Christmas At Pemberley

Tom shrugged. ‘Someone showed him the photographs, I reckon. He was made to understand that if he didn’t withdraw, the photo – and the story of the affair ‒ would run in the next day’s papers.’

‘So that’s how you came by the infamous Aston Martin,’ Helen remarked, and quirked her brow. ‘I always wondered.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘How’d you know about that? I sold the Aston years ago.’

‘Are you kidding? That car is a newsroom legend! We all thought you must’ve been shagging the owner’s wife.’

He nearly spit out his lager. ‘I’ve never been that desperate for a car,’ he retorted. ‘Or a shag.’

‘So who was he?’ Helen asked as she leant forward, her eyes intent on his. ‘Who tipped you off about Pen and Longworth and paid you to keep the story quiet?’

He shrugged. ‘I never knew the bloke’s name. I saved Pen Park from a world of trouble, though, and no mistake. If that story had run...’ his words trailed off.

Helen traced a finger around the rim of her glass. ‘Someone obviously wanted to force Longworth to stand down.’

‘It happens all the time, love. Politics is a dirty business. That fling with Pen ruined Longworth’s career. Hope she was worth it. It put paid to her career, too.’

‘It did? How so?’ Helen asked curiously.

‘She gave up modelling, didn’t she? At the top of her game, she was, and then she just...disappeared.’

‘Poor Pen. She had to give up Graeme Longworth...and her modelling career.’

‘Oh, don’t feel too sorry for Miss Park. She married into the Campbell family a year or two later, after all. Filthy rich, the Campbells, as you’ve no doubt seen for yourself, with a castle, and that distillery fortune of theirs. She didn’t need to model any more.’

‘No,’ Helen said, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘No, I suppose she didn’t.’

They were just sliding out of the booth to leave when Archie Campbell and his wife entered the pub.

‘Shit,’ Helen muttered. ‘Speak of the devil…the Campbells just walked in. Put your happy face on, Tom.’

‘I don’t have a bloody happy face,’ he grumbled as he reached for his wallet.

‘Helen!’ Penelope Campbell called out as she spotted them, and gave a little wiggle of her gloved fingers. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ She cast a curious glance at Tom. ‘And who is this?’ she enquired as they arrived at the booth.

Before Helen could respond, Archie thrust out his hand. ‘Archie Campbell. Pleased to meet you.’

Tom, momentarily nonplussed, regained his equilibrium and shook hands with Campbell and Pen in turn. ‘Tom Bennett. Pleasure.’ He added, ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to run, it’s been a long day. I’m off to check into my hotel. It was great seeing you again, Helen.’ He gave her a meaningful glance. ‘We’ll talk soon.’

‘Bye, Tom.’ She lifted her hand and watched as he beat a hasty retreat out the door.

‘Well!’ Pen said brightly as she unwound her scarf. ‘Is Mr Bennett a particular friend of yours?’

‘No. He...we used to work together. In London.’ Eager to change the subject, Helen said, ‘Why don’t you take our booth? We’re just leaving, and the place is heaving.’

It was true. In the hour or so that she and Tom had spent talking in the back corner, the Draemar Arms had gotten busy, crowded now with locals anxious to escape for an evening of drink and darts and conversation.

‘Won’t you join us?’ Archie invited her as he shrugged off his coat. ‘You’re more than welcome.’

‘Thank you, no. I need to go and buy a tin of shortbread to take to Colm’s tomorrow.’ Instantly she regretted the words. Why in hell had she said that?

‘Oh?’ Pen arched her brow. ‘Are you invited to the gatehouse for tea, Miss Thomas?’

Helen managed a polite smile. ‘No. Colm’s invited me to Sunday dinner, actually. Nothing fancy. But I do hate to show up empty-handed,’ she added. ‘So if you’ll excuse me, I really should be going.’

Her mobile rang just then. With a glance down at the screen – it was Tom’s number – she hurriedly said her goodbyes, and left.

‘What is it, Tom?’ Helen said into the phone as she walked back to her rental car. ‘Didn’t you just leave?’

‘Thank God he didn’t remember me.’

She scrabbled in her purse for the key and unlocked the door. ‘Who? What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about Archie Campbell.’

‘Oh...had you two met before?’

‘You could say that. Although we never actually met.’

‘Tom,’ Helen said impatiently as she slid behind the wheel, ‘stop being so bloody cryptic and tell me what the hell you’re on about.’

‘He’s the one, Helen. He’s the bloke who called me all those years ago and tipped me off about Longworth.’

She blinked. ‘Archie? No, you must be mistaken.’

‘I never forget a voice,’ Tom said firmly. ‘And it was definitely him I spoke to on the phone.’ He paused. ‘It was Archibald Campbell who put paid to Graeme Longworth’s career. And you can take that to the bank.’

Chapter 34

Caitlin remained in her room all day Saturday.

Fear of her father’s volatile temper kept her out of the dining room, as well. She’d never seen him so furious, not even when she accidentally broke one of the mullioned glass windows in the library with a croquet ball.

She asked Mrs Neeson to have the cook send up a tray, and although the housekeeper grumbled, she agreed.

As Caitlin looked down at her luncheon tray of cream of mushroom soup and toast points, she felt a wave of nausea overtake her, and barely set the tray aside in time to rush to the bathroom sink.

A few minutes later, she pushed her hair back from her forehead and laid her face down against the cool marble countertop. She hated Niall for doing this to her.

Gradually she realized her mobile was ringing, and she stumbled to her bedside table and picked it up.

‘Hello, Cait. How’s my favourite girl?’

‘Puking my guts up,’ she answered crossly. ‘It was the mushroom soup that did it this time. Everything makes me ill lately, no thanks to you.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. Truly. If you were here with me right now, I’d pamper you, and give you sponge baths, and spoil you outrageously. I miss you.’

‘I miss you, too.’

He paused. ‘Have you spoken with your father yet? Have you told him about us...about the baby?’

‘Yes, on both counts. Oh, Niall – I’ve never seen him so furious! It’s a good thing you weren’t here, or he’d have torn you limb from limb and fed you to the lions.’

‘I should’ve been there to support you.’ His words were bitter. ‘I feel like a complete coward, leaving you to deal with the fallout on your own.’

‘Oh, Dad will calm down eventually. Mum will bring him round.’ She chewed on her lower lip and added, ‘I’m sorry about Jeremy. I hope he’ll come round eventually, too.’

‘He will. And if he doesn’t...’ Niall paused ‘too bad. He’ll have to accept you, Caitlin, and our marriage, too.’

‘I just hope it doesn’t cause a permanent rift between you. I don’t want to be the cause of,’ she let out a shaky breath, ‘of breaking up your family, Niall...but that’s exactly what I’ve done, isn’t it? My father’s right.’

‘My marriage to Miriam was over years ago,’ he told her firmly. ‘She’s been seeing someone else for some time now. In any event, it doesn’t matter; we grew apart long ago. You made me see that there was nothing left to salvage from our marriage, and so I finally did something about it.’

‘I hope you don’t end up regretting it, someday,’ Caitlin said with a sniffle. ‘I hope you don’t end up regretting...us.’

‘The only thing I regret,’ Niall said, his words leaving no doubt, ‘is the time I’ve wasted without you.’

Helen returned to the gatehouse just before eight that evening, her arms laden with bags. ‘I’ve brought lamb shanks, tomatoes and wine,’ she said as Colm swung the door open and reached out to take a couple of bags from her ‘and I bought a tin of shortbread for afters. You Scots do like your shortbread, don’t you?’

‘We do,’ he agreed, amused. ‘But you needn’t have bothered. I’ve made us a lemon tart.’

Helen followed him into the kitchen and dropped the groceries onto the table. She turned to face him in mock astonishment. ‘What? You can bake, Mr MacKenzie, in addition to your many other talents?’

His arms came round her waist and he nuzzled her neck. ‘What talents would you be speaking of, Miss Thomas?’ he murmured against her skin. ‘My cooking? My conversational skills? Or...’ he took her earlobe gently between his teeth ‘something else, perhaps?’

‘Something else,’ she breathed, just before his mouth took hers and made conversation impossible. For several minutes she gave in to the bliss of snogging him like a lust-ridden teenager, then reluctantly, she broke away.

‘There’s cream in those bags, and eggs. I should put the perishables away.’

‘Put ’em away later,’ Colm told her, and pulled her against him. ‘They’ll keep for a bit longer...but I might not.’ He covered her mouth once again with his, and his tongue found hers, and they made their way upstairs to Colm’s bed, leaving the groceries forgotten on the table.

Later, as they clung together in a sweaty tangle in his bed, Colm kissed the top of her head. ‘I missed you, lass,’ he said simply.

‘I missed you, too.’ And it was true. She’d thought of little else but him since they’d first slept together.

‘You were gone for quite a while,’ he remarked as he reached over and stroked the hair back from her face.

Shit. Nothing escaped Colm, including her lengthy absence. ‘The shop in the village was closed,’ Helen improvised, ‘so I had to go all the way into Northton Grange. I should’ve called to let you know,’ she apologized. ‘Sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s no matter. I was a wee bit worried, that’s all.’

‘How sweet! But you needn’t worry about me.” She hesitated. “Colm,’ she ventured as she nestled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, ‘can I ask you a question?’

‘Aye, I reckon so. I can’t say as I’ll answer it, though.’ He glanced down at her with a smile.

She hesitated. ‘Tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers? Sisters? Do they live hereabouts? I know so little about you.’

His smile faded. ‘I have no family to speak of. No brothers, no sisters.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ Helen rested her head back on his chest, hardly daring to look at him. ‘So your mother and father are dead?’

There was a lengthy silence, and she feared she’d pushed him too far. He was so damned prickly when it came to any mention of his past...

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was adopted. The McRoberts were good, decent people, and they gave me a roof and fed me. But when my adoptive mother died suddenly, Mr McRoberts was shattered, and so was I. I acted out, got in with a bad lot, and he couldn’t cope with me. I was placed in a series of foster homes, each one worst than the last, until I ran away at fifteen.’

Helen clasped him tightly. ‘Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry you went through all that. But at least your adoptive parents were kind. At least you had that.’

‘Aye, but no matter how kind they were,’ he said as he stared up at the rough beams of the ceiling, ‘I couldn’t help but wonder about my real family sometimes.’

‘Do you know anything about them?’ Helen asked as she propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Anything at all?’

‘Nae, nothing,’ he said, and reached for his shirt and pulled it back on, ‘and I don’t care. They didn’t want me, that was plain enough; so I’ve no use for them now.’

‘But don’t you ever wonder who your real mother was?’

‘No,’ Colm said again, firmly. ‘I don’t.’

He thrust his leg into his jeans, and as he did, she noticed a long, puckered scar running up the length of his thigh. She let out a soft gasp and lifted her eyes to his.

‘Colm,’ she whispered, ‘that scar! My God...what happened?’

He glanced down, his expression unreadable. ‘This? It happened on one of the freighters I crewed. Twenty-seven stitches.’ He shrugged. ‘It looks worse than it is.’ He zipped up and lifted his brow. ‘Now, lass,’ he said as he leant over to kiss her again, ‘get up and help me put those groceries away, afore the perishables perish.’

Not wanting to bring a scowl back to that angular, ginger-stubbled face, Helen kissed him back, and got dressed.

Chapter 35

Dr McTavish looked up from his desk on Monday morning as Natalie and Rhys entered his office and invited them to sit down. He held a folder in his hand.

‘You were absolutely right, Mrs Gordon,’ he told Natalie as he opened the folder and flicked through the pages. ‘You’re not pregnant. The urine test you took on Friday confirms it.’

‘I knew it,’ she said in a small voice. Rhys reached over and took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly.

‘Why didn’t you schedule a proper test and come into my office a few weeks ago?’ he asked as he eyed her over the top of his half-moon glasses. ‘If you’d done that, we could’ve cleared this up straight away. You went and took one of those over-the-counter pregnancy tests instead, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said with a trace of defensiveness. ‘And why not ‒ they’re generally very reliable! And the test definitely showed I was pregnant. There was a blue line, and everything.’

‘Did you follow the directions? With some of these kits, you have to wait at least a week after your last missed menstrual period before you take the test, you know.’

Natalie stared at him in dismay. ‘Oh. Well, no, it hadn’t been a week. More like, erm, a couple of days. And I didn’t bother reading the directions. I thought all one did was wee on a stick.’

McTavish smiled at her. ‘Well, it’s no matter. You’re not pregnant this time. But there’s no reason to think you won’t be ‒ whenever you and your husband are ready to have a child, that is.’

‘I hope so,’ she said wistfully. ‘I want a baby so badly.’

‘At least now we’ll have a bit of time to prepare for it,’ Rhys observed as he stood up.

‘I want to do up the nursery when we get back to London. I was thinking yellow – but a pale, buttery yellow, not a bright, sunny yellow,’ Natalie decided. ‘And white trim for the chair rails...and what do you think about some lovely Jessie Wilcox Smith prints for the wall over the baby’s dressing table?’

‘I think,’ Rhys said as he placed his hand at the small of her back and ushered her towards the door, ‘that perhaps we should wait until we know we’re actually having a baby before we start making all these plans.’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ she protested. ‘Why leave everything until the last moment? We can at least get the nursery sorted. Pale yellow is a nice, neutral colour, perfect for a boy or a girl, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but glanced back at the doctor and waggled her fingers. ‘Goodbye, Dr McTavish. Thank you.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Gordon,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Good luck to you, Mr Gordon.’

‘Thanks,’ Rhys replied as Natalie went ahead of him and out the door. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

‘What do you think, Tark,’ Wren mused later that morning as she eyed the tower room, ‘about turning Andrew’s study into a nursery?’

Tarquin paused by the narrow window and turned to look at her. ‘A nursery?’ he echoed. ‘Well, we’d need to talk to my mother about the possibility first,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘She’s very...possessive of this room. Andrew spent a great deal of time here, and his books and travel souvenirs are all she has left of him. That’s why everything’s remained untouched.’

‘I know that,’ Wren said, ‘but life does go on, Tark. Even Pen admitted at dinner not long ago that after eighteen years, it was time to move on. This room is perfect for a baby – it’s small, but not too small, and quiet...and it’s not that far from our own room, it’s just round the corner and up a quick flight of stairs.’

‘But wouldn’t you prefer a room on the same floor, one a bit closer to us? Think of all those midnight feedings, stumbling up and down the stairs. Besides, the tower room is too isolated for my liking.’

‘I don’t agree.’ Wren crossed her arms against her chest. ‘We’ll get a baby monitor, Tark. That way, we can hear every sound the baby makes, and be upstairs in an instant, if necessary.’

‘It isn’t only the room that’s got me concerned.’ He frowned. ‘It’s my sister.’

‘Caitlin? Why? What on earth do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ Tarquin said firmly, ‘that I don’t think we should hang our hopes too much on her. This adoption is only a possibility, after all, not a certainty. We haven’t signed any legal paperwork. And Caitlin – well, she’s changeable, she always has been. I love my sister, but I don’t trust her.’

‘You’re not being fair.’

He crossed the room and stopped before Wren. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt if this adoption doesn’t go through, darling, that’s all.’

‘Caitlin doesn’t want the baby. She told me so. She won’t change her mind about this, Tark, I’m sure of it. So you needn’t worry.’ Wren smiled and kissed him on the mouth. ‘But it’s so sweet that you do worry. And I absolutely love you for it.’

Dinner at Draemar that evening was fraught with tension. Gemma excused herself several times to go and pace the hallway outside and shout on her mobile phone as she dealt – rudely ‒ with florists and caterers and bridal assistants.

‘Honestly,’ she grumbled as she returned to her seat after a run-in with the wedding-cake maker, ‘what’s so difficult about making a black-and-white chequerboard pattern in the cake? A white cake, alternated with chocolate, with white frosting...what could be simpler? Topped off with a pair of Louboutin shoes made out of white icing sugar, with red-dyed bottoms, that’s all I want. Is that so much to ask?’

‘Have you got your wedding gown yet?’ Natalie asked. ‘I’m dying to see it.’

‘No. It’s gone to Northton Grange, to Dominic’s house.’

‘Oh, no,’ Nat said in dismay. ‘What’ll you do?’

Gemma shrugged. ‘I’ll have one of the staff send it here, I suppose.’

‘There is no staff at Northton G just now,’ Dominic informed her. ‘I sent everyone home for the hols when you decided to have the wedding here. Couldn’t see the point of having them all hanging round for no reason.’

‘What?’ she sputtered. ‘If there’s no one at your house, how am I to get my wedding gown sent here?’

It was Dominic’s turn to shrug. ‘Dunno.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ll just have to go and fetch it, then.’

‘In case you forgot, Gems,’ he pointed out, ‘I haven’t got a car. And the forecast says we’re getting a shedload of snow soon.’ He scowled. ‘There’s a surprise.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Gemma wailed as she rose to her feet. ‘I’m getting married in just a few days’ time, my wedding gown’s in Northton Grange, and there’s a bloody snowstorm on the way!’ She turned on Dominic. ‘And you don’t even care.’

Dominic stared morosely into his whisky and didn’t bother to answer. He and Gemma barely spoke to each other these days. He avoided her as much as possible, and spent his time in the castle hiding out in one of the dozens of unused rooms, or closeted himself in the television room at the top of the east tower. Thankfully, Draemar offered up plenty of excellent hiding places.

What the hell had he got himself into?

‘Babes,’ he began, ‘don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.’

‘Don’t worry? Don’t worry?’ she snapped. ‘I have no wedding gown, you knob! What am I supposed to do now – make a gown out of a pair of drapes, like Scarlett bloody O’Hara?’ She shoved her chair back and strode to the door. ‘Never mind. I’ve already figured out a solution.’

‘You – you have?’ he asked hopefully. ‘What’s that?’

‘Let’s just cancel the entire bloody wedding.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Dominic grumbled, and stood up. ‘Sorry, everyone. Brideasaurus is on the loose,’ and he hurried off after his furious fiancée.

‘Rhys and I have some news,’ Nat said in an effort to fill the sudden, awkward silence.

‘Oh? What’s that?’ Tarquin asked. ‘Good news, I hope?’

‘Well...no, it’s not good, not exactly. It’s a bit disappointing.’ Natalie took a deep breath and reached out to take Rhys’ hand in hers. ‘I’m sorry to say, I’m not actually pregnant after all.’

‘What?’ Wren exclaimed, dismayed. ‘Oh, dear! But – how can that be? Nothing’s wrong, I hope?’

‘No. It’s my own fault,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t follow the instructions on the test kit. I’m sometimes a bit impatient…’

‘Only a bit?’ Rhys interjected. ‘And only sometimes?’

‘But the good news,’ she added, ignoring him, ‘is that we’ve decided to – erm – carry on trying until I really am pregnant.’

‘Ah. So the next time you come to visit us at Draemar,’ Tarquin observed, ‘you’ll no doubt be encumbered with a stroller and nappy bags and all manner of baby paraphernalia.’

‘It’s called a “travel system” now,’ Natalie informed him, ‘not a stroller. It turns into a baby carrier and a car seat, so you needn’t buy them all separately.’

‘What a marvellous idea,’ Pen remarked. ‘Things have certainly changed since my day. When I was a new mother, one brought the baby home from hospital in an infant carrier, and a pram was a great, cumbersome thing.’ She glanced over at Caitlin. ‘I remember pushing you around in that pram like it was yesterday.’

Caitlin stared at her plate and made no reply.

‘Excuse me.’ Archie stood up abruptly. ‘I’ve just remembered a call I need to make. I’ll see you all tomorrow. Enjoy your evening.’ And he turned to go.

Pen laid her napkin aside. ‘But...what about your dinner, darling? Shall I have cook send up a tray?’

‘No,’ he flung back over his shoulder as he made for the door. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘What on earth is going on?’ Natalie asked later as she and Rhys excused themselves and went to have an after-dinner drink in the drawing room. ‘The tension at that table was unbearable. Everyone seems to be unhappy tonight, in one way or another.’

‘You’re right,’ Rhys agreed. ‘The only happy one in the lot is Helen.’

‘Do you suppose...?’ Natalie began, as she and Rhys took seats by the fire and sipped their wine.

‘Do I suppose what?’ he asked.

She glanced up at Helen, who’d just come in to the drawing room with Tarquin and was laughing at something he’d said. ‘Do you suppose Helen’s seeing someone?’ she murmured. ‘She seems a bit...different, lately. Lighter. Less gloomy.’

‘And who do you imagine she’s seeing?’ Rhys scoffed. ‘There aren’t any spare men round here, Natalie, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Yes, there is. There’s one.’

‘Oh? And who’s that?’

‘Colm MacKenzie.’

Rhys set his glass of wine down abruptly. ‘Colm?’ he echoed. ‘I can’t think of anyone less likely to get involved with Helen than him. The two of them are nothing alike.’

‘Maybe not...but opposites attract. And I couldn’t help but notice that Helen wasn’t here for breakfast this morning.’

He shrugged. ‘She probably had a tray in her room. Or she wasn’t hungry.’

‘Or,’ Natalie said, her voice low but firm as she leant forward, ‘she wasn’t here, in the castle.’

‘Not here? And how would you know that?’ He regarded her with scepticism. ‘Where else would she be?’

‘I was going upstairs after breakfast this morning when Helen slipped in the front door. She had the same clothes on as yesterday,’ Natalie added, ‘I remember because I noticed her Christmas jumper. And,’ she added, if there was any doubt remaining, ‘she looked a bit guilty when she twigged that I saw her.’

‘She might’ve gone out to the store, or for a walk.’

‘She hasn’t a car,’ Natalie said triumphantly, ‘and none of the cars were gone from the drive. And she had her handbag with her. You don’t take your handbag with you on a walk...unless it’s the walk of shame. Rhys – she was at Colm’s! They spent the night together. Obviously.’