When Veronica Bottomly catches sight of the page girl at a relative's wedding, she dreams of taking her to bed, something she hasn't done for years. But a little problem thwarts her plan and it looks like it's going to be a miserable Christmas for both of them.

Author's Note: Just a very quick standalone story for Christmas. For those not familiar with the term, Beefeaters are ceremonial guardians of the Tower of London. If you want to read more stories which include the protagonist, Veronica Bottomly, see The Doll's House and Whatever Happened to Charley's Aunt.

The Beefeater
by Charlotte Dickles

Veronica Bottomly hadn't lusted after another woman for years – decades even, if she was being honest with herself, which she usually was. To experience such an instantaneous heart-throbbing reaction, she'd have to go back to when she was a teenager. Yet, as she stood in the church at the wedding of one of her late husband's extended family – in Essex, for heaven's sake – and watched the bridal parade with four page girls dressed like Beefeaters (Yuk!), her thoughts turned from nausea into love at first sight.

It was of course, totally preposterous that such a pretty girl would even think about a relationship with her and, almost certainly illegal, as she must surely be only fourteen or fifteen. She allowed herself a brief smile as she remembered back to the 1960s and the girls she'd taken then, when no one worried too much about such legalities.

But the smile rapidly wiped from her face as she recalled that today, many people were going to prison for their laxities. "But no women, so far," she muttered to herself. In any case, what was she even thinking of? She was old enough to be the child's grandmother.

So it was purely coincidental that, shortly after they'd arrived at the reception hall, she happened to want to use the toilet at just the same time as the page girl and happened to be just behind her in the long queue.

"That's a delightful costume you're wearing," she said, as an innocent remark a stranger might make to another under such circumstances.

"Huh!" the girl snorted. "It is hideous. I can't believe Mum and Aunty Tracy made me wear it." That enabled Veronica to work out that she was the young woman's great-aunt.

"But," the girl continued, "Mum said my sisters were all wearing them so I had to as well. So embarrassing."

"You must be one of Suzy Bottomly's children," Veronica said with a smile. "I'm Veronica Bottomly." (She really did not want to emphasise either their age difference or their formal relationship, even though it was very obvious.)

"Steve Bottomly," the girl said, introducing herself and politely shaking her hand. Stephanie was such a delightful name, Veronica thought. Why did kids abbreviate it to such a boring one; even Stevie would be infinitely better. "You must be the Lady," Steve suddenly added, her face expressing almost reverence.

Veronica gave a wide smirk. "I am Lady Bottomly," she admitted, "but I'm still a warm-hearted person underneath."

"Wow," Steve said. "Do you have butlers and maids and hundreds of servants?"

"I'm afraid not," Veronica said. "I don't employ anyone now." She smirked down at Steve's costume. "Not even a page."

"That's a pity," Steve smiled back. "Getting a job for the Christmas holidays would have been one benefit to come out of this fiasco."

"Oh." Veronica's voice was casual in the extreme but her heart was pounding as she added, "Are you looking for a job?" She was on the take.

***

Steve paid off the taxi outside Aunt Ronnie's house (don't ever call her that to her face, his mother had said) and stared up at the Victorian splendour. At least, it probably would have been splendid in Victorian times; now it looked rather neglected and run down. And it was several miles outside Seacombe; the taxi driver said there was one bus a day into and out of the town centre, so it meant he was stranded here unless his aunt was going to drive him into town. At least, she was paying him a living wage, and had offered to reimburse him his rail and taxi fares, which was the important thing.

He gave one knock on the door before it was flung open.

"Steve!" his aunt said, a look of delight on her face which rapidly turned to horror. The arms, which were spread wide as a prelude to giving him a hug, dropped awkwardly to her side.

"Hello, Aunt," he said, and added, "Is everything all right? Have I got the day wrong or something?"

"No, it's the right day. It's just that you look very different without your costume."

"Well, of course I look different without that poncey outfit. Everybody taunted me, saying I looked like a girl."

The silence stretched between them and he suddenly stared her in the face. "That's it, isn't it? You thought I was a girl. That's why you offered me the job."

Veronica thought of lying but her maxim was never lie if you might be caught out or it was obvious. "Yes," she admitted. "I thought you were a girl and I was rather looking forward to a girl living here with me. I thought it would brighten up my life." Not to mention her bed, she thought but did not say.

"But I offered you a job," she continued, "and I won't go back on a promise. I'm afraid I'm not very good with teenage boys, but please promise me you won't fart or belch or swear, or all those other horrid things which boys do." What a damn disappointment, especially after buying that new bed.

"Of course not, Aunty," he said, mentally crossing his fingers. The belching and the swearing weren't a problem; as for the other things, his mother had taught him that what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over.

"Mmm." She didn't look particularly convinced by his promise, perhaps detecting his mental finger-crossing. "Well, you'd better come in and I'll show you to your room."

"Thanks Aunty."

She hated being called Aunty, especially by a little sod who'd badly deceived her. Now she was stuck with him for Christmas. He was going to have to pay for it. "And from now on, I'd prefer it if you call me Lady Bottomly. I am after all your employer."

"Yes… Lady Bottomly." What the f… heck had he got himself into? She was taking him for a ride. If he only knew the ride she had been planning!

***

The room would have been perfect – for a teenage girl who was very different from those devils who masqueraded as his sisters. They'd have had no hesitation in denouncing it as a tart's boudoir – or more likely, an effing tart's boudoir. Its main theme was pink with lots of hearts on the wall paper – clearly the room had just been decorated for the girl she'd been expecting. There was a large bed in the middle of the room with a new pink quilt and matching heart-shaped pillows. The dressing table was obviously of older vintage but it had a shiny new mirror and a recently re-covered stool.

"There's plenty of spare space in the wardrobes," Veronica said. "Why not get yourself unpacked and then come down to the kitchen for a cup of tea or coffee... or something."

***

As he lumbered over to the fridge to get a Cola, Veronica wondered how she could ever have confused him with a girl. He was, of course, smaller than the average boy and had quite a pretty face, but he had the same clumsiness that seemed to accompany every one of the male sex. As she compared his behaviour now to that at the wedding in his Beefeater costume, it just seemed like a totally different person. Perhaps he was.

"Tell me," she said with a rather forced smile, "how you came to be wearing that Beefeater costume, which was clearly designed for girls or very young boys."

He flushed slightly at the memory. "I have three sisters and they're always ganging up on me. When Aunty Tracy came over to discuss our costumes for her wedding, they all decided that was the best, and I'd just have to lump it."

"Did they exclude you from the discussions?" Veronica asked. "That would be inconsiderate in the extreme."

"Well, not quite, but they took no notice of my protests."

"Well what made them decide on the Beefeater costume in the first place? I'm sure that Tracy wouldn't want you looking stupid at her wedding, although you actually looked stunning."

"We were just browsing the internet for costumes and this one picture came up with four Beefeaters in a group, two girls and two guys, only they were quite a bit older. We all thought they looked really good, but when we went to order them on the company's website, the costumes were all in girls' sizes, apart from those for young kids. But my sisters said that wouldn't be a problem and they could measure me up and get a proper-sized costume for me. At the time, having seen that picture with the guys in it, I wasn't worried."

"How strange the hire company should show a picture with two men in it when they don't size them for men," Veronica observed.

Steve shrugged. "Guess so," he said.

"Show me the picture," she said.

"What?" He seemed startled.

"I have a computer in my study. I'm just interested how these young men looked in their costumes. After all, it was that which got you into that situation."

"Er, right."

She led the way into her study and Steve sat at her desk and quickly typed in a long web address. Surprising, Veronica thought, that he simply didn't type into a search engine; she thought everyone did that nowadays. A wedding photograph came up with two male and two female pages dressed as Beefeaters following behind the bride. As Steve had said, the males looked quite manly, with stubble on their faces and, although she wasn't personally interested in such details, quite respectable pecs.

"That's not the hire company's website," Veronica observed, "although it does have a link to them at the bottom of the page. Strange that."

"S'pose so."

"And my guess is," she leaned forward to stare more critically at the picture, "that's been photo-edited. Those aren't pecs on the guys, they're female breasts and someone has given them men's faces."

"Do you think so? How strange."

"Come on, Steve. You must know about photo-editing. Surely it would be fairly easy to do that to the picture."

"S'pose." He was bushing a deep crimson, right round to the back of his neck.

She put her hand over his. "You looked so pretty in that outfit, Steve. As though it was meant for you."

"Thanks."

"Is that what you thought? When you came across that picture on the internet, you wanted to be one of the four girls. So you doctored it, probably with your face to start with, but later with the men's faces so you could show the girls. And I guess you 'just happened' to bring it up when you were with the girls searching for costumes."

Steve nodded. She knew he was on the verge of crying.

She pulled him around to hug him and said, "It's all right for girls to cry and I think you looked absolutely beautiful."

He burst into tears.

"What's more," she added, gently patting his back. "There's a place in town where they sell shaping garments for girls like you. They can make you very curvy indeed, but I think you only need to add a little extra shape. Just sufficient so that you'll properly fit into the clothes from my teenage years which I have stored in the attic. Perhaps we'll go shopping and buy you a few more. I'm going to give you the best Christmas you've ever had."

For once, taking wasn't on the menu, and strangely, it felt quite nice.