Fri, May 18 2012
Passepartout celebrated our return to London with a magnificent dinner that Phileas, Rebecca and I indulged in shamelessly. I had decided that I needed to apologize to Richard and his new wife in person for my absence at their wedding, so I had accepted the Fogg's invitation to come back with them to London. Of course, that excuse also gave me more time to be with Phileas before the long weeks of separation that I knew were coming. So we dined that first night on roast duckling with chestnuts and honey sauce, potatoes, onions and the most delicious pastry I have ever eaten. It was truly a meal fit for the emperor himself.
"Would you be liking more pastry, Mister Jules?" Passepartout asked me as he began to clear some of the dishes away.
"No, thank you, Passepartout," I said, pushing myself away from the table before I burst. "I couldn't eat another bite."
"Oh do go on, Verne," Phileas teased, his voice heavy with his typical sarcasm. "You've only had three servings. Why not simply gorge yourself completely?"
He had been taking every opportunity to tease me like that ever since our rescue from the island. But I knew it was his way of showing affection, since we had been unable to touch each other, so I didn't mind. I had been pretending to be annoyed with him for the sake of appearance, but that night I was so pleased with the meal and the company that I didn't even bother.
"No, but I may have some for breakfast tomorrow, " I replied congenially. "Passepartout that was excellent."
"Yes, indeed it was," Rebecca agreed, gracing Passepartout with one of her most charming smiles. "You have outdone yourself."
Passepartout gave us a smile and a little bow. "You are being very welcome."
I was glad to see Rebecca looking much better and eating well again after her ordeal. She had, however, decided to stay at the townhouse for a week or two to rest and let Passepartout fuss over her. He was more than willing to do so and take delight in every moment of it.
"So, Jules, I understand that you received a letter from home," Rebecca said casually as she accepted a cup of tea from Passepartout. "Everything is all right, I trust?" I could tell that she had wanted to broach the subject for some time, but did not want to bring up anything unpleasant. She need not have worried. I was in too good a mood to let that reminder ruin the evening.
"Yes, everything at home is fine," I replied. "My father just wanted me to know that he received my message about my change in plans."
"And how angry was he?" Phileas prompted in no uncertain terms.
"Actually, he said that he understood about extenuating circumstances and that he was willing to accept my explanation for missing Richards' wedding."
"But?" Rebecca asked, knowing there was more.
I shrugged. "He also made it very clear that I was not welcome to go home again for the rest of the winter holiday."
Phileas bristled. "Why that pompous, overstuffed…If he had any idea what you've been through..."
"But he doesn't," I reminded him. "And he won't."
"What will you do then?" Rebecca asked.
"Go back to Paris, I suppose."
"Back to that freezing cold garret in the middle of January? Nonsense. You shall stay here with us until university starts up again. Don't you agree, Phileas?"
"An excellent idea, my dear cousin," he replied without missing a beat.
I hardly knew what to say. I had not expected the invitation and the sudden thought of staying there, in Phileas' house, his bedroom next to mine, all those nights...
The collar on my shirt was suddenly very hot and uncomfortable.
"I...wouldn't want to be a bother," I stammered, trying to hide my discomfiture.
"Oh good heavens," Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. "Passepartout, you wouldn't mind another house guest, would you?"
"I am thinking it is very good if Mister Jules stay," he replied with an honest smile.
"There you see, Jules?" Rebecca continued. "It would be a splendid holiday for you. You would have plenty of time to work on your writing and enjoy London and then come home to a nice warm bed."
That did it. Now I was definitely blushing.
"Jules, is something wrong?" Rebecca asked. "If you don't want to stay..."
"No, I do. I just...wasn't expecting such a generous offer."
"Well," Rebecca continued, "to be perfectly honest I feel badly because I was supposed to get your Christmas present while I was in Monaco. But since I wasn't able to do that, you can consider this your present."
"Excellent," Phileas said with enthusiasm. "And you needn't worry about being bored. Why I'm sure you can think of any number of ways to occupy your time here, Verne." He was doing that on purpose. He knew exactly how I wanted to occupy my time and thought it was incredibly amusing that it embarrassed me while he was perfectly calm about the whole affair. Well, I would deal with him later.
"Good, then it's settled," Rebecca said with satisfaction. "Now, um, Phileas..."
"Yes, Rebecca?"
"There is a little matter that you and I still have to sort out."
"Oh?"
She looked thoughtful. "Well, I know that I was a bit confused during the time I was under Tovarich's control, but I do seem to remember you coming to rescue me in that cavern."
"Well, of course I did," Phileas replied, but I could see the apprehension start to set in.
"And you knocking me senseless with a right hook."
I grinned. The turnabout was very much to my liking.
"Yes, Fogg," I added. "Why don't you tell us about that."
He shot me a look full of daggers. "Now, Rebecca, you must agree that I had no choice. After all, you had no will of your own. You would have done the same in my place."
"Yes," she said slowly, tapping her table knife against her palm meaningfully. I could see that Phileas was in real trouble now. Her expression could have frozen buttermilk.
He sighed in defeat. "All right, all right. I am perfectly willing to make amends, if you so desire."
She smiled triumphantly. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Phileas."
Later that night, after I was sure that Rebecca and Passepartout must be asleep, I crept to Phileas' bedroom in my nightshirt and tapped at his door. His answering cough let me know that it was all right to enter. I found him sitting up in bed, reading a book, of all things, by the light of a candle.
"Ah, there you are," he said without looking up. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."
"I wasn't sure if you wanted me to."
At that he set the book down and looked at me in mild irritation. "Really, Verne, what do I have to do, send you an engraved invitation?"
I smiled thoughtfully. "Actually, that might be nice."
"You're incorrigible," he complained.
"What I meant was, I wasn't sure if you wanted to take the risk. Rebecca is right down the hall."
"And snoring like a horse, in case you hadn't noticed. Passepartout has been giving her some of his special tea to help her sleep. I'd say it's working like a charm."
"I wondered what that noise was," I replied, detecting the sound even from where I stood. "So are you still upset about her little plan for revenge? "
He groaned at the mention of it. "Delivering holiday fruit baskets to all of our infirm friends and relatives. She really knows how to twist the knife, Verne."
"I take it Rebecca usually does this?"
"Indeed. It's the one bit of real charity work she does during the year. Also keeps her in the family's good graces and all that."
"It won't be that bad, will it?"
He shook his head dismally. "You have no idea. It will take me days and because we're so late this year I'll have no excuse not to sit and listen to each and every one tell me all about their ailments and ask remarkably stupid questions about my personal life. I might as well just shoot myself now."
I laughed. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll go with you. I might be able to distract them when they get to the remarkably stupid question part."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You're on holiday. I wouldn't wish this assignment on my worst enemy."
"No, I'm serious. I'd like to go and meet all these relatives of yours."
That seemed to lift his spirits. He smiled at me in gratitude. "You really are a good chap, Verne. I'm terribly glad that you're staying."
"So am I."
Then he got that certain gleam in his eye that I was becoming so familiar with. "You must forgive me, but I've been a most ungracious host. Now that you're here, what shall we do to amuse ourselves? A game of whist? A round of darts? A fencing lesson, perhaps?" He could be positively wicked when he wanted to be.
I could only shake my head and laugh. "Now who's being incorrigible?"
"Ah. Not in the mood for any of those options, are you?" He arched one eyebrow and turned down the covers on the bed next to him. "In that case, why don't you come over here and we'll just have to think of something else."
Now that sounded like the perfect way to start a holiday.
End of Chapter Twelve
Chapter 11 | Chapter 12