Here's a story for you: I would just like to point out that I'm a penniless student from Wales, and I can't give you any money if you want to sue me. So please don't. Any criticism to owensmary@hotmail.com will be answered if it's not too nasty, or along the lines of "We hate what you've done, we're coming to get you...." or "Due to breach of copyright you now owe us...." I would appreciate the warning, giving me time to emigrate, etc, though. I borrowed the characters, and I return them in roughly the same condition. Well, near enough....

The Summer Holiday

by

Mary Owens
(owensmary@hotmail.com)

C.C. stalked up to the mansion's door. A year had passed since THE WEDDING, and with Maxwell and Nanny Fine, sorry, Mrs. Sheffield, away on their summer holiday with the children, C.C. had permitted herself a late start in the office. It was eleven o'clock, Saturday, and raining. C.C. hammered on the door.

"Niles! Open up!"

The door moved a fraction.

"Are you from the Betty Ford clinic?"

"No!...." C.C. thought for a moment, "not today. Niles, open the door or your rear end will become intimately involved with my umbrella - UNDERSTOOD!"

Niles opened the door, and held out his arms for C.C.'s coat. As she dropped it into his arms, he moved them, sending a particularly expensive example of Chanel couture rippling to the floor.

"Just for that, bring me a coffee in the office or I'll tell Maxwell what you did with those Playboys you, in theory, threw out from Brighton's room."

"Oh, you remembered his name."

"Shut up Niles! And find out if the vet's finished with Chester - I'm starting to miss him."

"Sexual gratification getting harder to come by, eh?" muttered Niles as he left the room to fix her coffee. C.C. watched him depart, then sighed, "You have no idea."

The holiday was going well. With a Caribbean cruise, love, and each other, Maxwell and Fran knew that they were destined to always be together. Gracie was watching Brighton trying, and failing, to chat up some girls (the last one had thrown him in the swimming pool, and Grace had had her camera on her), and Maggie was being shown around by a handsome little sailor. All in all, it was the perfect, intimate, cruise a rich family could expect.

C.C. leafed through the contract again. No, there was no way Luciano Pavarotti was getting out of this one. Finally, after years of trying, she and Maxwell had pulled one over on Andrew Lloyd Webber. A concert, in aid of homeless children. It should have clashed with the opening of Lloyd Webber's latest Broadway stint, but this was now behind by two months. C.C. had bribed, blackmailed, and threatened half of the chorus into throat infections during rehearsals, and right up to what would have been opening night. The principles might well be there, but they'd look damn silly without a supporting cast. C.C. smiled -- Maxwell didn't actually have to know what her expenses actually were, after all.

Draining the last of her (now cold) coffee, she glanced around the room. Photographs colonized most of the walls. There were many of Max and Sarah on their wedding day. Even more, these of Maxwell and Fran with the children, festooned the flat surfaces.

C.C. eyed a bottle of whiskey, then a pile of reports, receipts, contracts, and costume hire allowance requests.... She picked up the bottle. She put down the bottle, sighed, and opened the first report.

Niles stood in the kitchen, smiling at the cleanliness around him. The rain hammered at the door as his gaze traveled to the clock, and he idly wondered how Mr. Sheffield and Fran were enjoying their holiday. It was nearly one. No doubt the wench was getting hungry. Now, what to make her.... Ah, yes. She was watching her weight again. Niles crossed to the refrigerator, and groaned when he realized most of the fattening food had been 'borrowed' by Mrs. Sylvia Fine on a feeding frenzy. Searching through the freezer, he selected a cheese supreme pizza for the witch. After a moment's thought, he picked one for himself. Niles switched the oven on, slipped in the pizzas, and left to torment C.C.

Niles entered the office, where C.C. sat at Mr. Sheffield's desk, surrounded by mountains of paperwork. She glared at him.

"Did you find out when I can have Chester back?"

"Oops! I quite forgot, Miss Babcock."

"You did what?"

"I forgot."

"Yes. Well, I suppose washing other people's underwear and cleaning out the toilet is too fascinating to allow a troll of your caliber to remember a little Pom who thinks more of you than it's mistress!" C.C.'s voice rose to a shriek. "Call now. In here."

Niles grimaced at her, and grudgingly picked up the receiver. "Do I have to? It's your dog." He quickly dialed the vet's number from panic as C.C. threatened his groin with a cast iron paperweight. The pile of reports was slowly decreasing, but Niles couldn't help noticing that C.C. was working more slowly than he was accustomed to, and that she was highly agitated.

"Something wrong, Miss Babcock?" he asked as sweetly as possible, further deepening her mood.

"As if you'd care." Niles contrived to look hurt.

"I might, if you get upset you won't be as much fun to insult."

"You mean you've never actually wanted to upset me?" asked C.C. unbelieving, "you horrible little troll" she added as an afterthought.

"Not to the point of tears. Just to drive you insane."

"You've done that once, remember?"

"Another ambition fulfilled -- ah, is this the veterinary surgery? I'm calling on behalf of C.C. Babcock -- her little dog Chester was taken in yesterday? Yes, I'll hold."

"What?"

"Pardon?"

"Hold what?" C.C. grinned.

"Most amusing Miss Babcock. Go and remove our lunch from the oven -- it should be cooked by now."

"You cooked?"

"No, I'm still raw."

"What is it?"

"The remains of your last date -- I forgot to check the use-by date, but I'm assuming it was in the last two hundred years."

"Do you want me to kill you?"

"Careful Miss Babcock, or you'll be dessert. Yes, yes, I'm still here. Yes, that Chester -- the sweet, loveable Pom who loves everyone apart from Miss Babcock..."

C.C. closed the office door on Niles and Chester's vet, and sauntered into the kitchen. Yes, the pizzas were done. She cut the two in half, then swapped two halves around on two plates -- if Niles had poisoned one pizza, she was damn sure he was eating half of it as well. She put the plates onto a tray, and added two small mineral waters as an afterthought. C.C. then proceeded to the office where Niles was just replacing the receiver. She put the tray on the desk and sat on the sofa.

"Well -- when can I have him back?"

"Tomorrow -- the vet' wants to keep him in. He's such a small dog, and this wasn't a particularly nice operation C.C.. You might have told me."

"Why?"

"As a woman, well, non-man, you don't understand how we men feel about castrations."

"Aw -- frightened I'll send you there Niles?" chuckled C.C.. "Gotcha!"

"Shut up Ca-Ca. Now I'm going to eat in peace. Enjoy your pizza, and don't get any on the desk."

"Niles?"

"What now?"

"You don't have to eat in a separate room you know."

"Is that an invitation to join you, Ca-Ca?"

C.C. ignored the enticement.

"It might be."

Niles watched her warily as he took his plate and sat down at the desk.

Meanwhile, the holiday was continuing. The children were exhausted, Maggie having beaten up the sailor when he tried to get too friendly, Brighton with a black eye, and Gracie with a stitch from laughing so much. Fran and Maxwell sat on deck together, idly watching the children as the dramas unfolded.

Niles rose from the desk, and picked up the tray. He and Miss Babcock had barely exchanged a word during the meal -- then again, they hadn't insulted each other either, so it probably qualified as a pleasant meal. C.C. was unnerving him. Three weeks with the Sheffield's on their holiday, and the children in camp or summer school, and the only contact Niles had had with the outside world was Miss Babcock. Oh, and Sylvia. She hardly qualified though -- Sylvia could barely touch reality with a barge pole. The weeks were droning on, and Miss Babcock was becoming ever more distant towards him.

"Miss Babcock?"

"Yes Niles?" replied C.C., handing him her plate.

"Have I offended you? More than usual I mean?"

"No. Other than your repeated habit of calling me Ca-Ca."

"Oh." Niles thought for a moment, "Would you like me to stop?"

C.C. blinked.

"Niles -- it's me. C.C. Babcock. You keep trying to kill me; you drove me to insanity and beyond. You're not supposed to be nice about it!"

"I just..."

"What Niles?"

"You're not insulting me anymore."

C.C. thought about the truth in his last statement. True, she was beginning to wonder why Niles was being less obnoxious, and that usually prevented her from formulating a convincing insult. "Niles -- I just can't find anything to insult today. I'm tired, and I miss Chester. As for the usual background insults about toilets and trolls, that's my way of saying 'Hi!' So please stop spooking me with offers of total peace for a day."

"Would it make you feel better if I started insulting you again?"

"I might. But should you really kick a dog when she's down?" C.C. said, setting Niles up.

"Only if she's misbehaving."

"Troll."

"Bitch."

"Bell-boy."

"Wench."

C.C. laughed, and Niles left the room with the tray, smirking.

"Oh, Fran, does this have to end?"

"I know -- but you do have to work darling."

"I'll call C.C. to ask how things are going -- perhaps we can delay going home for a while. The kids won't be home for a few weeks anyway, and I'm sure she can cope."

"No I can't!" C.C. fumed over the 'phone. "Just get your fat, lazy butt here right now or there's going to be Hell to pay!" Screamed C.C. as she slammed the receiver down.

"You forgot, 'you'll rue the day you heard the name C.C. Babcock' my dear little maniac," interjected Niles, "Who was that, anyway?"

"Some theatre manager who promised to sign a contract a few weeks ago. He wants to know if I can wait a little longer for him to decide. He's coming over later to sign."

The telephone rang again.

"Sheffield residence," drawled Niles, "Sir! How nice of you to call. How is everything? Miss... Sorry, Mrs. Sheffield all right? Yes, yes, everything's fine. Yes, she's here," Niles covered the mouthpiece, "he wants to talk to you, you hideous creature."

C.C. stuck her tongue out at him, and snatched the 'phone.

"Maxwell! Oh. Yes, the business is fine. Yes. Yes, I did. No, I wouldn't let him. Yes, I already have. I know. Maxwell, I can cope." Niles pretended to dust the shelf behind C.C., just in case anything interesting happened. He was not disappointed. C.C. suddenly flushed bright red, "Maxwell! How could you!?! No, I haven't!" she softened, "Of course I'll tell him. One day. Oh, you're going. 'Bye Maxwell." She hung up, turned, and glared at Niles, "before you ask, don't. I won't tell you." Still blushing furiously, she walked out.

"Tell me what?" Niles said, confused and irritated beyond belief.

The theatre manager did arrive later and, with barely any persuasion, signed the contract. C.C. knew that Mr. Sheffield would be delighted that he could stage his latest production of 'Macbeth' in one of Manhattan's top theatres. Privately, C.C. hated Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' with a passion. However, there was always someone willing to buy a ticket if the publicity was convincing enough. How to market such a product though... From the kitchen, she could hear Niles, seemingly talking to himself. Curious, but telling herself she wasn't really interested what the horrid little bunion was talking about - she was only going to get some wine after all, she made for the kitchen.

"Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:
The greatest is behind -- thanks for your pains --
Do you not hope that your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me
Promis'd no less to th... oh, Miss Babcock, I didn't hear you come in."

Niles stopped in mid-flourish. He dropped his hand to his side, placed the script on the counter, and turned back to the sink.

"Embarrassed? You shouldn't be. You have a powerful voice, Niles. Have you ever wanted to act?"

"Would it matter if I had?"

"Not really." C.C. picked up 'Macbeth' and flicked through the pages.

"What's the fascination with this crap? I mean -- 'screw your courage to the sticking-place'? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Heathen."

"Well?"

"Lady Macbeth is trying to tell her husband that if he only believes in himself, and keeps a brave front, then he can accomplish his desire -- namely, Duncan's death."

C.C. stared at Niles' back. He was in his own little universe again, a Zen-like trance he entered whenever he had chores to do. C.C. suspected her grave featured in this private universe. She crossed to the refrigerator, pulled out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, and turned back to Niles, who was now staring at her.

"What did Mr. Sheffield say on the 'phone?"

"What do you mean Niles? Maxwell didn't say anything really."

"What made you blush on the 'phone? Who do you still have to tell what to, and why can't you tell me who he is?"

"Niles, Maxwell knows something about me that I never wanted to be true. He wants me to tell a certain person what I think of him. And I don't want to. And I don't want you to know who he is, because you'd only laugh at me." With that, she left for the lounge. Niles stared after her, brow furrowed in thought, and a little smile playing on his lips.

Maxwell turned to his wife.

"Well, honey, C.C. seems to be coping alright without me, so I told her we'd be staying away a little longer. She's fine about it. Oh, Niles was asking about you."

"That's so sweet. So, both of them are still alive, eh? Oy, I expected a corpse by the end of the first week."

"They sounded quite calm actually. I can't believe C.C. hasn't told anyone yet."

"Told anyone what?" asked Fran.

"Well, darling, she did threaten my life..."

"Maxwell! I can keep some things quiet you know!"

"No, you can't. But anyway, apparently C.C....."

"Niles! I'm going home. See ya!" C.C. hollered as she left the mansion – purse in one hand, a half-full bottle of Chardonnay in the other. With a day off the next day, C.C. usually took a taxi to a nightclub on a Saturday, then slept the alcohol off wherever she passed out. Lately however, she'd taken to going home, and spending a quiet hour in front of the television with a bottle of vodka. I'm getting old, thought C.C.. Secretly though, she knew she was fed up of waking in some stranger's apartment. As she shut the mansion door, she felt a strange sensation. She didn't want to go.

"Knock it off, C.C.," she told herself, and hailed a cab.

Niles hadn't heard her leave. When he'd seen the lack of purse in the hallway, the missing coat, and the distinct lack of an evil presence, he'd correctly assumed she'd gone. He went to the refrigerator, and then realized she'd taken his wine.

"Damn. I guess I'll have to borrow some of Mr. Sheffield's whiskey again..."

Let the sand of time flow. It's now a week later, and the Sheffield's are on their way home, holiday over, and still very much the happy family. C.C. and Niles have continued their existence, and the children are bored enough to want to come home. Oh, and little Chester is recovering at C.C.'s place, quietly plotting his revenge. It's Saturday, and C.C. has called Niles earlier in the day to inform him she's taking the day off, and that he's to take any messages and forward them to her apartment. The clock chimes six o'clock. Niles is about to raid the drink's cabinet again, when he hears a knock at the door. Quiet, unassuming, tap at the door.

Niles crossed to the door, and opened it cautiously. There stood Miss Babcock, wrapped in a long black coat. She'd been crying, but he couldn't smell any alcohol, so he ruled out a drunken mood of self-pity. "Miss Babcock! Shouldn't you be going to work about now? I hear the sweeper just cleared your usual corner." She wouldn't let him take her coat, but walked soundlessly into the room. Niles closed the door, and came to the conclusion that something was amiss.

"No insult? No 'hello, hello?' No witty comeback? Have you been drinking, Miss Babcock?" he asked, knowing the answer, but searching for any response. She shook her head. "If you've come here to kill me, then tough, one heart attack's quite enough, and spooking me wouldn't work anyhow. Where have you been all day?"

C.C. sat on the sofa and pulled her coat closer to her. "I've been thinking, Niles."

"Oh, that's alright then. You go right ahead -- shut down all other bodily functions. You go right ahead -- let Sheffield Productions go to the wall -- you go right ahead and take a day off." Niles looked at the back of C.C.'s head, and decided a softer touch was needed. "No-one called anyway," he said as he crossed to her. Sitting down on the table in front of her, he took her hand and said, "What's wrong, Miss Babcock?" She looked into his eyes, seeing genuine concern there for perhaps the first time. She opened her mouth to speak, and started to cry again. Knowing he'd live to regret this, Niles shifted to the sofa, and put his arm around her. "Are you still upset about Mr. Sheffield and Fran."

"No! I... I need to talk to you."

Oh, shit, thought Niles. Not now. Not before I've had a drink. At least one bottle should put him in the mood if the dragon-woman was going to pour out her heart. He swallowed, "What about?"

"Do you really think I still... care... for Maxwell?"

"Yes."

"I don't. I don't think I ever have. Not really."

"Why the tears?" Niles asked, trying to ignore her perfume, the soft mink coat, and the general effect of having a tall, leggy, blonde resting on his shoulder.

"I need to tell you something -- something I've known for such a long time. I... I..."

"What?"

"Shut up a second and I'll tell you!"

"I'm trying to be helpful here!"

"Then have some patience, you bastard!" C.C. shouted, pushing him away. She stood and made for the door. "Oh! I should never have come here."

"Miss Babcock! If you don't come back I'll follow you home -- and I know you don't want that!"

"You wouldn't get in -- I have no sympathy for pathetic, lonely, strays."

"So you really do hate yourself then, it's not just the psychologists putting things in your head!"

"Sod off!"

"Do you really want that? Is that why you came here tonight? To tell me to sod off? Why not just calm down, and tell me why you came here, then perhaps I can have a drink without a crazy woman shouting at me."

"Don't call me crazy, Niles. I spent too long in That Place. I'm cured – I'm not going back there ever again."

"Are you going to tell me anything tonight? Or is the meter nearly out for your broom?"

"I hate you!"

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I love you -- you ugly son of a camel!"

"Camel?"

"Did you even hear what I just said?"

Niles thought quickly. Yes, he'd heard it. It just hadn't registered yet. The daft old cow had just admitted she loved him. After ten years of working for the same boss, after all the arguments, after she'd chased Mr. Sheffield for so long, she was in love with the butler. She's not that old really -- younger than you, his treacherous inner self said. Not daft anymore, either. As for being a cow... well, everyone had his or her faults. He could, in theory, make this easy for her by revealing his true feelings, and seeing what happened. Was he going to? No, let's make this interesting.

"Pardon, C.C., I'm going a little deaf -- could you just repeat the bit before you called me a son of a camel?"

She walked up and slapped him, hard. He caught her hand as she moved in closer for a second attack.

"Get your filthy hands off me you..."

She didn't get any further. For one thing, there are only so many insults you can hurl in one hour, and she was out of breath from crying. Also, not many words are pronounceable when you have someone else's tongue down your throat. She pulled away.

"Messing with my mind again, Niles?"

He looked shocked.

"Me?" he asked innocently, "Would I do such a thing?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe once or twice..."

"An hour."

She smiled at him.

"Miss Babcock?"

"Call me C.C."

"C.C. -- I love you."

They embraced again.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

"No -- I've something else planned?"

He moved closer to her.

"Such as? And why haven't you taken your coat off yet?" Niles asked as a conclusion slipped into his mind.

"Why do you think?" C.C. asked as she let the coat drop to the floor. She pounced, smiling, just as the Sheffield's returned.

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