Chrysalis Part 3-Chapter 8
This story is about a young man's quest to fix a major birth defect--he was born without a penis. On his quest he meets challenges, his soul mate and many other soon to be friends.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any real person is coincidental.
The story depicts procedures and practices common for gender reassignment; however, this story does not claim to be a medical treatise, and information is primarily for the purpose of the story and not medical advice. This story is written for adults with adult themes. If you are underage or live in a location where references to gay relationships or transgender people is forbidden, please log out of the story or move.
This work is copyrighted by Boethiuscell@gmail.com © 2023
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Chapter 8--Grandda
At 10:10 AM the next day Chris snuggled into the seat of the Virgin Atlantic heading to London and London Fashion Week--his first major event. Tom plied Chris with coffee so he would stay away, there would be less jet lag if they did not sleep until they reached their destination in London. Chris could not sleep anyway; he was nervous. This was the first time he had been out of the country, except for a vacation his family took to Quebec when he was very young. This would be the first time he was in Europe, in London. A place he only dreamed of ever visiting. He double checked that he had his passport every 30 minutes until Tom said it was annoying. And then there was the prospect of meeting Tom's Grandda, who was reputed to be abrasive on his good days and abusive most days. Although intellectually Chris knew that the old man had no say in Tom and Chris getting married, he did not want to be the cause of any estrangement. Tom, finally irritated, told Chris to sit still, and watch the clouds slid under the plane. The flight attendants quickly picked up Chris's agitation, wrongly thinking it was fear of flying; they were most attentive with pillows, help with the in-flight amenities, and beverages. Tom thought it cute how Jeremy, one of the flight attendants, was always leaning over Tom to offer help to Chris, including finding the restroom. To be honest, Chris liked Jeremy's attention, with his strong Scottish accent, red hair and freckles. Jeremy backed off once Tom told him that "this Yank's mine."
Chris's mind was finally diverted when his Inflight screen popped up with "Hi mate, saw you at Jazzabel's Sat. Thought you were amazing."
Chris was alarmed until Jeremy explained that the Inflight system allowed other passengers to chat with each other. "Thanks, glad you enjoyed it. I always have fun when I'm at Jazzabel's"
"What you doing heading to London?"
"Work and social obligations."
"What work?"
"Men's fashion show."
"You a model or designer?"
"Model"
"And social obligations. Sounds scary."
"Is. Meeting the future in-laws. Particularly the grandfather."
"Handsome man, at least the back of his head is handsome, your intended?"
"That is my Tom. You heading to London for work or heading home."
"Home, thank God. Need some decent pub food."
"What do you do?"
"Work at the United Nations. Part of the British support staff. By the way, I'm Lester."
"Nice to meet you Lester. Of course, you know my name."
For the next hour Chris and Lester chatted about everything, work, music, art, politics, family, marriage. Chris learned that Lester was married--almost, lovely wife, had a child, liked boy bands, hated McDonalds, and other important information. During the exchange Tom's interest shifted from his book to Chris's conversation.
"Lester?" Tom asked Chris. Chris said yes. "I know a Lester; he is in the diplomatic core. Asking him how his shoes fit."
"Lester, Tom asked me to ask you how your shoes fit."
"Tom. Tom Greenwood is your intended!"
"Yes. He said he might know you."
"Chris, you caged Tom Greenwood, the Lothario of North Umbria. We need to meet because if you captured his heart, you are a strong, strong man."
"Haven't caged him yet, but he can't run, have him hobbled." Chris asked Tom how he knew Lester since he was raised in California. Tom explained that he would spend summers with Grandda. Lester lived close by, and they became friends and partners in crime.
"Keep a tight leash on that boy." Lester responded
"What is it about shoes?" Chris asked Tom.
"Lester felt he could score more if girls thought he had a big cock. Believing that shoe size was proportional to cock size, he bought a pair of shoes two sizes too large. He could barely walk and keep the shoes on. I said I could fix it. I filled the shoes, without him knowing, with horse apples. The shoes still fell off but now they squished and stank of shit."
"You are a mean one."
"Oh, he got me back." Tom laughed. Tom's screen lit up with a request to join the conversation. Chris sat back and enjoyed the banter as they reminisced, occasionally Chris added more fuel to the fire. By 9:00 PM all agreed to sleep to shift their biological clocks.
The voice of a flight attendant came through the intercom. "We are approaching Heathrow Airport. We expect to debark in 60 minutes. The flight attendants will be securing the cabin. Please buckle your seatbelts." Chris glued his eyes to the window as he watched the water turn to land, and the land turned to meandering roads, and the roads converged on London. London was a distant fuzz on the horizon as the plane lowered itself onto Europe and Great Britain and finally London.
Chris pulled his passport out ready to disembark. Tom chuckled as he guided Chris through is first international trip.
Waiting for baggage, Chris struggled with travel time and watch time. By his ticket they flew 12 hours, but actual time in the air was only a little more than seven hours. What time zone was London? He needed to set his watch ahead nine hours, maybe? Or, as Tom suggested, look at your phone, which automatically adjusted to local time. Chris set his vintage Longines British Aviation Watch, to 10:30 AM. The watch, which belonged to Chris grandfather, was given to Chris's by his father as they left the restaurant with the story that during his grandfather's deployment he was stationed in England. His grandfather exchanged his watch with one from an RAF pilot. They had become drinking buddies and close friends. The way Chris's dad said close friends left Chris curious about the relationship. The RAF pilot was lost over Normandy, so the watch was always special to his grandfather. Chris had thanked his father and put on the watch. The watch was back home again in England. It felt right on his wrist; it felt more at home than his other digital watch.
They agreed to meet Lester at the baggage claim. Lester was not what he expected as a friend of Tom's. What Lester lacked in looks, he was short, overweight, balding and a face as flat as a flounder, he made up for it in good humor and a wicked mind. Lester's wife, Phyllis, was waiting for him. She was pleased to meet Tom, whom Lester talked about often, and was very warm with her introduction to Chris. Since Lester had a small flat close to Cedrick's Coventry Garden hotel, where Tom and Chris were staying, they offered Tom and Chris a ride.
Chris let Tom and Lester sit in the backseat to talk about old times and get caught up on new times while he and Phyllis took the front. At first it was odd, sitting on the wrong side of the car on the wrong side of the road, but the conversation with Phyllis about London, London traffic, her son Gordon, who was not Lester's but from a previous relationship, and her job as a docent at the Victoria and Albert Museum. She had a degree in art history; she loved the job, loved guiding tourists. She pointed out sights as they drove through hellacious traffic. Chris talked about Chicago, New York and L.A.. He was far more traveled than her, with her being born and raised outside of London in Marylebone. But she did travel Europe visiting museums as part of her art degree. But then she pointed out that Paris was only a little over 200 miles away, so it was not a major excursion. Rome was only a little more distant than New York to Chicago. They talked about New York; she had traveled last year with Lester to New York for a few days. It felt like London in a mirror. Chris offered his place in New York if they wanted to stay for a longer time. She wanted to take Chris up on the offer, but only when both would be in town.
She pulled up in front of a red brick building that toed the narrow sidewalk like a paraquet on a perch. The street was barely two-lane. "Here we are Chris." The name of the hotel was carved in wood above the door: no neon signs only a simple awning flanked by lantern sconces and potted holly and flowering vines. A small bistro table sat next to the entrance, slate grey double door entrance. Tom and Lester pulled the luggage out of the boot of the car.
"Thanks mate for the lift. And Phyllis was thanked for entertaining Chris." Tom helped Chris out of the front seat while Phyllis walked around the car to hug goodbye. "If you are free, why don't you join us for supper tonight, my treat since you braved London traffic."
Lester looked at Phyllis. "We would like that but we would need a babysitter." Tom's eyebrows went up; Lester had not mentioned a baby, but Tom said nothing.
"Mrs. Slocum would be happy to watch Gordon. So that is a yes."
"Say 8:00, here. The food here is very good." The plan was confirmed and Chris and Tom, with the help of a bellboy entered a comfortable small lobby with overstuffed sofas and chairs.
"Welcome back Mr. Greenwood," an older man, the bellhop Chris assumed, said. "Your room is ready. Please follow me." He led them to a small elevator that went to the third floor. The short corridor had only four doors; getting turned around would not be an issue. The bellhop, Anthony according to the name tag, swiped the electronic card and let them into a living area with a fireplace. "The sleeping area is this way." Anthony led them to a staircase that led to a loft with a king size bed under a partial canopy. Anthony placed the suitcases on a low bench. "Would you like a turndown service, sir?" Tom said yes at 9:00 PM. "Very good sir. I will be on call until 11 then Rupert is taking over. If you need anything, please let me know."
"Thank you Anthony. I do need 8:00 PM reservations for four at the restaurant."
"Very good sir." Anthony pulled out his phone. "I need a table for four at 8:00 PM tonight."..."Yes, I understand, Mr. Greenwood appreciates your accommodating his party"..."Thank you for your assistance." Anthony turned to Tom. "They will be expecting you and your party at 8:00. Would you like anything special at the table, Sir?"
"Yes, a bottle of chilled champagne from Cedrick's private cellar."
"Very good sir. Do you need wake up services?"
"Yes, at 7:30 with coffee, orange juice and pastries. Also, a Metro."
"Very good sir. With your permission, I will press and hang your wardrobe while you are at dinner."
"That is excellent Anthony. We appreciate your service." Anthony smiled and bowed, leaving Chris and Tom.
"That was solicitous service," Chris said as he followed Tom downstairs to the living area. A bottle of Blanton Gold scotch was on the mantle of the fireplace with two glasses and ice. Chris poured a glass for each. "To us and London." Both raised their glasses. Chris looked around the tastefully appointed room that looked like something out of a Mrs. Marple movie. "This is so cozy and quiet. I can barely hear the outside noise."
"It is comfortable here, but it is too stuffy for my taste. This place holds firmly to the idea of service and class distinction. But that is England." Tom joined Chris, who was looking out the window. "How are you holding up? Anything you want to do?"
"I'm a little overwhelmed, but adjusting. I am trying to channel my mother and her hauteur." Tom laughed.
"Just be yourself Chris: kind, considerate, and stubborn. Don't let the social milieu overwhelm you and make you what you are not. It is seductive to be catered to, but it robs you of your independence." Chris nodded because he knew how hard he fought to be himself, the toll it took on his family, but he would not, could not do otherwise.
"There is so much to see and so little time. We need to let people know we arrived safely and plan out tomorrow's schedule. Chris took his phone out and started taking pictures to send to his sister. "Mom's going to have an orgasm over this."
Tom laughed, "Wait until you send pictures of Thistledown."
Chris groaned, "Don't remind me." But Grandda could not be as bad as Tom or Cedrick said.
At 7:45 Tom and Chris, changing out of travel clothes into dress slacks and shirts, descended to the lobby to wait for Lester and Phyllis. "Tom, just so you know and don't make a faux pas, the child is not Lester's. He is Phyllis's from a prior relationship."
"How do you know that?"
"She told me. Also, she and Lester are not officially wed, just cohabitating. They plan on wedding, but not for another year. She has a degree in art history, works at the Albert and Victoria. And I invited them to stay at our place in New York."
"You got all that in the 35-minute drive from the airport?"
"Yes, and Lester is sensitive about going bald. He's only 22, but it runs in the family. Her family is happy that she is settled and Gordon's life is stable. His family is cautious but not obstructive. She is a few years older than him."
"Thank you very much for the rundown. Lester and I only talked about the UN and world politics." Tom quirked his mouth. "We had a serious conversation."
"You're full of bull shit. I heard what you talked about--the trouble you caused and the people you fucked." Lester and Phyllis entered before Tom could make a rebuttal.
Tom checked in with the host, a man of about 60, tall, thin and cadaverous. They were shown to a small private dining room where two servers waited. Water and breads were already on the table. "Your servers tonight are Gillian and Ahmed. I hope you enjoy your meals." The host retreated from the room with a bow.
"Sir, would you like the champagne poured now or with the meal?" asked Gillian, the older of the two, though both were under thirty.
"I think we would like to start with a dry sherry and your smoked salmon. If that is fine with everybody." No one said otherwise so Gillian bowed and left to place the order. That left Ahmed to recite the menu, although each person had their own copy. Chris looked at the prices unable to calculate the cost since they were in pounds. He was not in America, he reminded himself, even though they spoke English--after a fashion.
Gillian returned with another server. The two place the salmon and sherry in front of the dinners. "The salmon was caught yesterday and smoked overnight with applewood. Enjoy." He stepped back to stand beside Ahmed. Chris took one bite and rolled his eyes in ecstasy.
Lester was enjoying a sip of sherry when he asked. "How did you find this place? It is very posh."
"My cousin owns it along with ones in New York, Chicago, L.A., Paris, Rome, Hong Kong and soon Shanghai. You remember Cedrick?" Lester shook his head no "Perhaps not he is almost twenty years older than me."
"This is a beautiful hotel. How are the rooms? Small?"
"Some are small, but we have a suite with a living area and a loft bedroom. It is very comfortable."
"Chris, I assume that you and Tom are more than traveling companions and coworkers." Phyllis knew the answer, but wanted confirmation.
Chris smiled at Tom. "We are engaged to be married in November."
"Congratulations." Phyllis said,
"You are burning your little black book and settling down?" Lester turned to Chris. "This bloke promised not to settle down until he fucked the ass of every gorgeous man in the world."
"That is true, but once you meet the most gorgeous ass in the world and fall in love with the owner. Who would waste time with second best. I had to grab him before he wised up and found better." Tom signaled to Gilliam. "We are ready to order." Phyllis ordered Dorset crab; Lester, roast chicken with mashed potatoes; Chris, Dover sole with roasted vegetables and Tom, glazed lamb shank with rocket salad. The meal was efficiently served, the champagne opened and poured, and the conversation brisk and lively. Chris shared pictures of both homes from his phone. Both Phyllis and Lester were curious how Chris could afford a condo in New York and a house in L.A., but they were too polite to ask. They asked how Tom and Chris met. Tom gave the sanitized version. Gillian, as Ahmed clears plates, asked if they would like dessert. Chris opted for the apple and rhubarb crumble while Tom and Lester both decided on the café liégeois. Phyllis passed on the desert but ordered a sambuca with coffee.
After saying good night to Phyllis and Lester, Tom and Chris retired to their room, but Chris was still wound up. The thought of actually being in England, and then the fun evening with Lester and Phyllis drove sleep away. Tom knew, from experience, that once Chris crashed he would be hard to awaken. Tom ordered from the hotel a pot of chamomile tea and honey. They both snuggled on the sofa watching BBC TV when Rupert announced himself with a subtle cough. "Sirs, your tea. Would you like lemon or honey in the tea?" Chris asked for the honey. Rupert poured two cups, placed a cozy over the pot and wished them a good night. Chris was asleep before finishing the first cup. Tom woke Chris enough that he could climb the stairs and find the bed. Tom drifted off shortly, spooning Chris tightly.
Morning came with Anthony delivering coffee and pastries as requested. "Sirs, would you like me to start the shower or would you prefer a bath."
"Just coffee first." Tom yelled from the loft where he and Chris were just starting to stir.
"Very good, sirs." Chris rolled over to see Anthony's head rise from the stairs carrying a silver tray with two cups, a coffee pot, creamer and sugar. "How would you like your coffee, Sir?"
Chris groaned into Tom's shoulder, but sat up, letting the blankets fall to his hips. "Black for me and cream and sugar for Tom, two spoonfuls of sugar."
"Very good sirs." Anthony poured and delivered the cups to the two men in bed. "The pastries are in the dining area below, unless you would prefer them in up here."
"Damn, this is good coffee." Tom took another sip and sighed like heaven opened its gates.
"I ground the bean just before brewing, making sure the water temperature was 195°, the pot is insulated so it holds the heat."
"You are a master at this," Chris said as he enjoyed his third sip. "I may need to steal you home with me."
"Thank you for the offer sir, but my wife might miss me...after a few weeks." Anthony's delivery was deadpan without any smirk or hint of humor. Tom and Chris laughed; he was so like Beach.
"Need to get up and get ready. We have a meeting at 9:00." Tom jumped out of bed, naked and grabbed a robe. "I'll take my shower first because I know how you like to linger." Chris wanted to throw a pillow at Tom but didn't because of Anthony.
"How long have you worked here?" Chris asked to kill time until Tom was done.
"Over 50 years. I've been in service since I was 13, Sir. I started as a houseboy at a lady's dwelling, worked my way through the ranks to head butler. I was there until she died, ten years ago. She left me a small fortune in her will, but serving is my life. I like serving people of distinction. I once served Margeret Thatcher."
"I'm an American, so the whole idea of serving is alien to me. We believe you got to do for yourself."
"I agree sir, but it is always nicer to do it yourself if you have a little help. As butler, I ran my lady's household, her property, and her finances. I have a degree in business, thanks to my lady because she thought I could serve her better. Is it so much more different when a new fellow starts at a business. He serves his bosses until he rises to their level, then there is comradery. With service, however, your employer feels an obligation to the help, feels responsible for their wellbeing. In business there is no such feelings. You are sick, you are not needed, you are out the door. My lady, when she got older, she downsized her staff, but she made sure each person had a position before she let them go."
"There is something to be said for a noblesse oblige relationship. I will remember that as I deal with people I hire. Thank you Anthony."
"If there is nothing else, I will leave you to your day." Anthony bowed and left, just as Tom emerged from the bathroom.
"All yours," Tom bowed and with a sweeping gesture pointed toward the bathroom door.
The day went with fittings, practice and more practice for the evening show. Chris was instructed on how to walk, how to keep eyes straight ahead, how not to smile. He was also told that members of the royal family might attend. They often met with the models so proper etiquette was shown depending upon the rank of the royalty. Chris found the whole thing amusing; especially. Since he was an American: all that was expected was a bob of the head.
Although Chris thought what he wore for the show was boring and designed to surprise and shock rather than be practical, the show was a huge success. The critics loved the forward look and loved the presentation of the collection. Chris said nothing, but then only Tom was talking to him. The other models were aloof, not unfriendly but condescending. Only a couple of the models, whom Tom knew even said hi. At first this bothered Chris because both fashion shows he did in New York were a gang of comrades, like the cast of the play. but as he watched, no one was friendly to others, there was no banter, no pranks and no levity. Chris asked Tom about it. Tom claimed he did not notice, but working these shows was highly competitive--can you be friends with your potential replacement.
Only one young man approached Chris to tell Chris that since he was an American he had no place in a London show. The designer interrupted to gush over how glad he was to have Chris as part of the show. A fashion blurb the next day in a London newspaper mentioned Chris as the highlight of the show. Chris did not understand how this observation was made because all the male models essentially wore the same clothes, layered sacks over too tight pants.
Chris and Tom returned to their hotel after a very late supper at a French restaurant that was across the street from the hotel. A fire burned comfortably in the fireplace, which was welcome because the temperature was cool and damp. A decanter of cognac sat on the coffee table with two glasses, a gift from Cedrick and Ariel, who arrived earlier that day.
"How was your first day in London?" Tom asked although he knew the answer.
"Haven't seen a bloody thing except what is visible from the back of a cab. Will there be time to sight see?"
"Likely not here, or Paris, or Millan. This is not a holiday but a job, which consumes all of our time. The drive to Grandda's will let you see the countryside, but no poet waxes `Oh to be in England now that September is there.'" Chris laughed. "But tourists are fewer."
"What did you think of your first international fashion show?" Tom was curious about Chris's impression since the whole event was chilly, like London weather.
"Are all international fashion shows to boring and uptight?" Chris looked at Tom for his reaction.
"There are reputation to be made and lost at these events. There are millions of dollars in future sales. Many of the designs are not practical and will not be worn by most people, but a designer or design house's reputation will create modified, street friendly versions. It can be very intense and competitive." Chris understood, but boring is boring, who enjoys sitting through boring.
Chris snuggled closer to Tom on the loveseat watching the fire send sparks up the chimney. "It does not matter if I see the sights. Right now, right here is perfect." Chris absent mindedly ran his left hand over Tom's chest. "And I'm horny."
"Gotta love that testosterone." Tom took Chris's hand and led him up the stairs to the bed.
That Sunday, Chris had no shows and was free to meet Phyllis at the Victoria and Albert Museum in the afternoon. Tom would be busy all day; this was Chris's chance to explore on his own. He caught the tube, which in many ways was similar to New York's subway. It was efficient and timely. It only took about twenty minutes before exiting at the South Kensington Station. It was a short walk past the Natural History Museum to the V&A. Chris texted Phyllis once he exited the underground. She would meet him in the rotunda at the information desk.
Chris walked in and gawked at the massive glass chandelier over the information circle.
"Hello Chris, did you have any problems finding this place?" Phyllis's voice carried over the rumble of the busy room.
"No problem at all." Chris looked around. "This place is massive."
"Over 12 acres, 145 galleries, and 2.25 million objects. Being a docent, I need to know all the details." She grinned as she pulled Chris off to the side of the rotunda.
"I'm very proud that an American is prominently displayed." Chris pointed up to the Dale Chiluy chandelier.
"Just a nod to our colony's success." She grinned back at him as excited to show Chris around as he was to visit. "We will have a private tour. Is there anything you want to see?"
"Besides everything. There is nothing particular. My tastes are omnivorous."
"Then let me guide you through a grand feast." Chris was pleased by the offer. Since it was Sunday the place was packed with families, with men on the prowl, and tons of screaming kids. "I think we need to visit the Raphael Cartoons, the Paintings, and the fashion, since that is your job, and high tea in the museum cafe. I have reservations for 3:15."
"That is a plan, but rather than fashion could we look at the sculpture and if time jewelry?"
"Sure, this is your visit. I like the jewelry exhibits too. Never could afford any but it is terribly fun to look."
"Sir," A young man of about 16 approached Chris. Chris looked at the lad, dressed in skinny jeans and a T-shirt. He then looked up and saw the boy's parents, holding back a girl of about 10, totally chagrined and trying to stop the kid from talking to Chris. Chris looked at the boy, who was as tall as Chris. "I do not mean to intrude but you look like Chris from Jazzabel's. I have a copies of two DVDs of your performances there." Phyllis looked at the boy and at Chris baffled.
"I sometimes perform at a drag club in New York, and no, I don't do drag. I and the owner, who does do drag, are friends. He sometimes asks me to perform with him." Chris explained to Phyllis.
"He is remarkable," the lad added. "All my mates agree." He looked at Phyllis like she was about to argue. "May I have a picture with you?"
Chris was embarrassed by the whole event. The parents had moved closer since Chris was talking to their son.
"You need to forgive Rup," the man said, "he is a fag and sees you as a role model."
"You don't call them fags, Dusty." The mother hit her husband on the chest. "They're gay. It'z bout time you learned to speak proper about your son."
"Yes, Lyd. Sorry sir. I meant no disrespect, Sir."
"I will overlook the slight if you promise to treat you son no different than before he told you he was gay. And you call me Chris. I'm only a few years older than your son and have not yet earned that appellation." Chris gave the man a stern face while trying not to laugh.
"Good enough for me." Dusty turned toward his son. "This means you still need to do the chores and your school work."
"Yes, Papa. Can I have a picture with you, Sir. err Chris?"
"I would like to have a picture with you." Chris was still embarrassed by the request but would not deny Rup. "I have your name Rup, short for Rupert, and your father's, Dusty, and who is the young lady behind you?."
"That's my sister Daphne." Daphne shuffled from foot to foot.
"Daphne is a beautiful name. And this is my friend, Phyllis. She is married to a friend of my fiancé. She is also a docent here. She knows everything about the museum and what wonders are here."
"Are you famous?" Daphne said, interrupting the rest of what Chris wanted to say.
"Famous is a slipper word like good. Famous means that people recognize you. Since Rup recognized me, I am famous to him. But not to your parents. I like to think everybody is famous, but no one else has noticed yet. You like ballet, and with practice you can become a famous ballerina, then a few more people will recognize you. What is important is how you react when noticed. Keep that in mind when you are famous."
"Do you like ballet?" Daphne asked more interested in Chris.
"Yes, my mother insisted that I learn ballet."
"Ballet isn't for boys. It is girl stuff." Rup spread his feet further apart and crossed his chest with his arms.
"Rup, lift your sister up and hold her over your head."
"No way, she's too heavy."
"Rup, ballerinas weigh more than your sister. A male ballet dance needs to lift a woman up, hold her over his head while dancing and then set her gently to the ground. It takes great strength to do that. Male ballet dancers are some of the best athletes in the world. You should practice ballet with your sister."
"But they wear tights and their junk shows."
"Yes, and boys like to look at that junk." Rupert thought this over, and then grinned.
"Chris, we need to start the tour if we are to see everything you want before they close." Phyllis was amused by the exchange with the family, but she had her obligations to Chris.
"Would you mind Phyllis if they joined us. If it is OK with them." Both Rup and Daphne looked pleading at their parents.
Phyllis huffed then smiled, "I have no problems Chris. It is always better to lead a small group than just one. I get better questions." Like a mother duck Phyllis led the way to the Cast Court.
Rupert stopped in front of a copy of Michelangelo's David. "Awful small dick."
"He's likely a grower not a shower," Daphne replied, which earned an apologetic look at Chris and Phyllis from the parents.
"Michelangelo was imitating the Greek sculpture that he saw in Rome. The Ancient Greeks believed in humility and moderation. A large penis was a sign of excess. A large penis on this statue would distract from the rest of the work. Viewers would wonder at the full size of his pizzle rather than the proportions of his body. The whole is the sum of its parts, and each part must serve the whole."
Daphne looked a little closer and then walked to the back side. "Nice ass." Chris thought Lydia might faint from embarrassment.
The rest of the tour, Phyllis was allowed to shine. Her knowledge was extensive; her ability to explain meaning and technique was engaging and enlightening. The kids loved the fashion rooms, laughing at the weird clothes, Dusty was impressed by the machines, Lyd liked the jewelry, and Chris enjoyed the company. At three Phyllis reminded Chris of their appointment for tea. "Do you think they can make room for six rather than two?" Phyllis called and said that could be arranged.
"I would be honored if you would join us for tea. My treat because you have made my visit to London special." They quickly agreed and did afternoon Tea in the beautiful Morris Room. Chris enjoyed the variety of scones, finger sandwiches, deserts, curds and chutneys. The conversation was full of questions and gentle teasing. It was a perfect afternoon in London. As the family left with Rup having a phone full of pictures, Chris turned to Phyllis. "Thank you for being our docent. This was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I have ever had. You made this possible, and I cherish your good cheer, knowledge and friendship." Phyllis was seldom at a loss for words, just ask Lester, but she was now.
"Chris, thank you," she finally managed to say. "I value your friendship too. Now I need to find the video of you that Rup was so cobsmacked about."
"I am sure Tom can find it for you. It is not like it is a show. It is me and Jazzabel just having fun."
That night they had dinner at Lester and Phyllis's where she served steak and kidney pie, a family heirloom recipe. Little Gordy was taken with Chris and spent most of the night, until his bedtime, in Chris's arms. And then on Chris's lap listening to Chris read Winnie the Pooh. At a little past 11, Chris and Tom bid their farewell because they need to meet with Cedrick and Ariel at 7 for breakfast before heading to the Greenwood estate.
"Let us know about wedding plans. We will be there." Lester said at the door.
"Chris, thanks for this afternoon. And entertaining Gordy. You and Tom need to have children."
"We will," Chris replied as he headed out the door. "Everything is on ice until we are ready." Tom glared at Chris, but said nothing.
Ariel was driving and Chris sat in front with her. Tom and Cedrick were in the backseat discussing family issues. Which Chris assumed was how Grandda would take to Chris. Chris was not paying attention to them since he awoke this morning, said fuck it to the whole need for Grandda to approve. Chris focused on the scenery as London moved to more country with hamlets and villages passing by. Between gawking at the scenery and the quaint towns, Chris and Ariel chatted about L.A., about Tom's family, about work. She had convinced Cheddy to use her gallery for artwork in the hotel restaurants. It would expose her client artists to a wider audience than in a gallery. It would make the restaurant always fresh with new art work. Chris liked the idea. Ariel said that Slim's work was hot right now, and she asked Chris if he knew any artists in L.A..
Chris laughed with I've only been there two weeks."
Ariel countered, "You were in New York only two days before you discovered Slim. You're slipping."
"Might not have found an artist yet, but I've discovered the next mega pop star." Chris told Ariel about Cecelie and the music video. He promised to show Ariel the raw video when they got to..."Where are we going?"
"The Greenwood estate is near the Wales England border, west of Shrewsbury." The border was helpful but Shrewsbury was not.
"What is the estate like?"
"It's not a castle but a stately home: it's cold, damp, and falling down. Since Quenton moved to the states and married Miranda, Grandda has been in a funk. Quent did not have an active Greenwood gene and then married someone who did not. Since then, Grandda has been ill tempered, on a good day, and a beast most days."
"Then we can expect him to get even more ill-tempered once he meets me."
"I'm not sure what the old sod will do. He loves Tom with a passion. If you make Tom happy, then he might be tolerant."
"I will not be Tom's indiscretion."
"You worry too much. I'm Cheddy's indiscretion, and the old man likes me. Don't do anything to upset him, and it will be fine."
They stopped for lunch at a pub both Tom and Cedrick liked. It had been a pub for over 200 years, which blew Chris away. The inside was dark oak panel with a long dark wood bar and seven tables. They chose a table near the windows overlooking a small courtyard.
"Ched, Tom, haven't seen you in a length of gooseneck. And my, my Ariel you keep getting prettier and prettier." The barrister, who was of medium height but burly, turned toward Chris. "And what might this pure soul be doing in the company of these reprobates?" He reached around Chris's shoulders and pulled him to standing. "I'm Billy Sutton, the owner of this establishment, as was my father, grandfather, and his before. Now who might thee be?'
"Pleasure to meet you, Sir. I'm Chris Wentworth, Tom's fiancé."
Billy loosened his hold on Chris, causing Chris to fall back in his chair. Billy looked at Tom. "You old sod, what angel blessed you to give you a chap like Chris. Chris, if ye be smart, you run fast away from Tom Cat. He's sniffed more arse than Tony Blair."
"Please don't destroy what little good reputation I have earned with Chris. Do you know how difficult it was to trap him?"
Billy laughed. It came from the belly like a distant thunderstorm on the prairie and bursting out his mouth, a tornado of raucous sound. Chris liked his laugh; it was honest. "Ye're right boy. I wish you both the best good fortune and a happy life together." He sat and motioned to a barmaid, his eldest daughter, Barbara, to take orders and to bring everyone a pint of the best brew. Once served the beer, they ordered from a very limited menu. Chris wanted to order fish and chips but was told tongue pie was the best. Chris did not regret it.
Two hours later they pulled off a side road onto the estate driveway. Trees over arched the single lane cobblestone road, with more than a few cobblestones broke or missing. The tunnel of trees opened onto a broad grassy field with a pond on the far left and a pagoda next to the pond. "Cedrick's folly." Ariel said. "A 18th century ancestor of Cheddy's."
The road curved around a copse of trees and down a hill exposing the manor house. "That's Thistledown, the Greenwood Family estate."
"It's much bigger than expected."
"Once it had over fifty rooms, now it has about 40 rooms. Linton, the 16th Lord, tore down over half of the structure and had the remaining remolded to 19th century standards. Now it has about 40 rooms. Only parts of the original castle and Tudor home exist, mostly in the foundations."
The road curved to face the front of the building and the massive gateway with an ornate capital like a head board and potted topiaries on each side. Through the gate was a paved courtyard with the cream-colored brick main building and two wings. Chris looked in awe at the four-story structure with over a dozen chimneys sticking up like knitting needles. As they pulled up front and stopped, three men emerged from the front door. The center of this group was an older man, balding, but trim in his black suit and crisp white shirt; he was the man in charge. The man to his right was in jeans and a T-shirt, while the other man, or rather a boy of about 15 or 16 and tall, was in gold pants and white shirt with ruffles.
The older man opened Ariel's door. "Lady Ariel, a pleasure to see you again. I hope your travels were trouble free." The young boy ran around opening doors for Cedrick, Tom and Chris. "Petey will see to your bags. And if you give the keys to Dink, he will garage your car." The young boy, Petey, emptied the trunk of luggage and placed it by the door. Chris figured it would take at least three trips to cart the luggage in; Chris wanted to offer to help, but Tom firmly held his wrist.
"Clarke, it is a pleasure to see you again. The arthritis at bay?"
Clarke looked at Tom behind a desire to laugh. "His Lordship is more amenable these days so my pain is less." Tom hugged Clarke, who, while rigid, appreciated the hug. "Sir Cedrick, it seems your wife is treating you well. Your circumference is expanding most regally."
Cedrick patted his stomach. "Yes, my wench does me proud and stuffs me with her love." Ariel swatted Cedrick with her purse.
Clarke looked at Chris with a critical eye but said nothing. "Clarke, I want you to meet Chris Wentworth, my fiancé. Chris, this is Clarke, the head butler, but really the CEO. My Grandda would be lost without him."
"A pleasure to meet you Master Chris." Clarke did a small bow of the head but did not extend his hand. "Your rooms will be ready shortly so that you may freshen up, but until then would please proceed to the Blue Room for refreshments. Mrs. Mavis has a small tray set for you."
Chris walked into a walnut paneled entry hall, the size of a kitchen, with long heavy wood paneled walls with paintings on each wall. The painting above the fireplace caught his attention. "That is James I, who stayed here on one of his processions through the country. My ancestor, the lord of the manor at age 14, was said to have entertained him well. That is him holding a lute." Ariel was at Chris's side explaining the painting. "An erect lute." Ariel added. "My ancestor must have entertained the King very well because he was given land and a jeweled garter. But that is just a family story," she brightly said as she grabbed his arm to lead into the Blue Room.
The transition from the entry hall to the Blue Room was jarring time travel: from Jacobean England to Victorian England. The room had blue water silk wallpaper, blue velvet draperies; a blue cornflower designed rugs; chairs and settees of blue damask silk. Pink nymph paintings fought for space on the walls. The room had more bric-a-brac than a thrift store: under a glass domes, a stuffed finch; a lion pelt tacked to one wall; chinoiseries figurines, jardinieres, and a suit of armor; items too numerous lined tables and shelves and floor. The chairs and settees were grouped around a heavily carved coffee table with a selection of pastries sitting on it.
"Good love Mavis, she remembered by favorite." Tom sighed in delight as he lowered himself on to the unyielding cushion of his chair. "Chris, these gooseberry tarts are worth a trip to this Tartarus." Another man, who was not introduced, poured sherry. "Thanks, Hagan." The man flushed at Tom's gratitude. Chris wondered, thinking of the painting, if Tom and Hagan had played the lute together.
Clarke returned to the room. "Your rooms are ready, if you follow Hagan he will take you to the south wing. Tea is at 3:30 and Dinner is at 8:00. Sir Greenwood will be joining you for tea. The four followed Hagan up a grand staircase to the second floor and then took the left wing. The room was elegantly furnished by 1930 standards: green wallpaper with very large white gardenias, beige velvet drapes, art deco walnut furniture, a bed smaller than a queen, and a lavender chair at a makeup dresser and two wingback chairs furnished in the room. Red oriental rugs covered the 18th century dark stained oak plank floors. "This room has its own bathroom," Tom said as an apology. The bathroom was small with a white porcelain pedestal sink next to a commode, and across from a long deep clawfoot tub. "My great grandma redecorated the bedrooms in 1931 when the whole house was plumbed for indoor water and sewer. The bathroom was originally a dressing room. It was considered a showplace at the time. My Grandda, has not the interest in updating."
"I feel like I'm in an Agatha Christie novel before the corpse is discovered in the library." Tom laughed at Chris's comment.
"No murders here to date, but many other unsavory acts have been committed. Like sodomy."
"No, not sodomy. Lord Jesus preserve me from that carnal sin. Whore me out but preserve me from sodomy." Chris clutched his breast like a damsel in distress. Both he and Tom fell laughing on the bed. "No, while the room is dated, it does have its charm." Chris walked to one of the two windows in the room. "The view of the garden and grounds are nice. And the fireplace might be cozy."
"There is no central air or heat so the fireplace is a necessity. Clarke will have it burning tonight." Tom joined Chris by the window. "We need to freshen up and change for tea. And supper tonight is formal. All suppers are formal." Chris groaned.
High tea in the parlor was as pleasant as getting fucked by a porcupine. Everybody sat ridge on uncomfortable chairs and sofas, teacup in one hand, a small plate of nibbles on the lap and forced conversations about the weather. Tom and Chris entered at precisely 3:30. Tom's Grandda looked at his pocket watch and frowned. Grandda was a thin gaunt man of barely 5' 9". His skin was whitish with a more yellow hue; his pale blue eyes, almost white, were predatory like a vulture's. The wrinkles on his face were carved deep from a perpetual frown, which deepened when he saw Chris.
"Grandda, I would like to introduce you to my fiancé, Chris Wentworth."
"Pleasure, Sir. Tom has told me much about you." Chris extended his hand, but the old man glared at Chris like he just shat on the rug.
"You are Thomas's new doxy. huh." Chris was a butterfly pinned to a tray for examination. "He told you about me, huh. Little good most likely."
Chris looked at the man as he took a sip of tea and then looked at Tom for an answer. "I would not dare contradict you, sir." The old man looked at Chris carefully then shifted his attention to the tray of pastries and sandwiches, fingering several before he selected a current tart. He held up his cup, which Clarke filled.
Tom pulled Chris away to find a seat near Ariel and Cedrick. "That went very well," Ariel said quietly. "He didn't order you out of the house." Chris did a small chuckle and felt she was right. Grandda sat quiet, slurping tea and eating pastries with frequent stares at Chris. Each time Chris caught the old coot staring, he would smile a thin smile that said I know what you are doing but I will not break. At 4:30, as the mantel clock chimed, Grandda stood and left the room. High tea was over. Once he left, Chris was introduced to Aunt Mary, Grandda's younger sister. She was the family historian and gossip. Chris liked her. She was thin, reminding Chris of a cross between Chloris Leachman and Joan Rivers--elegant but crass.
By five Chris and Tom excused themselves to look at the gardens. Although it was late September, roses were in their last flush in the rose garden. They sat on a bench lost in the attar of rose and the melody of the central fountain. "This is nice," Chris said as he put an arm around Tom. "I don't think your Grandda approves of me."
"He approves of no one. But I approve whole heartedly because you are my heart."
"What if he does not give his blessing. Would he disinherit you like he did your dad?"
"His blessing is irrelevant because you are my soul, my completeness. Being disinherited would be a blessing. I would not have this place with all the headaches. It costs a fortune to maintain much less upgrade to the 21st Century. I have several cousins who could have the place. All I want is to be with you." Chris snuggled into Tom; together they watched the wrens among the roses.
Back in their room, they took a nap before supper. "You always dress in suits for supper?" Chris was straightening a bright red tie with a subdued rose pattern.
"Grandda is old fashion. This is how he grew up, so the tradition continues."
"Are you sure that I shouldn't be wearing a black suit?" Chris pulled the light butter yellow raw silk suit jacket on over the yellow dress shirt with faint red pinstripes.
"You are gorgeous," Tom kissed Chris. "You bring life to this old house. Black is for the dead."
"You're wearing black?"
"I am the black night against which you will be the star." Tom kissed Chris and pulled his arm heading toward the door. "We will have sherry in the library before dinner. Dinner will likely be six or seven courses and then brandy or port in the music room."
"Can I fain illness and forgo the torture."
"No."
They met Ariel and Cedrick in the hallway and proceeded to the library. Cedrick was in a black suit, white shirt and grey tie. Ariel was wearing a black silk dress with a high collar and a skirt that grazed her ankles. "I told you I should have worn black."
Ariel gently took Chris's arm. "My dearest cousin, you are a rare flower that needs to blossom. I love this on you."
They entered the library and Chris was stunned. It was a large room with three walls of shelves with books, several large chairs arranged in a square in the center. One wall was glass overlooking a small garden and opposite was the fireplace with a bright flame inside taking off the evening chill.
The instant Chris and Tom entered Aunt Mary cornered Chris. "You are scrumptious my dear, a baguette ready to be tasted." She stepped back to look at Chris. "Finally, something other than black. My dear little buttercup, I can see why Tom is smitten with you. We need to talk, my delicious man" She pulled Chris away from the rest toward the fireplace. Chris glanced over his shoulder at Tom but followed Aunt Mary.
Chris looked at the shelves of books, most looking like they have sat on the shelves for centuries. "The library is amazing. Might I find something to read tonight before bed?"
"Looks and brains." Aunt Mary was shorter than Chris so she had to look up at him. "I think I have something that you might like to read." She guided him to a shelf at his height and a thick book. "Do you like history?" Chris said he loved it. "This is the history of the Greenwood family. Since you will be a Greenwood, you should know all the scandals." The book was a folio, large, thick and heavy. "I'll have it taken to your room."
Chris spotted a slender book next to it. "May I also read this one?"
Aunt Mary looked at him in surprise, "You are a randy boy to read Catullus."
"Lord Greenwood," Clarke announced. All conversation stopped and turned toward the door. Lord Greenwood wore a black suit, slightly worn, white shirt and black tie, which against his pallor made him more suitable for lying in a coffin than walking across the room. His eyes were fixed on Chris.
"Young man, do you think your attire suitable for evening wear?"
Chris had expected this. Why had Tom set him up? "I do apologize that I am not up to the traditions of this ancient and noble home, but I find ruffles on my sleeves drag in my soup." Chris then pointed to the painting over the fireplace of a sixteenth century Restoration man in a bright orange embroidered silk cape like jacket, orange skirt, and a white shirt with ruffles below the fingertips. "I do humbly apologize for not meeting that sartorial splendor." Grandda looked at Chris, growled, turned, found a chair and the sherry Clarke handed him.
Aunt Mary nudged Chris, hiding a snicker. "You are the best thing to grace this house since Noel Coward. She led Chris over to a chair beside Tom and chose one near Ariel. The two of them spoke softly then giggled, which earned a frown from Grandda. Tom kissed Chris, which earned an even deeper frown from the old man.
After long minutes of agonizing silence Clarke announced dinner. Like Tom said it was seven courses of heavy sauces, two kinds of seafood; three meats including quail, potatoes; and a variety of roasted; stewed, and boiled vegetables. Individually each course was palatable and sometimes tasty, but as a meal it was gut wrenching to almost gut retching. The meal ended with a sticky toffee pudding, which was excellent if served after three courses.
"Well, boy," Grandda spoke to Chris. "What do you think of fine English fare?"
"The cook is to be commended. Each course was prepared to perfection and was delightful and tasty. You command a fine table worthy of Emperor Tiberius." Grandda started to crack a small smile then frowned, knowing it was not a compliment. "We shall retire to the music room." Grandda rose with the assistance of Clarke and everybody followed.
The music room was a throwback to Dickens or maybe Swinburn with plinths supporting massive ferns and palms, straight back chairs with needlepoint covered seats, a fireplace with busts of Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin on the mantel. Wallpaper was chinoiserie of peacocks and foliage popular in the 1880s. The rooms only redeeming factors were the one rounded wall of floor to ceiling windows behind a pianoforte, Broadwood and Son, a hand painted harpsichord, a harp, and a cello. Everybody selected a chair while Grandda commandeered the settee. Clarke and Hagan offered a choice of brandy or port. Chris chose the port.
"Mr. Wentworth." Grandda looked at Chris with an ice-cold face, rigor mortis settling into the frown. "I am told that you play at a burlesque hall. Would you grace us with a few ditties?"
"I would be honored, Sir." Chris rose and sat at the piano, "This is a beautiful pianoforte, sir. I hope to do it honors."
"You may attempt to but the great Franklin Taylor sat where you are sitting."
"I can only do my best. Shall I start with Sir Bennet's Impromptu?" The piece was interesting but had no flashes of inspiration or thrilling runs or bold contrasts of sound. When he finished Chris received polite applause. Chris launched into Mozart's Fantasia, with its humor, and with minimal pause, Rachmaninoff, Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, with its melancholy like a drawer of faded love letters. As Chris played, Grandda faded to insignificance, only the measure of notes, the sweep of melody, the punctuations of emotions filled Chris. He finished, sitting quietly staring at the piano keys.
Chris turned to the noise of applause, loudest from Tom. "Surprisingly competent," Grandda said, though part of his demeanor softened.
"Thank you sir, but what you really want to hear is some things from the bawdy stage. Chris turned to the piano and played: "Boiled Beets and Carrots", "Daisy Bell", and "Good Ship Venus". Chris stopped and smugly looked at Grandda, "Is that satisfactory for a music hall?" He did not wait for a response but turned back to the piano and started with Noel Coward "Why Do the Wrong People Travel?", "Gypsy Melody", and "I Like America". The last caused Grandda to frown, which was unnoticeable on his usually frowning face. "The last thing I would like to play is for you, Grandda: `Be Careful, It's My Heart'". Chris did not know why he chose that song, but it felt important. He looked at Grandda and saw a wisp of a human under layers of calcified regret. Grandda looked at Chris, shared a brief moment that was lost like the movement of a tectonic plate. Chris looked over at Tom, who missed the exchange between Chris and Grandda; Tom was beaming with pride at Chris. "Sir," Chris said to Grandda, "May I play the harpsichord. I've always wanted to." Grandda curtly nodded approval. Chris sat down, looked at the keys with reverence and played Handel's "Harmonious Blacksmith". Chris finished to polite applause even from Clarke, who was the consummate ever-present butler.
"Thank you Mr. Wentworth." Grandda motioned Chris to sit. "You are charming, handsome, and talented, I can fully appreciate why Thomas has fallen for you. You are a perfect dalliance for him, but I cannot allow a marriage. If Thomas wants to retain you as a paramour, that is his decision, but as a spouse never. You are not of his kind." The room was silent. Anger was in the edge of Ariel's lips, Cedrick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Tom gasp hurt to the core.
"Sir, I fully understand your position. It is the stance of a bitter old man who was not allowed to marry the man he loved. I am sorry for that loss, but I assure you sir, that Tom and I will chart our own lives with or without your approval. Just know that you are throwing away people that love you. And right now, you have too few that do." Chris turned and left the room. Tom stood, faced his grandfather, jaws clenched too tight in anger to say anything, then fled after Chris.
Aunt Mary stood, "You are a fool Seymour." She left in a flurry of black silk.
"Grandda," Ariel rose elegantly from her chair with Cedrick beside her. "Cedrick and I will be leaving in the morning. Do not expect us to ever return." Cedrick took her hand and left the room.
"That went well," Clarke said as he picked up the abandoned glasses and left the room to Grandda.
Tom found Chris sitting in the rose garden. "Hey, how are you doing." Chris looked up and shrugged. Tom sat next to Chris on the bench and put his arm around Chris. "I love you, Chris Wentworth. You are my air; you are the rock foundation I stand on. Without you I am nothing. What Grandda wants is not what I want. I want you, not as a slice on the side, but the whole meal. I love you."
"I love you too. And I know that we will marry, have children, and have a fantastic life together. But I don't want you to give up your heritage. And your Grandda desperately needs you in his life. He is so alone that he does not know how to share himself. He is in a castle surrounded by a moat but with no drawbridge. This is his moment of truth. We need to give him time."
"I love you Chris Wentworth." Tom and Chris sat in the rose garden listening to the night sounds. "Let's go back to our room so we can start to pack. We can stay in London and sightsee before we need to be in Paris. The room was prepared for them when they returned: a warm fire in the fireplace, the bed turned down and two cognacs poured. On the pillow was an envelope addressed to Chris.
Sir Greenwood is expecting Mr. Wentworth in his private study at 9:30 AM.
"Nice invitation," Chris handed the note to Tom. "Any idea why?"
"None. I was only called to his study once when I was pulled over for drunk driving. I was fifteen." Tom laughed. "The room is as dark as a dungeon and as cold." A knock at their door announced Ariel.
Ariel stomped into the room angry and ready to rip new holes into somebody's ass, "That arrogant fucking asshole," Chris had never seen Ariel pissed or curse; he was impressed. "How does he think he has any say in your lives. Does he not see that you are perfect for each other and that Tom is happy. When was the last time that old goat was happy?" Ariel threw herself into a chair, grabbed the glass of cognac and downed it in one gulp without choking. Chris was further impressed. He handed her the note. "What's he going to do? Try to buy you off?" She threw the note on the coffee table.
Chris sat in a chair across from Ariel and started to laugh; it ran from the souls of his feet to the roots of his hair. "I love you Ariel. You are so much a momma bear. But we shall see what he says. Do not doubt that I can hold my own against him."
Now Ariel and Tom both were laughing. "You proved that tonight. I don't remember anyone ever standing up to him." Ariel regained her breath.
"I never had the nerve. I think my dad did once." Tom was still chuckling. "We're packing tonight and leaving in the morning. Chris is not going to respond to the demand."
Chris was silent, "I will meet with him. He deserves his last say, as do I when I am not so emotionally involved. You can pack after I meet with him."
"Cheddy and I were to leave tomorrow too, but we'll wait until you and Tom leave. We'll have a grand exit." She smirked a wicked grin. "Times like this I wish I had a penis so I could piss on the doorstep as I leave." Chris howled in laughter at the image. "Thank you Chris. You are what this family needs. We'll talk in the morning."
Ariel had barely left before another knock at the door. It was Aunt Mary. She sat in the chair still warm from Ariel. "Won't stay long, but I wanted to say that Chris, you are welcome to the family. Tom could not have found a better spouse. Just don't be too harsh in reacting to his Lordship." The "his lordship" was sarcastic. "Please meet with him tomorrow. Give him a chance. He is one very lonely man. But I will respect any decision you make as long as I'm invited to the wedding." She stood and left.
At 9:30 Clarke deposited Chris at Lord Greenwood's study in the opposite wing of the house. Chris knew that the meeting would be a challenge, so he decided to set the tone by wearing Nikis, old jeans, and an Alice Cooper T-shirt. This would be a clear statement that Chris would not be bullied. Chris entered after he knocked. The room was worse than Tom described. The room was smallish compared to other rooms, three walls of black walnut paneling, and heavy Jacobean furniture. Behind the desk was a ghost, the pale form of Lord Greenwood. "Sir, I am here as requested, but I do not have much time since Tom is packing for us to leave shortly." Chris would not let the ogre dictate the meeting. The darkness in the room was suffocating. Chris walked over to a window and pulled aside the heavy drapes to let in light; dust motes swirled in the air. "I like to see the people I talk to." Chris sat in a chair.
Lord Greenwood watched Chris move about the room like he owned the place. He said nothing as Chris sat. He stared at Chris, who stared back. There was a laugh out of the old man, like an organ with a broken bellows. "I have underestimated you Mr. Wentworth. May I call you Chris?" Chris nodded but was confused. "It has been a long time since anyone has had the bullocks to challenge me to my face. And you, young man, had the nerves. Thank you. What you said yesterday made me very angry until I looked around me and realized you were telling me the truth. My sister Mary pointing out to me all the lords of the house who had male partners helped too. You might have guessed that I am fond of tradition." He chuckled to himself. Chris sat patiently, growing to like the man. "My only concern is children. The Greenwood line needs a strong main branch. Of all my children and grandchildren, Tom carries the strongest Greenwood trait. I do not want it to die out." The pain of that thought played over his face. "But I will not stand in the way of Tom's happiness. I was told about using a surrogate, if you are willing."
"Sir," Chris needed to tell him about his situation. "I am not sure if anyone has told you but I am transgender. I am transitioning from female to male. Recently I had several of my eggs frozen so that when Tom and I are ready we can have our children. They will be genetically both of ours, only carried by another woman."
Lord Greenwood squinted at Chris, "That explains the feeling I get from you of a battle between male and female."
"I have what physicians call severe gender dysphoria. Psychologically I am male stuck in a female body."
"That is a tough burden. But rather than dispelling the female side, embrace it as also part of you." Chris winced at the thought, how is it done? "I do not mean remain a woman, just take what is best from that female side, the parts that you like and blend it with the male side. I think you will be happier."
"It has been a struggle to embrace the female. I see that I had never considered any part of what is female as good. Society and family are not very accepting of transgender. They are too concerned with the physical appearance and not the essence of a person."
Lord Greenwood studied Chris for a few moments. "I take it your family did not take well to you wanting to be a man?"
"Kicked me out of the house in midwinter with only what I was wearing." But then Chris smiled, "We recently are working our way back together."
"That is good. Family is important."
"Sir, you are no better than my family. You disowned your own son for far less a reason."
Chris was sure that he would be thrown out of the office as he watched the flush rise through Lord Greenwood's face. "You, spare no one the truth. You are right, and I have regretted it. I just don't know how to fix it."
"Call your son, send you son an email or letter that you are sorry and ask for forgiveness. I have met Quenton and his wife Miranda. They are remarkable people with remarkable children. You need to mend the rift you caused."
"Thank you Chris. I have missed so much of my son's life and the grandchildren." Chris pulled out his phone and showed pictures. "Linc looks so much like my father." Lord Greenwood sighed. "So much lost." He sat staring at the pictures, shaking his head. "Chris, you were very good playing last night. I enjoyed it very much. How does a young man your age know British music hall ditties?"
"Google." Lord Greenwood looked at Chris then chuckled at his answer. "I knew I would be here and felt I should know a few. You heard most of what I know."
Lord Greenwood was quiet and thoughtful. "Why did you play `Be Careful, It's My Heart'?"
"It is hard to say Sir. Something inside me said it was important."
Lord Greenwood studied Chris. "Before I married, I was in love with a young man. It was our song. Back then such relationships were illegal and scandalous; it would ruin my family name and my future. My father found out and I never saw him again. My father arranged a marriage with a suitable woman. Magpie, that was my nickname for my wife, was in a similar situation. She was in love with a young man of promise but no pedigree. We talked about how unfair life was, but neither of us was willing to flout convention. Outside of the hearing of the chaperone, not sight, she told me that I was a poof and that she did not mind because I was kind. She said she would rather marry a poof than a badger." He laughed at the thought. "She and I had a companionable marriage, but it was never truly love. Over the years the pain of losing him was replaced with the need for everybody to do one's duty. The Greenwood genetics was paramount over love." He fiddled with a snow globe from Brighton Beach. "I have hurt so many people. How do I repair the damage?"
"First you need to repair yourself. I have watched Tom, Ariel, Cedrick, and Aunt Mary. They want you to be happy, but never knew how to make you happy. Be happy."
"Easier said than done. I have decades of misery to discard. Do they make rubbish bins that large?" A smile, tentative crept across his face. "Chris, I'm told that you have the Greenwood trait. I refused to believe that a stranger could have it. But I believe you do."
"I have been told that I do. My mother recently told me that her grandmother had weirding ways, but I don't know what it is?"
"At one time, it was said to be the ability to do magic. But today it is thought to be genetic. I have a grandson who is researching it. You've heard of multiple intelligences?" Chris nodded. "It is believed that in certain of the domains the gene creates a genius. The Greenwood trait seems to concentrate on the interpersonal, intrapersonal, spiritualistic, and naturalistic domains. You, my dear boy, in some mysterious way intuit people and what they need. My grandson, who is a physicist, thinks that in some way it allows us to interact with the quantum world. My grandfather was able to make things appear. Rupert, my grandson, says that it demonstrates Schroeder's cat. That my grandfather by creating awareness created the object. He has a formula that proves it, but to me it is still magic."
"That does make sense to me." Chris was silent for a while. "Tom has the trait, which is why you want him to have children."
"Yes, very strong. For some reason, Tom finds himself in places where he can be of help. It happens more often than to be a statistical fluke. Rupert has no explanation for it." Lord Greenwood laughed, "Not everything can be explained by a formula. It got Tom into a lot of trouble growing up. Not that he caused the trouble, but he would meander in just as a friend did something stupid." Lord Greenwood for the next thirty minutes regaled Chris with Tom stories that brought both to tears of laughter.
Grandda sat back in his chair studying Chris. "It is remarkable how you look like Bill." Chris sat still not sure what to say. "Bill was a Yank like you. He had your blonde hair and blue eyes, but not the deep blue like yours." Grandda closed his eyes, a small smile played across his lips. "I was told that he died when his plane crashed." Grandda leaned forward and rolled up his left sleeve. We exchanged watches." He chuckled to himself. "I know it was foolish, but it was all we could do. I still wear his."
Shivers ran through Chris. He slowly lifted his left arm and laid it on the desk. "Grandda, I think I am Bill's grandson."
Grandda did not move; he only stared at the watch. A thousand emotions passed in his face. "Chris could you please let me see the watch?"
Chris unstrapped it and handed it to Grandda. Grandda held it in his trembling hand, the placed it face down on the desk. He pulled a letter opener from a drawer. Quickly he slipped the letter opener under the case back and popped it off. Chris wanted to grab the watch, but he remained still.
Grandda smiled so softly that it was only a whisper. "I had the inside of the back engraved." He slid the back to Chris.
Chris picked up the case back and read the inscription inside "To William, May we always walk in the green woods." Chris pushed the back toward Grandda who reattached it to the watch.
"Chris, I do not know the mean of this. That the love of my life is repeated with you and Tom. I do not understand fate, but I do believe in it. Our two families were destined to be united. It did not happen with me and William. But it is happening with you and Tom." Chris took the watch and put it back on his wrist. "How can I not be in favor of you marrying Tom. I feel the love between you, although I wanted to deny it because I was jealous that he would have what I could not." Grandda looked out the now undraped window. "Aine wants this. Thank you Chris for letting the light in to this room and my heart."
"Grandda, I may call you Grandda?" Grandda gave a large small. "Tom and I belong together. I have known this from the very first time I saw him. Although we would have wed without your permission, having your blessing is like having rain blessing a thirsty earth. It is a rightness."
"Chris, you are a blessing to this place. Welcome to the family." Grandda stood. "Please do not spread, except to Tom, the story of your grandfather and me. It is a sad past when we need to celebrate a happy future. Let's go tell your husband, I like being able to say that, to unpack."
Both laughing, they enter their bed room. Tom was pacing worried about Chris. He stopped abruptly, seeing Chris and Grandda, arm in arm, joking and laughing. "Thomas, or I should call you as you prefer Tom, you have a very remarkable young man in Chris. I have changed my mind. If you don't marry him I will disinherit you." Chris and Lord Greenwood sat on the sofa like old friends. Tom did not know what to say.
"Yes sir, that is my very intention."
"I fully expect that the nuptials will be held here. It has been far too long since mirth visited these halls. I demand your parents and siblings be in attendance as will Chris's." Lord Greenwood turned solemn. "I have wronged your father and his family. Help me make amends. The wedding will be one start."
"Chris and I are honored to wed here. Chris and I will set a few dates."
"Would it be possible to have a Christmas wedding here?" Chris offered.
"Capital idea. It will be Christmas." Lord Greenwood said slapping his thigh. "A perfect way to bring family together." Chris and Tom looked at each other and only grinned. "On another topic, you need to take Chris to see the Old Man."
"I thought we might do that tomorrow, since I assume we will be staying the night. But we need to fly to Milan in the late evening tomorrow."
"Very good. Tonight, I would like to take everybody out to dinner. Haven't been to the Golden Cross in years. Dress casual. And Chris would you please call me Grandda. I would like that very much."
"Yes, Grandda, I would like that too."
The meal at the restaurant was lively. Ariel kept asking what Chris had slipped into the old man's water.
The next morning, Tom and Chris ate breakfast in the kitchen. Tom said it felt more normal, like home with all the staff gathered and gossiping. Mavis, the cook, pulled Chris into a hug; she was crying. "Thank you sir for saving his Lordship. I'd been here neigh on two scores and never saw him smile. Don't know what you did, but all the staff thank you." She looked at Tom, crossed her arms and scowled. "You got yourself one right fine man, so don't pervert it by following your old ways."
"Mavis, I fully agree about Chris being a fine man. Far too good for me. I need to be my best to be worthy. Thank you for reminding me." Chris wanted to protest but a plate full of food was plunked in front of him. The thick crisp bacon was too tempting to resist. "I'm taking Chris to see the Old Man this morning and then we need to leave for Milan. But..." He looked at Mavis like he was to tell a secret. Everybody in the kitchen leaned forward to listen. "Chris and I are getting married. Grandda wants us to marry here so we will during the twelve nights."
"Glory be Thomas, we have not had a wedding here since I was a sprightly lass. We all are happy for you." There was a round of applause from the staff and several slaps on the back for both Tom and Chris.
Once out of the house Chris asked who the Old Man was. Tom said, "You'll see. The day is perfect for a walk." And it was, the early sun burned off the dew but the air remained crisp with a light breeze that smelled of leaves and spent flowers. The path led through the formal gardens, past the maze, around the pond with rushes on one side, across a small stream bridge by a single plank, and into a forest.
"This is the Green Wood, from which our family protects. It once extended across north western England but time and conquest has reduced it to a few hundred acres. But the core, the heart of that ancient forest is still preserved here. It has been preserved by my ancestors for over two thousand years. This is what my Grandda values most, protects assiduously, and is the patrimony of all Greenwoods." Chris looked in awe at the large trees, thick with age. It was as grand as any church Chris had ever seen, just branches for a dome. Chris spotted a pair of fallow deer, thrushes, and wildflowers. Tom said nothing as he held Chris's hand leading him on into a clearing. Tom halted; Chris halted and looked up at the most massive oak tree he had ever seen. "This is Derwa, or we call him the Old Man. He has been here since the time of Shakespeare. He is the latest to grow on this site and around him are his progeny for when he succumbs to age. My ancestors have been coming to this site before the Normans, before the Anglo Saxons, before the Celts to worship at the roots of Derwa. We no longer worship here, but it is a place to reconnect with ourselves and touch nature. Part of the Greenwood trait is a close connection to nature."
Chris studies the tree. It was not tall and majestic as some oaks Chris had seen; its branches swept low, some resting on the ground. However, it emitted age, wisdom, and perseverance like perfume of honeysuckle mixed with intense oak. Its long branches extended like arms to embrace the weary and give comfort. Chris stepped forward, touched the bark, deep and coarse from centuries of weather, centuries of rain, snow, and storms. Chris leaned his head against the tree, like a child to a father's chest, and let all his anxiety flow into the source of compassion. Chris could hear the sap jabbering in the trunk, the leaves humming in the sun, the branches chatting with the wind, the roots debating within the ground. Here was past, present and future; rooted firmly in the past, a trunk supporting the present and limbs raised to the sky to embrace the future. Chris was not religious, but this was a sacred moment--a fraction of time when the whole world was one. As Chris felt himself pulling more and more away from this world into the tree, he felt afraid and pulled back. He saw Tom standing, patient, at the edge of the glen, smiling.
Chris stepped toward him when a missile dropped from the tree. Chris stooped and picked up an acorn. He slipped it into his jacket pocket. "A souvenir, I might plant it in California."
"No Chris. It won't grow there. This is a gift from the Old Man for you to plant here. The Old Man wants you to have a place here. You are part of the family now."
"Do you have an acorn planted?" Tom pointed to a young sapling maybe ten years old. "Then I need to plant mine near yours." They found a sunny place and dug a small hole and planted the acorn. "Grow strong and true." Chris said.
On the walk back to the house they talked about Milan and Paris and many sundry things except the Old Man.