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It was so much easier last Christmas.
He’d been Lewis’s bagman around eight months – long enough to know that Lewis liked him in spite of all the irritating quirks and faults that had put off other senior officers. Enough to know that they enjoyed each other’s company over an occasional off-duty drink, and that maybe he was even helping his governor adjust to being back in Oxford after the tragedy that had driven him overseas. And a short enough time for a decent bottle of single malt to be an appropriate Christmas present.
At any rate, Lewis had been pleased, and had even invited him over for a couple of drinks from that same bottle the evening before his governor had driven to Manchester to spend Christmas with his daughter. And his present to James had been along similar lines: a bottle of Pusser’s Rum, brought back from the British Virgin Islands – and a tin of rum cake.
It’s different this year. Oh, Lewis would be perfectly happy with another bottle or two of Glenfiddich, but James wouldn’t. That doesn’t come even close to telling Lewis, however subtly, how much James values and is grateful to him.
But what can he possibly give the man who not only forgave him after he lied over and over, but who also ran into a burning building to save his life? And who has never mentioned either incident again since, let alone held it against James in any way.
Without Robbie Lewis, James would be dead – or still alive but wallowing in guilt over Will, over his own blind prejudice, and over his denial of what and who he is. Without Robbie Lewis, he wouldn’t have a job, and certainly wouldn’t feel like one half of a real partnership. He’s got something he never had before: a colleague who listens to him, stands by him, supports him and has even put his own career on the line for him. Someone, maybe, that he can even call a friend.
He browses the tie racks in Walters on Turl Street – Lewis had joked a few months ago, after all, that James could save up to buy him a tie. And, yes, there are several here that would look good with the dark suits Lewis habitually wears. Brighter red instead of dull burgundy, for example, or strong dark blues in a geometric pattern instead of the narrow stripes typical of his boss’s usual choice.
He has no doubt that Lewis would appreciate a couple of ties, though he’d probably pretend to think that James is mocking him. He’d even turn up to work after Christmas wearing one of the ties, claiming to be doing so only to avoid further mockery of his dress sense. Ties, though, still don’t say what James wants – needs to say to the man who means more to him than anyone else he’s ever known.
Two ties, both in a silk and durable synthetic mix, one crimson and silver and the other in rich shades of blue. They’ll look good on Lewis and his boss will probably genuinely like them. It’s a decent present – but it’s still not enough.
***
He turns from Turl Street onto the Broad, intending to stroll around in search of further inspiration – and almost walks straight into a figure in a rugby shirt and suede jacket. “Oi! Not very observant today, are you, Sergeant?”
“Sir!” James feels his heart pounding. “Sorry – I didn’t–”
“Just make sure you’re lookin’ where you’re going when you drive home,” Lewis says, an amused grin spreading over his face. Glancing down, he adds, “Christmas shopping?”
Damn it. His fault for accepting the cashier’s offer to gift-wrap the ties. The bag’s small enough for the wrapping and ribbon to peek out the top. He knows he’s blushing, and hopes Lewis’s detection skills aren’t good enough to figure out the cause. “Thought it was about time I got started.”
“Me too.” Lewis grimaces. “Haven’t been as lucky as you, though – I’m still stumped.”
“Can’t think what to get, sir?” Lewis nods, expression frustrated. James makes a sympathetic face. “Me too. You’re looking for Lyn?”
“Yeah.” Lewis falls in next to him and they stroll together. “Thought maybe a scarf or a book, but I haven’t seen anything she’d like. Got a couple of other presents to buy, as well.”
“Hmm.” James frowns in thought. “Might want to stay away from books after the last one,” he quips, and Lewis smiles wryly. “You know,” James adds after a moment, “from what you’ve told me about her, I think I could suggest some music she might like.”
They go into Blackwell’s and less than ten minutes later Lewis is paying for two Acoustic Triangle CDs. He pats James on the back as they exit. “Reckon I owe you a coffee for that one, man. You got time?”
Even if he didn’t, he’d make time. They walk back down Turl Street to The Missing Bean, and are lucky enough to find a booth in the back as a couple leaves. “So who else do you have to buy for, sir?” James asks when Robbie arrives back with their drinks. “Dr Hobson?”
“Nah, Laura’s easy. Couple of bottles of Merlot from Victoria Wine. I’ll get that on the way home. Nah, the tough one’s...” He hesitates, then says, “Maybe you can help. What would a bloke your age like?”
“Your son?” James asks; Lewis makes a gesture that could be yes. “Difficult to say. I mean, I’m not exactly typical of men my age, am I?” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Your son’s in Australia, isn’t he, sir? It might be easier to send him an electronic gift voucher. If you buy him something here, the postage’d probably cost more than the present, and there’s the risk that he might not even like it.”
Lewis waves away James’s objection. “Say I did want to buy something. I mean, a gift voucher – not a lot of thought goes into that, an’ that’s not what I want. Anyway,” he adds, a little awkwardly, “it’s not Mark. It’s for a friend.”
A friend? It’s news to James that Lewis has a friend of around his age. He’s never met the bloke, nor heard Lewis mention him.
To cover his confusion, he says, “That’s what I’m stuck on, as well – trying to find something meaningful for a friend who...” He swallows and ducks his head. “Someone I’m more grateful to than I can possibly say.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see curiosity dawning on Lewis’s face and he curses inwardly. Why did he have to say anything? Quickly, he asks, “What does your friend enjoy doing?”
Lewis pulls a face again. “That’s part of the trouble. He likes books, music, art, poetry, stuff like that, but I don’t know enough about his tastes. He’s cultured but eclectic – likes some stuff, hates other things, you know? What about your friend?”
James sighs. “He’s the kind of man who’d thank me and sincerely mean it even if I gave him a four-pack of bitter. He isn’t really into things, other than the kind of things that have meaning for him. Memories, family... you know.”
“Ah.” Lewis looks at him thoughtfully, then reaches for his coffee.
“I did get something I think he’ll like,” James adds, “but...” He shakes his head, frustrated.
Lewis pauses in the act of drinking, suddenly alert. “I think I might have the solution to both our dilemmas.”
“Yes, sir?”
His boss drains his coffee. “You’re working the early shift on Christmas Day, yeah?” James nods. “I’ve got the day off. Not sure I told you – I’m stayin’ in Oxford this year. Lyn and Tim are going to Tim’s parents. They did invite me, but they’re going to have a full house and I don’t fancy bein’ around a lot of people. So why don’t you come over to mine when you’re off-duty an’ we’ll see if we can figure out how to roast a turkey between us?”
James gives him a puzzled look. “That’s very kind of you, sir, and I very much appreciate the offer. But I don’t see how that solves–”
Lewis’s gaze meets James’s across the table, and his gaze is gentle. “Don’t you?”
James’s eyes widen. Likes books, music, art, poetry... cultured but eclectic... He just hadn’t realised that his governor considered him a friend as well.
After a moment, he nods. “Thank you, sir. I’ll look forward to it, very much.”
“Good.” Lewis slides out of the booth. “Need to get goin’ now, James, but I’m glad I ran into you.” He pauses beside James and lays a hand briefly on his shoulder. “You’re right that things don’t mean much to me. Course I’d never say no to a four-pack of bitter, lad, but only if you delivered it in person. Got it?”
James holds up his Walters bag with the gift-wrapping showing. “Not beer, I’m afraid, sir, but I promise it will be delivered in person.”
Lewis nods with an amused smile. “See that it is.”