroad closed ahead,blocked their way. A smaller sign, next to it, was made of wood, and had an arrow pointing to a narrow side lane, with the worddiversionpainted on it.
Georgie swallowed. If the main road was bad, the back lanes had to be worse. But worse or not, they had no choice as the way ahead was closed off.
“God knows how long it’s going to take to get into town. This route will take us all around the houses. I’ll be annoyed if this interferes with my dinner reservation.” Roland swung the car into the lane.
