by
Aimee
(aimeed@earthlink.net)
The muffled conversations stopped as I passed through the swinging door from the kitchen into the dining room. The children looked at each other and giggled, and Maxwell cast me an amused look as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips and drank.
"So, Ms. Babcock," Nanny Fine said pointedly, smiling as I took my usual seat near the end of the table. "You decided to join us for breakfast. You arrived right on time. If you'd waited any longer, you might not get any." She smiled at her own wit and leaned over to plop something orange and mushy into the mouth of her little girl. My husband was feeding some similar slop to the little boy. Both babies appeared to be doing more spitting than swallowing. Oh, the age-old dilemma.
"Oh, I doubt that will ever be a problem," I replied with an equally wicked smile. "Being married to the butler, I find my service has improved dramatically."
"Yes, I'm used to indulging her insatiable appetites by now," Niles said with a sly smile, giving me a warm intimate look. I gave a little shiver as one of the footmen placed a plate before me.
"Give her another egg and don't let her have another cinnamon roll," my husband added sternly. Niles left off feeding the baby to come and supervise my breakfast. Ever since we found out I'm pregnant, he watches every bite that goes into my mouth to make sure it's perfectly cooked, nutritious, high in protein, low in fat, yet couldn't even remotely be construed as diet food. It's gotten so I don't know which I want more, a dish of Haagen-Dazs Rum Raisin or to go on a damn diet. Suffice it to say, I no longer have even a nodding acquaintance with Lean Cuisine. In another couple of months, I won't even have a nodding acquaintance with a waistline. At two months pregnant I haven't actually gained any weight, but my body is changing and redistributing itself in a way I find quite disturbing.
Niles chose my doctor himself, female of course (No other men will be prodding around in his wife's private parts, thank you!), and a total dictator like he is. I've got an eating plan, an exercise plan, a set schedule of how many hours a day I may work and how often I must rest. Of course, somehow I don't think it was the doctor who ordered pelvic exercises involving heavy breathing.
"It's good exercise for when you're in labor," Niles informed me primly when I pointed that out.
"Right. And you bought the silk scarves in case I end up on bed rest."
"From your mouth to God's ears," he replied, casting his eyes hopefully to the sky.
A small cough came from across the table. The little girl (Grayson? Greta?) gave us an imploring look. Maxwell, too, glared pointedly at the newlyweds corrupting his innocent child's mind.
Niles smiled at me, and I knew the argument would be resumed most delightfully in the privacy of our third floor suite as soon as the decorators left for the day. Or maybe in the maze when the gardeners went on coffee break. Hey, they need their stimulants, I need mine.
Just then, a maid I'd never seen before, and who was far too young, attractive, and leggy for my taste, entered. Eyes demurely cast down (oh please, like we haven't all done that shy-girl act!) she said, "Mr. Niles, you're wanted on line three."
"I'm just wanted," he bragged as he passed my chair, resting his fingers briefly on my shoulder. The maid was about to follow him out, when I snapped my fingers.
"Yes, Ms. Babcock?" she inquired.
"Um, ah," I made a pinwheeling motion with my hand.
"Annabelle," she said politely.
Annabelle? Ha! She's no more French than my Gucci pumps. "I'm a little chilly. Would you fetch my sweater from the divan in my sitting room?" Coincidentally the opposite direction my husband went.
Annabelle looked in disbelief out at the ninety-five degree California morning, but turned obediently. I glared at Fran, who glared at Maxwell, who looked innocent.
Niles chose that moment to return. As he took a seat beside me and a footman brought him a plate, Fran demanded, "Who hired her?"
Both men looked at each other desperately. "He did," they chorused.
"Well which one of you wants to get rid of her?" I inquired.
Silence.
Two forks stole under the table and two husbands yowled for mercy at the same time.
"I do!" they yelled.
"And those," said Fran, "were the magic words that mean, 'No more maids!'"
For once, we agreed on something.
Niles appeared in the doorway to the office. "Someone to see you, Caca."
I looked up. "Who is it?"
"Your husband. Can you spare a moment?"
I crossed the Aubusson rug to slide my arms around his neck. "Since when has it ever taken just a moment?"
His blue eyes twinkled back at me. "So how's that carpet burn healing?"
"Better than your rope burn," I smirked.
"And that jaw ache?"
"All gone, just like that snotty little maid. And your backache?"
"A thing of the past, just like that gardener who had "Chippendale" on his resume."
I pouted. "You said you wanted to see me, Niles. What exactly did you want to see?"
"In fifteen minutes I want to see you upstairs for your afternoon nap."
"How about now, for my afternoon workout?" I coaxed, toying with his tie.
Niles grinned and led me to the old comfy green sofa. "Any time, babe, but now I actually need to talk. It seems I need to take a little trip to England, something to do with my uncle's estate."
Now I really pouted. "I thought it was worthless," I scowled. "Except of course for the entertainment value of seeing you working at Krispy Kreme to pay off the bills."
Over Niles' insincere protests, I'd paid those bills for him long before our wedding. Dating the Oxford-educated butler was one thing. Dating someone who works at a doughnut shop was quite another. Besides, I had an absolutely delicious time making him work off the debt. He still owes me three hours, but I'm saving it for a special occasion.
Niles smiled at my jibe. "I'll be going to London the day after tomorrow and staying with my family. Can you free up your schedule to accompany me? They're dying to meet you."
I hesitated, looking at the day planner lying on my desk. "I really wish I could, but Maxwell and I have a meeting with the studio heads on Thursday about the casting of the sitcom, and I really must be there." Family. Ugh. Thank god I have a legit excuse.
Now it was Niles' turn to pout. "They were going to have a big party that night for my brother's birthday and I was hoping to introduce you. I haven't walked in with a blonde nympho on my arm since my Oxford days."
I rolled my eyes. "Up until me, I doubt you had a blonde nympho on anything else."
"Don't bother to come inside, I just did!" was my husband's parting shot as I lay in a stunned heap on the backseat of the limo, which had just pulled up outside the airport. I didn't bother to reply except to give him a long, passionate kiss.
At the last moment, I caught his trenchcoat as he went to open the door. "Hurry back, Niles."
He returned for another kiss. "Not going to miss me or anything?" he asked in a low, rough tone, skimming his skillful hands over my barely clad body.
"Of course not," I murmured against his lips. "But someone's got to sew the buttons back on my sweater."
Niles gave me that crooked endearing grin of his and left while he still could. Out the back window, I could see him standing on the curb with his suitcases looking after the departing car. He looked as forlorn as I felt. We'd only been married three weeks. We never even got a honeymoon, and already we'd have to endure a separation of at least a week.
I set about restoring some order to my hair and clothes during the short ride home. Then, I determined to enjoy a few days away from my husband's dietary vigilance.
At home, Nanny Fine was more than ready for an ice cream binge. Post-partum depression had seized her with unexpected force, partially due to the fact that it would be another month before she and Maxwell could resume "normal relations," yet she had to live with two newlyweds and their foibles. As she put it, "I can't even take a shower without finding you two steaming up our bathroom."
I jabbed a spoon viciously into the Rocky Road. "Bugger," I muttered. How was I supposed to engage in girl talk without suspecting my husband of listening at the door? It just wasn't natural.
I threw myself into my work, staying up night, day, and naptime preparing for our presentation on Thursday. It would have driven Niles nuts, but Maxwell, similarly frustrated, did as much work as I did for once in his life.
It was six thirty in the evening on Wednesday and we proudly surveyed the presentation we'd prepared regarding our proposed cast.
The telephone rang. Maxwell got it first. "Sheffield Bab -- oh, hello. Yes, yes, all ready. No? I'm sorry to hear that. Of course. Yes, I'll speak to you in a few days. She's right here. I'll let her know." He hung up the phone. "That was Culver. One of the execs has been taken in for an emergency appendectomy and wants to reschedule tomorrow's meeting for next week."
"Next week!" I howled. "But we've been killing ourselves getting ready for this. We're ready to move on this deal now!"
"Well, we can't hold the bloody meeting in a surgery! Look, it's not a disaster. In fact, think of it as a vacation. Niles is taking a holiday, why shouldn't you? CC? CC, where are you going?"
Obscenely early the next morning, I was boarding a Concorde for Paris. The four-hour would get me to De Gaulle Airport at three in the afternoon. Two hours later, I'd be fighting London traffic in a rented Jag. Assuming Niles' family kept informal hours, I'd be there just in time for supper. Tonight was the birthday party for his brother Alasdair.
I'd never understood the thrill of Paris except as a single woman in a country of sex addicts. Now married and hurrying to my husband's side, I wasn't sorry to miss the city as I raced to catch my connecting flight. To my mind, foggy London was much more romantic. There was something so intriguing about that British reserve, and I loved the proliferation of sixteenth century architecture. I've never really had a religious experience, but I came close the first time I stood in the shadow of Westminster Cathedral.
It probably would have been easier to hire a limo, but my impetuous flight across the ocean had left me feeling reckless. A sports car just suited my mood.
I slowed down as I entered the quiet middle-class suburb of St. John's Wood. The car's built-in navigational system got me there in no time. I didn't even have time to be nervous until my car purred to a stop a block away from my destination. Dusk was just becoming twilight as I switched off the ignition and surveyed my surroundings.
I couldn't get any closer. There must have been thirty cars on that street, many parked haphazardly at curbs and in neighbors' driveways, and I could see several people wandering singly and in groups toward one house. I could hear the music and laughter from half a block away as I swung my overnight bag over my shoulder and started resolutely forward.
I hadn't taken ten steps before my feet dragged. What was I doing here? I didn't want to face Niles' family alone. What if he was out? What if they just didn't like me?
I was dressed in an expensive designer suit, and everyone around me was wearing "church clothes." My jaguar stuck out among the dozens of more practical minivans and family-size sedans. Everything about me screamed, "You don't belong."
I scowled. I did too belong. The ring on my left finger was my admission ticket. Bravado had carried me into the highest levels of New York corporate society when I was just twenty-two, it would certainly carry me through one in-law's birthday party.
Nevertheless, as I approached the front door alone, my hand rose and fell three times before I finally had the guts to knock.
Someone opened it at once. At first, I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it was Niles. But it didn't take me two seconds to notice that the hair was blonder and the figure not quite so trim and youthful. Also, his eyes were hazel, not that piercing blue.
I could see the surprised assessment in his eyes. Then, he smiled. "Are ye here for the party, Miss?"
His accent was public school and just faintly cockney, not Niles' cultured Etonian tone, but still rich and deep and pleasant. I found myself smiling. "Yes. Actually, I'm here to see Niles."
He laughed a booming, deep, friendly laugh. "There's quite a few o' those around here, Miss. Can ye be more specific?"
"The one who's butler to Maxwell Sheffield."
He cocked his head, a thoughtful look coming over his face, but no response was forthcoming.
I tried again. "The one who just got married to a rich blonde floozy named CC." Knowing Niles, that should work.
That rich laugh spilled out of him again. It was so loud I stepped back a bit. He opened the door wider and swept his hand inward. "Please come in. He's in the parlor tellin' tall tales about the lady just now. May I take your bag and coat?"
I handed him my bag and he put it in the closet. Then, I swept off my hat and sunglasses and shrugged off my tan trenchcoat.
He gasped as he got his first good look at me. "Ms. Babcock?" he asked. Clearly I wasn't what he expected.
"CC," I said with a smile. Max had always complimented my ability to be "sincerely insincere," and I was working it to the hilt now. "After all, I can tell you must be a relative. You look so much like him."
"Alasdair Niles," he introduced himself, shaking my hand.
"Then I should be wishing you happy birthday!" I said.
"It is now!" he replied flirtatiously, and in his hazel eyes I saw a flash of similarity to my Butler Boy. "Go on, he's in there. What can I get you to drink?"
Iced tea is a heresy in this country, so I told him, "Just water will be fine. I can't drink, you know." I patted my stomach and smiled up at him. There's nothing like a baby to bond people.
His jaw dropped. "That old dog! He never told us! Go on in, I'll get you some lemonade."
I thanked my new brother-in-law, and as I found myself left alone in the front hall, I looked around me.
Typical of the English townhouse, the staircase to my right was perilously steep. Down the hall, Alasdair had disappeared down a staircase into the kitchen, and to my left, I could see and hear the noises of a party spilling out of several rooms. I moved toward the nearest.
Feeling unaccountably shy, I stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene. At least fifteen people stood talking and drinking. A number of children tumbled about on the carpet. It was overwhelmingly noisy and crowded, and I was about to withdraw when I saw him.
Niles sat backwards on a piano bench, his voice carrying over the other conversations. Most of the people in the room were listening to him.
One little girl with dark hair caught back in a ponytail sat at his feet, enraptured as he held up her little hand and said with melodramatic flair, "And last week when we went to the theater, she wore a diamond necklace the size of your thumbnail, Riana!"
"And pretty dresses?" Riana asked.
"Dozens of them! She and Mrs. Sheffield both. Their closets are like rainbows of silk and satin and velvet."
One of the women heaved a deep, longing sigh. Again, self-consciousness swept over me. Niles' tales were emphasizing the deep differences between us. Suddenly I wondered if my mother had always told me to keep to my own kind not out of prejudice but to avoid this very discomfort. Instinctively my hand went to my stomach as I thought of the little bridge between worlds growing inside of me. I didn't want to place that burden on my unborn child, but perhaps it was her destiny. Evidently, odd and intimidating as it was, this was my destiny too.
"But Niles," protested an older lady with his eyes and a faint French lilt to her voice (his mother?). "You've been telling us what a pain in the bum she is for years."
A tall, slender, dark-haired man of perhaps forty chuckled. "Why do you think they're such a perfect match, Aunt Laure? I say more power to her if she's got to put up with him. Poor thing's got no choice but to be a spitfire with him for a husband."
Niles chuckled deeply. Little Riana evidently didn't want to hear about what a pain in the bum I was. "Tell me again how beautiful she is," she begged.
Niles leaned forward to tweak a lock of her hair. "Very well, but you must promise never to tell her I said so. She's an egotistical wench just like you, Riana." He sighed. "But she is very beautiful."
"Eyes like sapphires?" jeered one of his audience members.
"Hair like golden silk?" continued another.
"Breasts like -- " someone slapped a hand over the speaker's mouth and pointed to the children.
"Skin as pale and smooth as cream," teased a fortyish woman with curly dark hair. "Niles, my dear, I think you exaggerate."
Behind me, Alasdair's voice boomed out, "Come now, Diandra, why don't you judge for yourself instead of talking about the lady as if she wasn't here?" He handed me a glass of lemonade as twenty pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at us.
Niles whirled about, his eyes locking with mine. He rose to his feet and crossed the room swiftly. I set my glass down on a sideboard and flung myself into his arms, to be swung around and around and very thoroughly and explicitly kissed.
"Ahem." Beside us, Niles' older brother coughed delicately. We broke apart, and I felt a silly grin on my face. I could see a matching one on his, and he let his hands rest at my waist. Unable to resist after two days apart, I let my head rest on his shoulder, and I felt his lips brush my hair.
Niles turned to face his audience. "Right on cue like the master producer that she is, may I present my wife, CC Babcock." I smiled nervously, my stomach fluttering, as all twenty people tried to shake my hand or kiss my cheek at once.
Just as the pack of attacking relatives subsided, talking amongst themselves, another wave blew in from other parts of the house, attracted by the pandemonium. I found myself pulled from my husband's side and passed from sibling to uncle to niece to cousin for more hand shaking, cheek kissing, and to my utter shock, a bit of bum-pinching as well! I whirled around, intending to chew my husband out for goosing me, but discovered to my alarm that he was on the other side of the room, and I decided I was probably better off not knowing who the culprit was.
Finally, my husband came to rescue me. "Back off, you rabid dogs, she's not a chew toy." Niles slid a protective arm around my waist and led me away.
Under the cover of chatter from all around us, he drew me into a corner, whispering, " Darling, what are you doing here? I thought you were in California!"
"My meeting got cancelled," I answered, "so I hopped a Concorde to Paris and a connecting flight to London. I got in a couple of hours ago."
Niles frowned in gentle concern. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Breakfast on the Concorde," I admitted. "I've been literally running all over the world since this morning, and what with the time change, I just haven't had time."
"Well, let's go to the kitchen. It's pretty much catch as catch can at these parties, sort of like the booze at a Babcock family reunion."
Only one woman was in the kitchen when we got there, and she was bent over a pot. "Mother," Niles said, "I've a surprise for you."
The woman turned. It was the one who'd commented on what a pain in the bum Niles said I was, and she smiled. "Now who's your lovely friend, Niles? Does your wife know about this?"
Niles grinned. "Maman, this is my wife. CC, I'd like you to meet my mother."
"Laure," she said with a smile, coming to embrace me. She smelled just like I thought a mother should, of scented powder and cooking herbs. This evidently wasn't a tall family. Laure was only around five four. With heels, I was five ten and one of the tallest in the house. "I'm so glad to meet you. You're everything Niles bragged to us that you are."
"Especially the part about being a pain in the bum," I jibed. Both Niles and his mother threw back their heads and laughed.
"Mother, is there any chicken left, and maybe some potatoes? CC hasn't eaten all day."
"You've got arms, young man." Laure waved at the kitchen table. I'd rarely seen so much food in my life. "Fix her a plate. Here, dear, sit down. You look like you're about to fall over."
Niles was soon back with my plate. Laure took a seat across from me as I picked at the fried chicken, potatoes, and vegetables Niles handed me. "Now if you're a good girl and eat your meat and potatoes," he told me, "You may have a big slice of cake for dessert as soon as it's ready."
Laure raised an eyebrow. "You don't strike me as the kind of lady who takes orders from a man, CC," she teased a little reproachfully.
"There are extenuating circumstances," I hedged, not sure if she knew of my condition.
Niles massaged my shoulders lightly with his hands. "May I tell her?" he asked me.
"Go ahead. Perhaps she'd let me ask her advice on a few matters." I smiled at Laure, who suddenly sat straight up in expectation.
"You see, Maman, it seems my wife is in a delicate condition." I looked up at Niles and saw the proud smile on his face. Like most men, he seemed to regard the event as a great tribute to his own incredible studliness. Well, it was in my best interests to let him keep on thinking that way.
Laure's eyelashes trembled with tears and she embraced me. "My dearest CC," she said, misty-eyed. "How long?"
I could all but telepathically sense the outrageous remark my husband was about to make regarding his length, so I elbowed him. "About two months," I replied. "In all likelihood, it'll be a Christmas baby."
"How delightful! Forgive my asking, dear, but is your mother -- able to be present?" From her careful tone, I wondered what she knew of my family. Very little, I surmised.
"No," I replied proudly, head high. "I doubt she'll be attending the event." She hadn't acknowledged my existence since the wedding
Laure held my hands comfortingly. "Then perhaps you'd allow me to. A woman shouldn't go through it without another woman."
With Laure still holding my hands, Niles wrapped his arm securely around me. "I'll be there too, every moment," he promised. "Except of course when I'm at a bar getting really smashed because I'm scared out of my mind."
I could only smile as I tried to assimilate the strange experience of feeling cared for. CC Babcock had never before been anything but alone.
That night, Niles and I retired to a second floor bedroom. I suggested a hotel since the place was so crowded, but Laure insisted. Before we went, Alasdair and Niles engaged in some good-natured ribbing about how it was just Niles' luck to end up sleeping with someone so much prettier than Alasdair, who he'd been sharing a room with until now.
"Bloody goes to Eton and University and suddenly the birds can't keep their hands off him," Alasdair grumbled admiringly. I was surprised. Evidently Niles was unusually educated for his family. As a college-educated businesswoman in a family of debutantes who married right out of school, I could sympathize. I could tell the two brothers cared for each other, but they were just from different worlds. Niles' was the land of Shakespeare and sophistication. It showed in his clothes, accent, and manners. Alasdair was a great guy, but nonetheless a simple working class man. Perhaps as servant to the Sheffields, Niles had truly advanced above what he might otherwise have done.
Not for the first time, I felt ashamed of the way that I treated him when I first learned of his love for me, and pride that as my husband, this amazing man could finally live the life he deserved. He was educated, intelligent, witty, handsome, generous, and he was all mine.
Later that night, we finally got some peace and quiet alone in our tiny room. "At last we are alone, so I can have my way with you, the way I want to!" Niles leered at me, twirling an imaginary mustache. I gasped and pretended to faint dead away onto the couch.
Dropping the pretense, Niles lifted me in his arms. "I'm so glad you came to me," he whispered, carrying me to the bed.
Lord knows how much noise we must have made, but before long I was in no doubt about just how glad he was.
We were awakened by a knock on the door. "Niles," shouted a female voice. "It's bloody ten o'clock! Aren't you ever getting up?"
"I am up," he muttered sourly, too low for anyone but me to hear. "That's precisely why I'm not out of bed."
"What?" called the voice.
"Diandra, how bloody much do you need spelled out for you?" Niles roared. "We'll be down in a while."
There was a beat. "He's coming, Mother," shouted Diandra. I didn't hear what Laure called up the stairs, but Diandra's response was, "I sincerely hope not."
Niles groaned. "Now I remember why I went away to boarding school. At least with thirty boys in one room we had the courtesy not to comment on what we were all doing under the covers."
I stared at him, wide-eyed. "Do you mean to tell me, they're all downstairs talking about us -- us -- you know!"
"Indeed I do, and no they're not -- downstairs."
"Oh, that's right, this is your family." I rose out of bed and slammed a fist against the door by the keyhole hard enough to make it reverberate. A loud "Yeow!" came from outside. I then dropped Niles' shorts over the keyhole and returned to bed, ignoring the scuffle in the corridor outside.
Unfortunately, it was a misfire. I creeped my fingers up my husband's bare chest, to no avail. I toyed with the hair at the back of his neck, to no result. I slid my hand under the covers, but while his flesh was more than willing, the butler wouldn't indulge.
"I'm sorry, my darling, but I simply cannot do it knowing that my sister and mother are in the same house speculating about our marital relations."
"Jesus. And I always envied people with normal families. I think I like mine dysfunctional." I hopped out of bed. "Get up."
"Why?" Niles swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his dressing gown.
"We're moving to a hotel. I can try this family thing, but I will be damned if it's going to mess with my sex life."
As I reached for some clean clothes, Niles wrapped his arms around me from behind. "And what will we do at the hotel?" he asked seductively.
I whirled, arms folded across my chest. "Well, I can't tell you with your mother in the house!" I replied.
The End
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