Christmas Cocktail

WARNING! This story contains sensitive content: physical violence

It was Christmas Eve and the Bradford family was hosting a dinner party, to which they had invited 20 people, sadly 8 of them were unable to attend.

Lady Bradford was already dressed and ready at 4 p.m. The party wasn't until 6 p.m., however she took pleasure in keeping a watchful eye over the staff of her household. She was floating around the dining-room in her red chiffon dress, her hair up in a tight ballerina knot, her make-up and accessories gleaming impeccably, however those didn't do much to soften her appearance, for she had a stern look upon her face, looking like the angel of vengeance as she dilligently checked the preparations for the party, fixing the position of a wine glass next to the plate here and there, or a fork that was placed askew, carefully inspecting the centrepieces, and replacing any bit of the inaesthetic items that were part of them with much more visually pleasing ones.

The entire house was alight with candles and Christmas lights and ornaments, wreaths hung everywhere, the scent of pine flooding the hallways. Everything was perfect, just as the lady of the house wished it.

Lord Bradford, however, was busy with other more...personal matters, shall we say. He was in the living-room, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid covering the crystal clear ice-cubes in the glass, sloshing from wall to wall of the tumbler glass and clinking together as he raised it and sipped it minutely while looking out of the window into the snowy blizzard outside with a pensive expression on his face.

Lady Bradford having finished her inspection of all preparations, was now walking into the living-room, seeing her husband sipping whiskey, she placed her fists on her hips in frustration.

"Really Henry, whiskey already? It isn't even 5 o'clock. What are you going to do later on, fall under the Christmas table in front of our guests?... Please do try to maintain yourself as sober as possible, at least until after we've greeted our guests."

"For your information, my darling... This is but my first glass of the day, so I suggest you put one of those very expensive socks you own IN IT and let me be, I couldn't care less about this ridiculous party. I only dressed up and showed up so I could get you to stop talking... Are you even sure that anyone is foolish enough to venture out into this blizzard? Just have a look outside!“ he pointed with his whiskey glass towards the large window he was standing in front of, to the all white landscape outside, with millions of tiny snowflakes swirling around in the icy wind.

She refused to look out of the window, and instead stubbornly said: "They'll come, of course they will, they always attend my parties, everyone wants to be here, no matter the weather."

"You'd be surprised at how many people despise you, Clarissa!" he said snidely, sipping his amber intoxicating liquid.

"Oh, don't be so naive, Henry, I am well aware of that, but that doesn't make them anymore unwilling to attend my fabulous parties. Everyone loves this place, just look at it!... I've made it into a palace, when it was just a rundown, shabby ghost of a place. "

"At the expense of my hard earned wages..." Henry mutters under his breath, taking another sip.

"What was that?" she snaps at her husband.

"Nothing, darling, just talking to my whiskey." Henry says.

"Drunkard!" Clarissa, on the other hand, has no problem in voicing her distaste.

After a couple of hours the guests started to arrive, one by one. Clarissa and Henry, who was a little intoxicated at this point, greeted them.

The first was Lady Sainsbury, a wealthy, old oil heiress, along with her husband, Michael Walton, who was rumoured to be a washed-up old actor, married to the said Lady for her fortune.

The second to arrive was Mr. John Connelly, a well known bachelor and businessman, a Wallstreet man. Very good looking in his black suit, crisp white shirt and burgundy ascott tie.

Next up where the Johannsons, very wealthy family, with a hand in every pie, so to speak. There were three of them, the elderly mother and widow, Lady Genevieve Underwood and her two children, Angelica, a well known movie star and Brandon, who, alas, hadn't considered it suitable to find an occupation, but simply biding his time until his old mother’s ticker gave out, so he could pick up the reigns of the family fortune.

The Mansfields were next; a lovely young couple, but with old money inheritance. Lord Thomas and Lady Evelyn, both of them high-society acquaintances of Lady Clarissa.

Then came Captain James Richards and his wife Veronica Richards. The good captain was always invited to Lady Clarissa's parties, as they were old friends.

"Oh, thank God we're 12!" said Clarissa, as she was getting ready to lead the guests into the dining-room.

"Don't be superstitious, darling, 13 is but a number." Henry counteracted as he received a menacing look from his wife.

Just as they were all heading into the dining-room, there was one final knock on the massive wooden door.

When the butler opened the door, a very stylish older gentleman stepped in. He took of his coat and gave it to the butler along with his hat and cane.

He was wearing a velvet maroon dinner jacket, white shirt, black trousers and a golden ascott tie. His hair was salt and peppery, his complexion was darker than what these good people were used to, still it looked good on him along with his impeccable posture.

By now everyone was gawking at him, including our hostess. He walked up to Lord Henry Bradford in confident strides, stopped in front of him and his wife and bowed to them both.

"Permit me to introduce myself," he said in a South American accent, "as I see surprise on your faces. I am Gustavo Alfonso Gutiérrez de Montalban, I am a businessman and I am attending this party at the invitation of Lord Henry." he explained as Lord Henry shook his hand.

"Yes, darling, I hope you don't mind..." Henry confirmed looking towards Clarissa with a cryptic smile. "I invited Mr. Montalban as he is a new... business partner of mine in South America, Argentina, to be more precise." Henry explained looking a bit flustered.

Lady Clarissa was surprised, but also bothered by the fact that now the dinner-attendants were 13, the hosts included and she positively hated the number and was unequivocably superstitious.

" Well then, Mr. Montalban... Please join us for dinner, why don't you?" she said as politely as she could, gesturing with her slender and graceful arm towards the dining-room.

Everyone sat down, drinks and the hors d'oeuvres were served. They all started drinking, eating and chatting amongst themselves.

The Bradfords were each sitting at either end of the long mahogany table, Henry still sipping his elixir and getting more and more intoxicated by the second, as his wife offered him murderous looks from across the table now and again.

The closest person sitting to Mr. Montalban was Mr. Connelly, the bachelor.

"So... Um... Mr. Montalban, was it?"...the stranger nodded in response... "Where did you say you were from?" Connelly asked taking a sip of his Old Fashioned.

"I am originally from Argentina, Mr. Connelly, but I travel a great deal for business purposes." Montalban answered a slight smile on his face.

"Tell me, Mr. Montalban... If you are a South American businessman, how come I have never heard of you?" he said and then leaned in closer to whisper to the old gentleman consipratively almost "You see, I work on Wallstreet and I make it my business to know who's who in this domain. Lord Henry never mentioned you!" he then raised his glance and fixed Montalban with his piercingly blue gaze.

The old gentleman was not phased by Connelly's interrogation and he almost immediately answered. "I have just made my fortune recently, you see I came into a lot of money and decided to invest, that's why you do not know of me, I am new in this business."

Connelly decided to stop prying and return to his drink.

Conversation continued among all the guests well into the second course.

At some point the lights go off and somebody screams.

The power went off because of the blizzard outside. Everyone could hear Lady Clarissa's voice demanding that more candles be brought and lit all through the house, especially the ground floor, where her guests were meant to move about.

The staff quickly attended to their mistress' needs, lighting the whole dining-room up, however just as they did so, the power came back on.

Lord Henry was the most relieved of all, he huffed and was breathing heavily as he was moving his hands all over his chest, checking to see if he was in one piece.

"Good God! I'm still alive!" Lord Henry uttered in surprise.

"Really, Henry, again with your preposterous suppositions? Nobody is trying to kill you!" Lady Clarissa scoulded her husband as he was taking a bit of liquid of courage from his tumbler glass. After he emptied his glass, he sat down abruptly, winced and clutched his chest, making choking sounds and widening his eyes in desperation as everyone was clamouring around him, trying to help in some way... Alas they all knew it was futile when they saw foam coming out of Lord Henry's mouth.

Clarissa shoved everyone aside, looked at her husband, her eyes stuck out in complete terror, as she felt his wrist for a pulse, when she couldn't find one she started screaming and weeping.

"Oh my God!... Oh, my God! ... Oh, my God!" Clarissa kept saying in a disbelieving strangled voice.

Mr. Montalban approached the body and took its wrist into his hand, placing two fingers upon the veins that showed just under the skin, alas he neither could feel a pulse.

(To be continued...)