toasty_fresh (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} toasty_fresh) wrote,@ 2008-06-01 21:55:00 |
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| Current mood: | meow |
| Entry tags: | chrestomanci, chris/con, christopher, conrad, fanfic, fanfic100, millie, miranda |
Far From the Home I Love (1/2) - Chrestomanci
Title: Far From the Home I Love (1/2)
Fandom: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci
Pairing: Chris/Con
Prompt: 024: Family
Word Count: 1,498
Rating: PG
Summary: It's the day before Christopher and Conrad's anniversary, and not only does Christopher not have a present, Conrad is not there to recieve it (or not recieve it, as the case may be).
Author's Notes: Sequel to Matchmaker, Matchmaker (currently hosted only of Ff.net).
“An anniversary, you say?” Julian, of Julian’s Bakery, had shoved aside the shop assistants to wait personally on the severely rich-looking woman who had walked into the shop. She would be, he could tell, quite difficult, but quite worth the trouble.
“Not just any anniversary. A fifteenth anniversary. There is a distinction, you understand.”
“Of course, madam.” Julian mentally flipped through the anniversary cakes he had done in the past. Grandiose, bejeweled, gold-plated confections they had been – and from the look of this woman’s impossibly black hair and ‘youthful’ skin, this would be the one to top them all. “A cake, perhaps?” he asked.
There was a pause. The woman slowly raised her gaze from the display cases. She looked like she was about to explode, and that the only thing keeping her together was a very tight corset and large amounts of good upbringing.
“I do not eat cake,” she snarled. Julian whimpered.
“Some sort of tart, then?”
-
“Say, Millie . . .”
Millie put the letter she was writing down and looked up warily. Christopher was at his most vague, and she would have to be quite clever to avoid the traps he was most definitely laying.
“I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” He certainly looked innocent enough, sipping tea in the small sitting room, watching the children play outside. But Millie had been chief advisor to the Chrestomanci for almost fifteen years, and she could see through anything he tried to pull.
“What’s the favor?” she asked, just a touch suspiciously. Christopher, his eyes large and limpid, looked wounded at her tone.
“Why, nothing much, my dear, I just need a bit of help . . .”
Millie cut in quickly. “’Help’?”
“Seeing as tomorrow is an important day for Conrad and me and that he is in Ludwich at the present moment, I thought it would be the opportune moment to, well, get him a little something, and,” Christopher looked beguilingly at Millie, “I was wondering if you would assist me.”
Millie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to hit him. “You haven’t got him anything yet?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re joking. Your anniversary is tomorrow!”
Christopher shifted uncomfortably. “Which is why I was planning on getting something today, actually –”
“He’s always so punctual with these things! I know for a fact you’ve given him nothing for the past three years. I know he’s been good about it, but he’ll be so disappointed . . . honestly, Christopher, you’ll have been married fifteen years tomorrow. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does,” Christopher said, rather red in the face, “and I feel awful every time I think about how lax I’ve been, but I really have been busy. Which is why,” he said quickly, before Millie could cut in, “I’m going to get him something today. I need your help, Millie.”
He looked at her, and Millie could see that he really meant it. She felt her resolve melt.
“All right, Christopher, tell me what you had in mind . . .”
-
The phone, brand new, rang tinnily in the empty hall.
Cat Chant, a tall, fair boy of fourteen, loafed in from the kitchen and picked up the phone. He had cultivated the fashionable drawl that young men all over England strove for, and he seized the chance to show it off.
“Hullo?”
He listened to the receiver for a moment and frowned.
“I’m sorry? I can’t quite hear you.”
The voice on the other end barked incomprehensibly.
“Look, sir, I really – no, this isn’t the Chrestomanci, and I – I’m sorry? What? Could you speak – hello? Hello? Hello?”
Cat shook the earpiece violently and hit it a few times, but the line was dead. He replaced it in its cabinet. Mr. Frazier appeared at the other end of the hall.
“Master Eric? Was someone on the line?”
“I’m don't know,” Cat said, loafing away. “I’m sure they’ll call back if it’s important.”
“Of course, sir,” Mr. Frazier said, but he made a note to mention the incident to Sir Christopher, just in case.
-
“The fifteenth anniversary is the . . . the wood one, is it not?” Christopher leaned vaguely over a display case in a London jewelry store. “Or . . . some kind of metal . . . something like that, anyway.”
“Crystal, Christopher,” Millie said. “It’s the crystal anniversary.”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Christopher straightened up and wandered to another case. “How about flowers? Flowers always make a good gift, don’t they?”
“Conrad is a man, Christopher.”
“Well, the masculine bits of the flowers, then. Will he appreciate that, do you think?”
Millie rolled her eyes.
“Be serious, Christopher. This is no time for jokes. We have to get something before Conrad gets home.”
“Well, I don’t see what he’d want crystal for, anyway.” Christopher toyed with a necklace on display. “As you said, Conrad is a man.”
“It’s just traditional, my dear. We can get him something different.” Millie pulled Christopher out of the store and into the hot afternoon. “Think. What is Conrad fond of?”
For a moment Christopher looked completely blank.
“ . . . Many things,” he said finally, looking as vague as possible.
“Such as?”
Christopher studiously avoided Millie’s face and pretended to be absorbed in the passing traffic. “I . . . couldn’t say, I’m sure.”
“What?”
“I don’t really know, to be honest,” Christopher said, looking uncomfortable. “I mean, specifically . . .”
Millie stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Christopher,” she said, “you are an idiot.”
Christopher sighed. “I am, aren’t I?”
-
Miranda gazed around her at the four young people assembled in the large sitting room and sipped her tea. It was a pity that none of the teens were her grandchildren, of course, but Miranda was not complaining.
Not at that particular moment, anyway. She would bring the subject up later with Christopher.
She turned graciously to Cat and smiled. “Where did you say Sir Christopher was?” she asked.
Cat fiddled with his spoon. “London,” he drawled.
“And when will he be back?”
“I dunno.”
Miranda smiled again, a bit stiffly. “What a charming young man you’ve grown up to be,” she said, the sarcasm in her voice almost undetectable. “Your mother would be so proud.”
-
“Photography!”
Millie nearly dropped the delicate crystal faun with simpering blue eyes in surprise. She placed the figurine back in its box.
“I’m sorry?” she said.
“Photography,” repeated Christopher, eyes bright. “Conrad used to be really interested in photography when we were younger, but he never has time for it anymore. Don’t you think that would be a good gift? Photography equipment?”
For a moment, Millie was speechless. Then she smiled. “Christopher,” she said, “you are a genius.”
Christopher grinned. “I am, aren’t I?”
-
Miranda Chant bit crisply into a cookie and turned graciously to Julia, Millie’s daughter.
“When did you say Mr. Tesdinic-Chant would be back?” she asked. Julia traded looks with Janet, Cat’s sister (or something along those lines, Miranda knew there was something strange about that girl, but she had never been big on the details).
“We’re not exactly sure Mrs. Chant,” Julia said, as respectfully as she could, for the fourth time. “He should have been here in time for tea, but . . . he seems to be late.”
Miranda frowned. “Has Sir Christopher been told of this?”
“A telegram has been sent,” said Roger, Julia’s brother, “but it won’t reach him unless he goes to his club.”
Janet grabbed a cookie. “And he went with Millie, so he probably won’t.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes and gazed at the four young men and women before her. “And Conrad has contacted no one about his absence?”
“Er,” Cat said, shifting uncomfortably, “. . . I might have spoken to him.”
-
Christopher and Millie arrived in the foyer a little after six, hungry for dinner and feeling very pleased with themselves. The photography equipment, which Christopher had spent a startling amount on, had been sent after them. Cat, looking unusually sheepish, stepped forward.
“Hello, Cat,” Christopher said, handing his hat to Mr. Frazier. “Something the matter?”
“Well . . .” Cat shuffled his feet. “You’re mother’s here.”
“Oh, dear, that is distressing,” Millie said. “I hope she wasn’t too awful to you, my dear.”
“Well, no, but –”
Christopher laughed. “Lucky for you! She’ll lay into Conrad and me soon enough, never fear.”
“Um, actually, about that –”
“What’s her perennial complaint? That she has no grandchildren?” Millie giggled.
“Yes, she’s always insisting I impregnate Conrad immediately.”
Cat cleared his throat. “Speaking of Conrad –”
Millie snorted. “Poor Conrad, it’s like she’s forgotten she wanted him to marry you.”
“But he takes it so well, doesn’t he? He hasn’t divorced me yet.” Christopher paused and looked vaguely around. “Where is Conrad, by the way?”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Cat cleared his throat.
“No one really knows,” he admitted.
