Winter's End Part 16

Emma's eyes filled with tears. "I can't... Ethel," she whispered. "I'm not even a true bride."

"You will be one day."

"I...don't know...what to say."

"Say thank you."

Tears flowed down Emma's cheeks as her fingers grazed the pendant.

"What's the matter, child?" said Ethel, worriedly.

Emma shook her head, unable to speak for a while. "I've just never been given something so meaningful like this before," she said, finally. "I feel like I have family."

"But you are family, child," said Ethel, cupping Emma's face gently to look adoringly at her.

Chris tugged at his tie, loosening it from his shirt. Down the hallway, in a bedroom of her own, slept his new bride.

He picked up a thin envelope from his dresser and pulled out the doc.u.ments.

"Max," said Chris entering the sitting room to shake the hands of his private investigator.

"Chris," Max acknowledged.

"So what have you got for me?"

Max sighed. "I don't know, man," he said shaking his head.

Chris frowned. "What?"

"Of all the women you've asked me to check out, she's the cleanest," he said, handing him a thin, large envelope.

"What do you mean?" he replied, pulling out the papers inside.

"Well, let me start from the beginning. The girl grew up in a drug abusive home in a number of places in East London. No record of father. No other siblings. Mother lived with a man, Scott Miller, for three years until Emma was six years old. Miller entangled himself with a group of drug dealers after he pocketed their profits. They weren't too happy and knocked him off in the middle of a children's playground, down the block from where he lived.

Mummy did the split with Emma to Harlesden. Yep, she was a dang whack job," he said, rubbing his forehead. "She had a number of different partners during this period. Left little Emma on her own on most days to feed herself. The girl learned very early on to survive and by the time she was eleven, she was doing the odd jobs for cash.

Anyways, when Emma was about fifteen, mummy dearest hooked up with an aging c.o.kehead who thought they would be better off without the girl. Emma woke up the next day and found the flat empty of any saleable item of value. Would have gone foster, because she was underage but her maternal grandmother took her in.

However, that's where her luck ended. Grandmother lived in Southmead. An year later, grandmother also kicked it. Emma was sixteen now. She had good grades in school. A handful of teachers saw potential in her and did what they could to support her to university. She won a scholarship, moved out of the flat and the rest is no mystery history."

"That's where she met her husband," said Chris. "In university?"

"Yeah," he replied, thinking. "I heard you're hitching yourself to this woman?"

"I'm marrying her in a week."

"This isn't because of your grandmother, is it?"

Chris lifted a brow.

Max laughed nervously. "Hey, they've been rumours about your grandmother trying to set you up. This is not one of them, is it? You met her barely two weeks ago."

Chris was quiet as he filed through the papers.

"Listen, man," said Max. "For what it's worth, your grandmother has my money on this one. I mean the whole arranged marriage s.h.i.t's just too weird for me. But when it comes to Emma Abbott nee Winston, she's sweet. No smoking, no drinking, no criminal records and for all we know, never done drugs. This girl shouldn'ta turned right. Everything was going wrong for her and she came out of it without getting all messed up. She's the real genuine deal man. Rags to riches s.h.i.t. Or would have been, had her dead husband not screwed up."

Chris put his hands in his pocket and ambled to the windows, silently.

Max shifted at his feet. "Well, then, if there's nothing more, I'll be going. And congratulations, Chris. It mightn't be a bad thing after all."

Emma Abott nee Winston. Emma Cameron.

He played her name in his mind. He wanted to have left her penniless when their marriage ended. Instead her past had changed his mind. He didn't understand her at all. Well, whatever it was, three million pounds and life tenancy at the Kinnaird mansion was all she was going to get from him.

CHAPTER 15.

"Morning Gran," he said, kissing her cheeks before taking seat next to her at the breakfast table.

"Hmm...," she said, observing his knitted blazer over his grey tee-shirt. "You look smart. Too bad she's not around to see it."

His heart clamped. "Where is she?" he asked, carefully.

"In the kitchen with the rest of the brood," Ethel answered.

"In the kitchen? Why? She doesn't like what Nancy puts on her plate?"

Ethel frowned. "You're quick to pa.s.s judgment. No. In fact, she wants to serve her kids breakfast, herself. If you ask me, that's not a bad thing at all."

"Well, she and the kids should have been here with you," he complained. "What is the sense of getting married when they won't spend the time with you?"

Ethel put her toast down and cut him a sharp glance. "Don't you dare tell me that you married to have your wife keep me company. I have my pooches for that. And if I ever even hear the slightest that you reprimanded Emma for being in the kitchen, I'll pull you by the ears. You may be famous, Christopher, but you're never too big for me."

He grinned.

She continued. "That girl's the best thing that's happened to you, Christopher. You just don't know it yet."

He scowled.

She growled. "You know, you're one h.e.l.luva stubborn kid."

"Probably, a quality I inherited from you."

"Watch that smart mouth, Christopher. I'm not too old to give you a whacking."

"Well, weren't you horse stubborn on me marrying Emma?"

"Yes. But my dadaidh's long buried to give me a spanking," she grunted. "Unfortunately for you, I'm still here." She paused and breathed out a tired sigh. "Aaahh...isn't it good to hear the sounds of children and family resonate against these old walls again. Brings back old memories. You have made me happy Christopher. So happy in fact I could die of it right now."

"Now don't you go doing that anymore," he growled, playfully. "Isn't that why I got married in the first place? So you'd put an end to all your dead dog tricks."

She chuckled. "I was good, wasn't I? As good as you? What do you think?"

He looked at her, concern clouding his face. "Seriously, Gran. Don't do that anymore."

She stirred her tea and then took a sip. "This house is a little too big for Emma. She likes to do all those good old homely stuff for the children like cooking. Why don't you all move into the boathouse while you're here?"

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just moved into her house instead?"

"Rubbish," she growled. "Women like the idea of their man providing for her. Brings out all that love hormones. It all comes from those primeval instincts, men being the hunter, bringing home the bacon and all."

He raised his eyebrow at her and then spurt a small chuckle, shaking his head.

"But it's true. It's scientifically proven," she insisted.

"I'm sure it is. You just validated it by adding "it's scientifically proven," he said, standing up. He gave her a kiss on her head. "I'm done for breakfast."

"But where are you going?" she called after him.

"Hunting," he shouted back. "Bringing home the bacon."

He opened the door to his boathouse. It was as he had left it six months ago other than a thin layer of dust coating everything that was in it. He hated the idea of anyone else in it while he was away. It was his one recluse and was repulsed at the thought of it being encroached even for that occasional cleaning.

His thoughts wandered to how he had stood outside the kitchen of the mansion this morning, listening to the sounds of chatter and laughter coming from it. He also heard Vivaldi, sounds alien to that part of the house. He remembered how his footsteps almost faltered, eager to peer into the room. Yet, he stayed grounded instead at the door, hypnotised by their cheeriness escaping through it.

He strolled instinctively to the kitchen of the boathouse. He ran his hand over the stainless steel stove tops and imagined Emma baking and cooking, serving their tea while they would sit at the balcony overlooking the bay. He imagined Hannah curled up on his lap as they would be entertained by Jai's wild jokes. He dreamed of Emma tucking the children into their beds and then returning to their master bedroom, dressed in a night slip, reminiscent of a bed's flat sheet. His mere thoughts of her was like an aphrodisiac, heightening his senses to what his body recognised as primarily male. His heart clenched in a single, tormenting ache for her.

The cook top of his stove broke him free from his wild thoughts of her. He frowned as he studied it. It was too clean and new. He never remembered using it. He corrected himself. No, it had never been used. His guests preferred the microwave oven or the food Nancy would bring down from the main house.

He heard his front door open and the patter of feet on his timber floors.

"Hi," said a voice.

He turned. It was Jai, panting as he bent down to catch his breath.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked, curiously.

"I followed you," said Jai. "From waaaay up there."

"From the house?"

"Yeah," said Jai. "Man, cool boathouse. How come n.o.body told us about this?" His small, inquisitive eyes scanned the living room quickly.

"Because I don't like it that anyone is here without my knowing."

"Oh, okay," said Jai, slightly embarra.s.sed.

An awkward silence lingered between them.

"Does your mother know you're here?" Chris asked.

"No. But she's not gonna mind."

"You better tell her," he said, pulling out his phone and handing it to the boy.

Jai looked at it, nervously.

"Go on," Chris said, nudging his phone in the air towards the boy. "She'll be worried and if she is, so will I. You don't want me getting into trouble with your mother, do you?"

Jai chuckled and took it. He punched in his mother's number as Chris opened the windows in the house.

"h.e.l.lo, Mum," Chris heard Jai say into the phone. "Yes, it's me...I'm at the Kinnaird's boathouse...well, they have one...ask Nancy or Theodore...down the house, at the bay...I'm with," his voice dropped, his hand covered his mouth as he whispered, "I'm with, you know...Pa...okay, I will. Bye."

Jai bit his lips handing back the phone to Chris who was smiling.

"You heard," Jai said.

Chris nodded and then walked towards a door to the balcony.

"You don't mind?" said Jai, following him. "Calling you Pa?"

"I'd be honoured," said Chris.

"I just thought it would be easier with Hannah calling you that as well," Jai said, trying to explain himself.

"Sure," said Chris, dismissively. It was clear that the boy was embarra.s.sed and he didn't want to make the matter any harder for him. He dusted off two reclining chairs and slumped into one of them.

"Wow, this is awesome," the boy exclaimed in wonderment as he pranced wildly around the balcony overlooking the sea. "So where do keep her? Lady Loch?" he asked. "Is she below?"

"Lady Loch? How do you know her?"

"Gran took us out to the Black Cuillins on her almost two months ago. So is she here?"

Chris shook his head. "No, that's Gran's old boat. She prefers to keep that at the main house for inland rivers and lakes. Grandpa Arthur bought Lady Loch for Grandma a long, long time ago. It was supposedly one of a kind back in those days. Mines though is much bigger. It's a yacht. Wanna see it?"

Jai nodded profusely, beaming.