Winter's End Part 18

Emma, who had been watching them silently, bit back a smile as she tried to resume her cooking. She wondered though why he was here with them. According to Nancy and Theodore, he never came to the kitchen. Not since he was a child. She glanced up at him and caught his eyes. He was looking at her. She blushed and turned away, a strange feeling stirring in the pits of her stomach.

CHAPTER 16.

"Will you have dinner with us?" Emma asked, still uncertain as to why he was there with her and the children in the kitchen. Nancy and Theodore were smart enough to have politely excused themselves to their own quarters after a little while. She, however, did not have the same luxury.

"If you don't mind," he replied, downing the last of his bourbon.

She stood at the stove, holding the spoon in her hand, surprised by his answer. It wasn't what she had expected.

"But Ethel will be dining alone," she tried. "I could get Nancy to take it up for you, if you like."

"I'd like to have dinner with my wife, thank you," he said, curtly.

Emma bit her lips and set the table with Jai and Hannah bubbling around them, helping her with it. It was a routine she was slowly going to adapt to as he continued to join them for meals in the kitchen each evening.

It was four days since she was t.i.tled Mrs. Cameron. Emma returned from a day out at Portree. It was the first time she had left the mansion since she was married. The local newspaper had already done a splash of their wedding on their front page the day following their marriage. It wasn't therefore surprising that she was being continually addressed as Mrs. Cameron instead of Mrs. Winston which she felt rather uncomfortable on hearing. And if there was anyone else who felt her awkwardness of the t.i.tle it was her dear friend, Lisa.

They sat together in Lisa's home as Lisa poured out a cup of hot, steaming coffee.

"You haven't slept with him?" said Lisa.

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't know if I love him."

"Does that matter?"

"It does. To me."

"Why? It's just s.e.x."

"It isn't to me, Lisa," Emma sighed. "s.e.x is more to me. It isn't just an act. It's an extension of how two people feel for each other. A physical manifestation of their love."

"You're far too complicated, Emma," said Lisa. "For G.o.d-sake's, you haven't even kissed him yet. Sometimes I think you live in a completely different era." Lisa dug into her magazine rack. "I don't know how you'll take this Emma. But you might want to have a look at this." She held out a newspaper to her.

"What is it?" Emma asked curiously.

"Check out page three," Lisa said bluntly.

On it was news of their marriage and the photograph of a blonde beauty on the side. A woman, Chris was supposedly dating in Los Angeles.

"She's a model," said Lisa. "They've been on and off together for three years."

"I know," said Emma, reading the article quietly. She swallowed a lump in her throat. She had forgotten about his life in America and Ashley Taylor, who she had previously envied, until today.

"You think he'll return to her?" asked Lisa.

"I don't know," said Emma, shakily. "If he loves her, I see no reason why he won't. I'm just an inconvenience. An arranged marriage set up by his grandmother."

Lisa leant forward, worried for her friend. "Then why do it Emma? I don't understand. Why?"

Emma recognised the dark, beautiful Mercedes in the driveway of the Kinnaird mansion. As she expected, there seated in the parlour was Mrs. Deanna Boyd and a scowling Ethel.

"Mrs. Boyd," Emma solemnly greeted.

The other woman rose from her chair to give Emma a small kiss on her cheek.

"Oh please call me Deanna," said the older woman. "We're practically family now that you've married Christopher."

Emma gave her a small smile. She sat opposite her, in a chair farthest from the woman.

"So how's the new marriage coming along?" asked Deanna.

Ethel puffed indignantly. "How do you think, Deanna? They've just married. Give them some room."

Deanna wasn't less miffed. "You should appreciate, Ethel, that I am at least here to convey my congratulations after you shamefully refused to invite me to the wedding."

"It wasn't my wedding to invite," Ethel snapped back.

"Oh come off it, Ethel," Deanna snarled. "Everyone knows you hitched these two together. You were desperate for it."

"Please don't mind, Mrs. Boyd," Emma intervened quickly before Ethel could give another sharp reply. "There were only a handful of people that we invited. People that were close to both Chris and I."

"Really?" Deanna Boyd, sat upright, unbelievingly. "Was cousin Gertrude invited?"

"Cousin Gertrude?" repeated Emma, puzzled.

"Yes, Ethel's favourite cousin Gertrude. Was she here at the wedding? Although it goes without saying that she would be, since she is Ethel's cousin. I, on the other hand, am poor Arthur's only closest living relative," she sobbed into her handkerchief. "To be treated in this manner. For all my efforts of looking out for my dear cousin Arthur's interests."

"If it helps, Mrs. Boyd, I haven't met cousin Gertrude," Emma tried, hoping that the impertinent Mrs. Boyd would calm down.

Deanna Boyd, raised her head, dabbing her eyes. "What?" she asked surprised.

"I didn't see her at the wedding," Emma said.

"Is this true, Ethel?" she asked, turning to her.

Ethel glared. "Yes, Gertie wasn't at the wedding." But she failed to mention that unlike Deanna Boyd, cousin Gertie was lovingly pursued and begged to come. She would have been at the wedding too, had she not broken her ankle in a fall a week prior to it.

"Why, really Ethel," Deanna replied in a reprimanding tone. "To not invite me is one thing. But you didn't invite someone as close as cousin Gertrude? You must be losing your insanity by the age. Certainly, that's just lack of manners."

Ethel glowered, a sharp retort at the tip of her tongue. But when she noticed Emma's threatening glance, she closed her mouth, biting back her much desired response. Instead she chose to sulk, determined to not engage any further with her rather ignoramus relative.

"Will Chris be returning to America, then, Emma?" Deanna asked curiously. "He has a wonderful career going for him. Much more lucrative than the family business. I hope he returns to doing that. He has such incredible potential as an actor."

Emma gave a quick glance at Ethel, who was choosing to remain silent with obvious difficulty. "I'm sure Chris will do what he thinks is right for him," said Emma.

Deanna straightened herself up. "Well, I do hope that you will go with him. The women in America are just so scandalously provocative. Mark my words Emma, if you're not there, they will not hesitate to seduce your new husband into their beds. Besides it is inadvisable for a newly married couple such as yourself and Chris to live in opposite parts of the world. I'm sure you must have read of that dreadful story in the newspaper today. And I really am terribly sorry that you have to hear of something such as that in the early days of your marriage. But you must be strong, Emma. You must understand that this Ashley Taylor girl has been with Chris for three years. A long relationship in my opinion. And yet she was more shocked than anyone else of Chris' marriage. Judging from that, I believe Chris must not have ended his relationship with her at all. And she is still there in America waiting for him to return. If you don't go with him, she will certainly use all her seductive ways to win him back. And she is a model, don't you forget that. A notch up than us ordinary women. Oh and these celebrities do have an awful reputation for nasty divorces. You can't blame them really with all the promiscuity that surrounds them. It is only human to give into temptation if there isn't any one to look out for you, isn't it?"

Emma reddened as she tried to stifle her rising anger. "Thank you Mrs. Boyd for being so overtly concerned for both Chris and I. But really, you mustn't bother yourself over such trivial matters. I don't know if Chris intends to pursue his career in Hollywood or if he'd rather take over the family business. To be honest, he's never discussed it with me. But whatever decision he does make, I am more than happy to support it. As for me, moving with him to America, that is a decision that solely Chris and I will make. And it helps if others try not to influence it in any way. What I have learnt of my husband in the short term that I know him, is that he will do what it takes to keep his family together. He will not risk to hurt his loved ones with petty scandals. Whether he has ended his relationship with Ashley Taylor or not, isn't my business. What is my business is that he does not continue with it. I trust my husband implicitly, Mrs. Boyd. I trust that he will make the choices that is right for this family. I hope, though, you will continue to support both Chris and I as you have been doing the Kinnaird family for the many previous years, regardless of the decisions we make. Thank you for understanding the need for us to make our own decisions, even if they may be poor choices, and giving us the s.p.a.ce to learn from our errors and grow from them. Now if you will politely excuse me, there are certain things that I've just remembered I should follow up on."

She rose from her chair, shaking with seething anger and strode gracefully as she could out of the parlour leaving behind a fl.u.s.tered Mrs. Boyd and a sly grinning Ethel.

Outside, she almost b.u.mped into Chris who was standing at the corner. She gave him an angry glare before stomping off towards the library.

Chris found her in the library at her computer. He had been standing long enough at the parlour to hear her pa.s.sionate defence of him and her marriage. There was something about the way she stood up for him that uncoiled a sense of desire for her, stiffening a knot in his stomach.

When he strode into the room, she refused to acknowledge him, focusing intensely on her computer screen. He dallied about her, shuffling through books.

"You like romance," he said.

"Huh?" she said, looking up at him.

He was holding one of her romance novels.

"You seem to be a fan of Amelia Priestley," he said, flipping through the pages. "I've never read her though."

She didn't say anything, returning to her work.

"Can I talk to you?" he tried.

"What about?"

"About Ashley Taylor."

She glowered. "It's none of my business," she answered, sharply.

"I know you read the news."

"I don't want to know," she said, standing up from her chair.

A nerve pulsed at his temples. "Why not?"

"Because this isn't a real marriage," she snapped, trying to walk around him.

He grabbed her by the arm and swung her ruthlessly to him. "Will you stop throwing that in my face? I know this isn't a real marriage. But shouldn't you at least show some interest in what goes on in my life."

"I don't want to know," she flared, writhing out of his grip. "Give me one good reason why I should."

He stared at her, flaming with rage, unable to answer her.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "See, even you can't tell me why I should care."

She left the room, leaving him all alone to ponder over a reason as to why she should give a d.a.m.n about him.

He didn't come down to the kitchen that evening. She was thankful he didn't, though she couldn't help herself from expecting that he might change his mind.

Theodore ambled into the kitchen. "Has Nancy retired for the evening, Miss?" he asked.

"She said she will clean up later. She received a call from her family," she replied.

Theodore nodded. He paused briefly."Mr. Cameron won't be eating in tonight, Miss. Just so you know in case you're cooking for him as well. Said he was going into Portree and he won't be back until tomorrow."

"Thanks Theodore," Emma said, quietly.

She julienned a carrot as the butler boiled himself some water for a cup of tea.

"Theodore," she said. "Did you ever marry?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "Came close to it almost once. But never took the plunge."

"You did not love her?"

He paused again. "In fact, I loved her very much," he added after a little while.

"But then why didn't you?"

He sat at the table, his cup of tea steaming, releasing a fresh citrusy aroma into the room. "I was stubborn," he put frankly. "Too proud to compromise. One day, we fought real bad and she left and never came back."

"I'm sorry," she said.

He nodded as he took a sip. "I was only thirteen when Mr. Arthur Kinnaird plucked me from the streets. My mother died when I was only six. Hardly knew her. My father was a drunk and never cared what became of me. I was pa.s.sed from relative to relative to friends to neighbours until n.o.body really wanted another scruffy orphan anymore. That's when Mr. Kinnaird found me and brought me into this house." His eyes roamed the old walls. "Practically grew up here. This is the only home I've ever known." He grew quiet, thinking. "When I first came here, this house bustled with noise. It teemed with servants. Then slowly people began either dying or leaving. One by one. And one day, it was quiet. There was just me and Nancy." He took in a deep breath. "Her name was Rebecca. I fell in love with her the moment she stepped into this kitchen. We needed a maid and she happened to be one." He chuckled. "Oh she was a lively one. She had the brightest blue eyes you'd ever find. We'd meet each night at the stables after everyone had finished their ch.o.r.es. She'd always save something special for me like a blueberry cake or an apple pie." His eyes fell to the table. "Unfortunately, my troublesome past destroyed my trust in anyone. I had so much anger inside of me, I didn't even know it. It's like the old proverb 'you hurt the one you love the most'. You see, there were many women who came into my life before Rebecca but I didn't love them like I did her. She was different. She was special. When you find that love, your soul just knows it. It recognises it long before the eyes does. Mine did when I saw Rebecca. But what I didn't know was how to care for that love. I kept hurting her. I didn't trust myself that I could love her well. I was all she wanted. I kept seeing the lack in me but she, however, saw me differently. And that was my frustration. I just couldn't see what she saw. One day, we had a terrible argument. I can't even remember what it was about. Must have been something really petty. And then she left. Like the rest of them."

"Did you ever see her again?" Emma asked, slowly.

"No," he said. "I heard she met a nice young man and moved to America."

"I'm sorry," said Emma.

He shook his head. "Don't be. I have decided to take away from it the most important lesson it could possibly teach me."

"What is that?"