Natalie lifted her head from the pillow as someone knocked on the door.
‘Rhys?’ she asked hopefully, and sniffled.
There was a pause. ‘No, it’s Gemma. Can I come in?’
Disappointment swamped her. Gemma. Not Rhys. ‘Just a minute,’ she called out, and got up to peer into the dressing table mirror. Quickly, she added a flick of mascara to her lashes and ran a brush through her hair.
A moment later she opened the door. ‘Hello, Gemma. Come in.’
‘Nat, I need your help,’ Dom’s girlfriend said without preamble, and marched inside. A bridal magazine was tucked in the crook of her arm. ‘I’ve a million wedding details to take care of, such as whether to serve roast duck or beef en croute at the reception, and I’m in really desperate need of your advice—’
She broke off as she caught sight of Natalie’s face. ‘You’ve been crying,’ she exclaimed, and tossed the magazine aside to take her by the arm. ‘Come and sit down and tell me what’s wrong, right this instant!’
‘Are you quite sure you have time?’ Nat asked with a trace of bitterness. ‘We haven’t spoken in months, ever since you got engaged to Dominic.’
‘We haven’t?’ Gemma blinked in surprise. A guilty look flitted over her face. ‘Oh. No, I suppose we haven’t. Sorry – I’ve just been so consumed with wedding stuff. Never mind that,’ she added, ‘tell me what’s going on now. Why are you crying? Is it Rhys?’
Nat sniffled again. ‘Yes. No. Oh, it’s all such a mess!’ she choked out, and burst once again into tears.
Gemma leant forward and slipped an arm around her heaving shoulders. ‘Shh,’ she murmured as she patted Natalie awkwardly on the back. ‘It can’t be that bad.’
‘Th-thanks,’ Nat hiccupped. ‘But it is that bad.’
‘What’s Rhys done, then?’ she demanded as she drew back. ‘Shall I have a word? Give him a piece of my mind?’
‘No, Gemma. It’s not the sort of thing you can “have a word” about.’ Natalie pulled away and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘What sort of thing is it, then? Tell me! Whatever it is, it’s got you upset.’
‘It’s me.’ She lifted her tear-stained face to Gemma’s. ‘I...I’m pregnant.’
‘Pregnant?’ Gemma echoed, and squealed. ‘But that’s fabulous news!’ She engulfed Natalie in a lengthy, Prada-scented hug. ‘A baby – that’s what you’ve longed for, isn’t it?’ She leant back and regarded her with a frown. ‘Why the long face and tears, then?’
‘It’s Rhys,’ Nat admitted. ‘He’s furious. When we got married, we agreed to wait a year or two to have children, and enjoy being a couple first. And I was fine with that. Truly, I was. But now I’m pregnant, and he thinks-he th-thinks…’
‘He thinks you did it on purpose,’ Gemma finished grimly.
Natalie nodded miserably. ‘Yes. We had a huge row, and we shouted at each other, and he said awful things to me. And then he stormed off.’
‘Oh, Nat,’ Gemma reassured her, and reached out to take her hands, ‘you know Rhys. He’s got that temper, he always has done. He’ll calm down after a bit. And once he does, he’ll come back, and he’ll see that he was wrong, and apologize, and you’ll have spectacular make-up sex.’
‘Do you...do you really think so?’
‘I know so. Now, in the meantime,’ she reached for the bridal magazine she’d tossed aside earlier and began flicking through the pages ‘what do you think of this peau de soie for the bridesmaids’ gowns, instead of the silk...?’
With nothing else to do but read until dinner time, Helen threw her book aside and decided to go outside for a walk. She’d seen Rhys striding off down the drive earlier. He’d looked decidedly angry.
Probably had one of those silly, newly married arguments, she reflected with a wistful smile. Perhaps he hadn’t kissed Natalie good morning, or she’d neglected to pack his favourite sweater, or something equally ridiculous.
She’d been a new bride once, too. David had brought her burnt toast one morning before work, and she’d snapped at him. He’d snapped back and told her if she didn’t like it she could make her own damn toast.
Soon their words grew heated, and David picked up one of his grass-stained trainers from the floor and threw it at her. It whizzed by her ear and knocked over a lamp.
After the initial shock, she’d started laughing. They laughed until they could barely draw breath. Then they’d fallen into bed and made love until they were both ruinously late for work.
Her smile faded, and she thrust the memory away.
The thought of fresh Scottish air and a brisk, mind-clearing walk was a welcome one, and she reached for her coat. She could think, not about David and her long-ago life, but about Andrew, and Colm.
Perhaps the cold and the solitude would stimulate her mind and provide some answers to the questions that currently troubled her, Helen decided. She was beyond curious to see the police report from Freetown she’d asked Tom to get.
She left her room and went down the hall, and paused at the top of the stairs. Voices drifted up from below – Gemma and Dom’s – having a rather heated discussion about the wedding.
‘…need to leave soon!’ Gemma hissed. ‘If we’re to be married in Northton Grange in less than two weeks, I’ve got to be on hand to supervise. Otherwise, God knows what kind of wedding décor hell we’ll walk into.’
‘But we can’t possibly leave yet ‒ there’s still masses of snow on the ground,’ he hedged.
‘The main roads are clear. You’re not trying to postpone our wedding again,’ Gemma accused him, ‘are you?’
And as Dom assured her that no, he most definitely wasn’t, Helen took out her mobile and dashed off a quick email to Tom to update him on the rock star’s wedding plans.
When she was sure Gemma and Dominic were gone, she went downstairs and let herself out the front door. She was halfway down the drive when she saw a truck, its bed loaded with wood, and heard someone call her name. Colm.
‘Miss Thomas,’ he said as he rolled the window down. ‘What brings you out of doors today?’
‘I felt like a bit of fresh air. And it’s so lovely here – the scenery’s breathtaking.’
‘Oh, aye,’ he agreed. ‘You’ll get no argument from me there.’
‘Well, that’s a first.’ The words escaped Helen’s mouth before she could stop them. She bit her lip and waited for his smile to be replaced with its customary scowl.
But he only shrugged. ‘I have my moments.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m on my way to the castle to unload some firewood. If you wait a few minutes, I’ll come back and take you for a look round the property – well, as much of it as I can show you with the snow still blocking some of our private roads.’
Helen eyed him in surprise. ‘I’d like that,’ she replied. ‘Shall I meet you in front of the house in ten minutes?’
‘Aye. I’ll see you then.’ He nodded, put the truck back in gear, and drove off towards the castle.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Helen muttered. ‘The man can not only talk in complete sentences, he can smile, too.’
And although she’d detected a trace of whisky on his breath, she chose to ignore it.
If it took a ‘wee dram’ to make Colm MacKenzie more sociable, and if a bit of whisky took away the scowl from his face, then she was all for it.