The Millionaire's Christmas Wish. Lucy Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ that to me. I’ll be there. I’ll tell you who everyone is and hand you the right present. After that you go and sit by the big tree in the hall and you’ll get some children who are in here visiting people. Then I’ll have to leave you for a few minutes to collect Bobby and Mitzi.’

      ‘Did you tell them I called? That I was coming a day early?’

      ‘No, I thought I’d let it come as a nice surprise when you turned up.’

      ‘You mean you thought I’d let you down?’ he asked wryly.

      ‘Well, if I did I was wrong,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe I’ve done you an injustice. When I heard your voice I thought you were going to cry off again. But you didn’t, and that’s wonderful. It’ll be the best Christmas ever.’

      Remembering how close he’d come to cancelling, he had the grace to feel awkward and was glad that fiddling with his beard gave him an excuse not to look at her.

      ‘Here,’ she said, laughing. ‘Let me fix that.’

      ‘There’s an awful lot of stuff to put on,’ Alex said. ‘I thought it would just be a white thing with hooks over the ears.’

      ‘Well, there are hooks, but there’s also glue so that it fits your mouth and stays in place. Jimmy believes in doing things properly. He got this from a theatrical costumier, and he chose the best.’

      ‘Jimmy?’

      ‘Jimmy is spending Christmas with us—or he was before he was knocked down by some maniac driver.’

      ‘I did not knock him down,’ Alex said through gritted teeth. ‘He fell.’

      ‘Whatever. He chose the costume, and it’s a good one.’

      Alex had to admit that it was the best. The beard was soft and silky, gleaming white, with a huge moustache that flowed down into the beard itself. When it was fixed in place it covered his mouth almost completely.

      But there was something else.

      ‘A wig?’ he protested.

      ‘Of course. How can you be convincing with a white beard and brown hair?’

      ‘Won’t my hair be covered by a hood?’

      ‘Even with a hood they’d notice. Children notice everything these days. They see wonderful special effects on films and television, and when they get close up to reality they expect it to be just as convincing.’

      He grumbled some more, but when the wig was on he had to admit that it looked impressive. Long, thick and flowing, it streamed down over his shoulders, mingling with the beard, which was also long and flowing.

      He looked nothing like himself, and that was some consolation, he reflected. At least nobody would be able to identify him.

      He was beginning to get into the part now, driven by the instinct that governed his life—to be the best at whatever he undertook.

      If you weren’t the best there was no point in doing it. Right?

      In some respects he had the physique, being over six foot. But there was one flaw.

      ‘I’m too thin,’ he objected. ‘This suit was made for someone a lot bigger.’

      ‘There’s some padding,’ Corinne said, diving back into the bag.

      With the padding in place he had a satisfactory paunch.

      ‘Will I do?’ he demanded.

      ‘Your cheeks need to be rosier.’

      ‘Get off! What are you doing?’

      ‘Just a little red to make you convincing.’

      ‘I won’t even ask what you’ve just put on my face.’ He groaned. ‘I don’t want to know.’

      ‘You look great. Completely convincing. Now, let’s have a ho-ho-ho!’

      ‘Ho-ho-ho!’ he intoned.

      ‘No, you need to be more full and rounded. Try it again, and make it boom this time.’

      ‘Ho-ho-ho!’

      To her surprise, he made a good job of it.

      ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘That was really convincing.’

      ‘You thought I couldn’t be?’

      ‘Jimmy never manages it that way. He tries but it comes out sounding reedy.’

      ‘What about my eyebrows?’ Alex asked. ‘Are they white enough?’

      He was right. His dark brown eyebrows now looked odd against the gleaming white hair and whiskers.

      ‘There aren’t any false eyebrows,’ she said, inspecting the bag. ‘You’ll have to go as you are.’

      ‘No way. We’ll do this properly. This is a kitchen, right? Won’t there be some flour?’

      ‘The kitchen’s just for making tea,’ Corinne objected, opening cupboard doors.

      But, against all odds, she found a small bag of flour with some left inside.

      ‘Fancy you thinking of that,’ she said, rubbing it into his eyebrows until the natural colour faded.

      ‘When I was a kid I wanted to be an actor,’ he said.

      ‘You never told me that before.’

      ‘I was never trapped under half a ton of gum and whiskers before.’

      She stood back and regarded him.

      ‘You look great,’ she said. ‘Here’s your sack of toys, all labelled. Are you ready?’

      ‘Let’s go!’

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