The Pleasures of Winter (35 page)

Abbie had burst into tears then and had barely stopped crying since. Delayed reaction, Martin had called it. Barbara had called him a big eejit. The expression reminded her so much of Jack and Kevin that she had cried even harder. She barely remembered the drive to Meath. She had no idea where Meath was except that it had taken two boxes of Kleenex to get there.

Now it was Christmas morning and she couldn’t hide out in her room any longer. She had promised Barbara that she would come downstairs and help cook the huge Christmas dinner. The housekeeper had left everything prepared and Barbara had been up for hours cooking a
giant turkey. Abbie felt bad that she had no present to give anyone except a bottle of champagne she had bought in duty free. She dressed quickly and headed downstairs to brew some strong coffee.

Two staghounds waited in the hallway, hoping that someone would take them for a run. They were so tall that Miffy’s twins could have easily ridden on their backs. The dogs were called Doheny and Nesbitt and, despite their size, they had the run of the ground floor of the house, except for the kitchen. Barbara gave Martin an arch look every time they misbehaved. Apparently there was a long, involved story about Martin bringing home two small puppies to help a friend. Barbara hinted that there had been drink involved in the transaction. Martin never bothered to deny it.

Her aunt and uncle’s easy companionship caused Abbie the occasional pang of jealousy. Barbara had evolved with ease from spoilt New York society princess to owner/manager of a working stud farm. She obviously adored the quiet Irishman she had been married to for more than thirty years.

Martin emerged from the small parlour at the front of the house. ‘D’ya fancy a walk, before all the hoo-ha starts? Only I have to give the wee boys a run before the dinner.’

Abbie grinned at the understatement. There was nothing wee about the dogs. Barbara had spent hours decorating the table for her guests and Martin hated fuss of any kind. She would welcome a walk, so she borrowed a waxed jacket from the cloakroom and followed him outside.

The dogs raced around, barking with delight. Abbie
tramped after them through the crisp white snow. It was beautiful here. There was something still and peaceful about the Irish countryside. She wondered how Jack had ever left this place.

Martin surprised her. ‘You’re thinking about him.’

Abbie gave a wry laugh. ‘What gave the game away?’

Martin laughed. ‘I had the same miserable expression on my face for weeks after I left Barbara in New York.’

‘So, what did you do?’

‘Well now, I decided that I had to get her, or forget her. The problem was that I couldn’t forget her.’

‘So, you got her?’ Abbie laughed.

‘Aye, but it helped that she was miserable as well.’ They tramped across the paddock towards a small copse of trees. ‘Is he miserable too, Abbie?’

She shrugged. ‘Jack? I’ve no idea. He hasn’t been in contact.’ She had attempted to call him a couple of times. He hadn’t answered his phone and she hadn’t left a message.

Martin whistled for the dogs. ‘Well, maybe you should find out. Can you ring him?’

What would it cost her? Maybe she would phone Kevin and find out if Jack was still mad at her. Jack was five thousand miles away. She could just hang up if he sounded angry. At least she would know, one way or another.

‘So, are you going to ring the lad or what?’

Abbie sniggered. She could hardly imagine Jack as a lad, but Martin was right. If she was trying to put Jack Winter behind her, she had to know for certain that they had no future. Her stomach flipped at the thought of it.
Oh, come off it, Abbie.
He’s already told you that he loved you and that he hated you. What more can the guy say?

Decision made, Abbie quickened her pace to catch up with Martin and the dogs. It was Christmas day. The season of goodwill to all men, including Hollywood superstars. She could do this. She’d call Kit and then Jack.

Christmas lunch was much like Thanksgiving at home. The same gigantic turkey and a big crowd around the table with lots of teasing and toasting. Suddenly Abbie missed her family. She glanced at her watch. It was noon in New York. A decent time to call Miffy and her dad. Her cell didn’t work in Ireland but Barbara said she could use the phone in the study.

Abbie punched in the number and listened to the phone buzzing at the other end of the line. Miffy answered. ‘Abbie Marshall, why on earth has it taken you two weeks to call?’

Abbie held the phone away from her ear as her sister ranted without pausing for breath. How worried they were. How haggard their dad looked. How the girls wondered why their Auntie Abbie wasn’t around to take them ice-skating. How she missed their annual outing to Bergdorfs.
That was one thing I didn’t miss
, Abbie thought as Miffy went on and on.

She had asked Barbara and Martin not to say that she was staying with them, but she hadn’t known that they would take her so literally and tell Miffy they didn’t know where she was in Ireland. ‘It’s OK, Sis. I’m with Barbara and Martin.’

‘She’s with Barbara and Martin.’ She could hear Miffy repeating the news to whoever had come into the room. For crying out loud, this was supposed to be a casual ‘happy Christmas’ phone call, not the Spanish Inquisition.

‘Sis, I’m OK.’

‘OK?’ Miffy’s voice got louder. ‘It’s not OK to disappear like that. We were worried. It was embarrassing having the police inform us that you had flown to Ireland and there was nothing more they could do.’

Abbie sucked in a breath. She couldn’t believe that they had involved the police. All she had intended to do was lie low for a while.

Miffy was still talking: ‘… And I invited William for Christmas dinner just so you could make up with him, and you don’t bother showing up, leaving the poor man without a partner. Really, Abbie, what sort of manners do you have?’

Ah, this was familiar territory. When Miffy moved on to manners Abbie knew her sister was winding up her statement against the accused. Defending her so-called bad manners she could deal with.

‘Hold on.’ Abbie finally managed to break into Miffy’s rant. ‘I never said I was coming for Christmas. If you invited William, that was your doing, not mine.’ It felt good to stand up for herself.

Miffy continued. ‘You do realize that everyone’s been calling here looking for you? That friend of yours with the strange hair has been very annoying. Josh Martin from the newspaper called asking where to send your cheque. And that dreadful Jack Winter was horribly rude yesterday –’

‘Jack called?’

Abbie wanted to dance around the study. Jack had called. He missed her. He wanted to see her. Her euphoria quickly turned to bitterness. Yes, he called two weeks after he dumped her.

Miffy sniffed. ‘Really, Abbie, whatever is going on with him, you have to stop it. He’s in the middle of the most hideous scandal.’

She tried to sound casual. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’

‘He said he had your phone and wanted to know where you were. He was extremely rude.’

With a sinking heart, Abbie realized where she had lost her work phone. It was in Jack’s place. He was probably trying to return it to her, nothing more than that. ‘Thanks, Miffy, put Dad on.’

Abbie listened as the girls squabbled over the phone to tell her about this year’s Christmas extravaganza. Miffy tackled Christmas like a military campaign. She had a ‘list’ at several stores so that there could be no Christmas faux pas. The holiday season would proceed in an orderly fashion in the Marshall-Baker household. Abbie was glad to have missed it.

Eventually, her father came on the line. ‘Hi, Abbie, how is Ireland?’

‘Snowy, would you believe? They have a white Christmas here for the first time in twenty years. I’m fine, Dad, just fine. I’m following a story. Well, I will be when Christmas is over. I’ll be in touch soon.’

There was no more mention of Jack.

Abbie replaced the receiver in the cradle and slumped into the battered leather chair. Doheny – or was it Nesbitt? – pushed into the room. His nails clicked loudly on the wooden floor. He cocked his head to one side and stared at her.

‘Another walk, huh?’

He wagged his tail in response.

At the back of the house, she could hear the sound of music starting up. Martin had promised dancing but she couldn’t face it. Maybe she could slip out while they were busy. She grabbed a coat and scarf from under the stairs and pulled on one of Barbara’s hats. The second dog appeared when she reached the front door. ‘OK, guys, let’s go.’

Abbie followed the barking dogs across the paddock. The sky was clear and filled with stars. In New York she rarely got to see the night sky because of the light pollution but here it was a wonder and she stared until the stars began to blur. What was Jack doing tonight? Was he partying with some starlet who had eyelashes longer than her skirt? Maybe he was at an exclusive A-list party.

The thought of him being with someone else made her heart ache. She blinked at the stars. ‘OK, Abbie, it’s time to stop crying about Jack Winter. It’s over.’

There, she had said it. She was over Jack Winter. Well, maybe not over, but moving on. She would go back to the house and call Kit, and in the New Year she would resume work on the Breslin story. Abbie whistled for the dogs. ‘Come on, guys, we’re going home.’

Back in the house, the dancing was in full swing and had moved from the kitchen to the hallway. A few more cars had arrived since her departure. Barbara and Martin’s place was obviously party central on Christmas night.

In the time it took her to get to the study, Abbie had fended off two invitations to dance and an offer of a glass of whiskey. The Irish were a friendly lot who didn’t take no for an answer. Despite herself, she laughed and promised to come back after she had called Kit.

The phone rang steadily but no one picked up. Maybe Kit was out. Abbie was just about to hang up when she heard her voice. ‘This better be good.’

‘Kit, it’s –’

‘Oh my god, Abbie. Is that you? Where the hell are you?’

Abbie could hear a male voice in the background and Kit telling him to be quiet. ‘I’m in Ireland.’

‘Ireland? What are you doing there? I’ve been worried sick about you. Why didn’t you call me?’

Abbie twisted the cable on the phone. She had meant to call Kit dozens of times, but she couldn’t face talking about Jack. ‘Sorry, my cell phone doesn’t work here and, well, I guess I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone.’

‘How are you feeling now?’ Kit lowered her voice. ‘You know that he’s been looking for you?’

Abbie sighed. ‘I heard. Miffy told me.’

‘Are you going to call him?’

There was no going back to him. Jack didn’t trust her. After the initial flood of joy at hearing that Jack had been looking for her, she realized nothing had changed. He didn’t trust anyone. He had set the rules of their relationship from the beginning, and expected her to blindly follow them. It wasn’t enough for her any longer.

‘No, I’m not going to call him. It’s over.’

‘I see.’ Kit was using her therapist’s voice.

Abbie wasn’t in the mood for being the client. ‘So, any news? How is New York? Did Santa Claus bring you anything nice?’

She heard Kit laugh. ‘Nice distraction, but I will get the full story from you. As a matter of fact, Santa did bring me something nice. A cute Irish guy with a diamond ring.’

Abbie almost fell off her chair. Kit and Kevin. Engaged. ‘You’re getting married?’

‘No, I happened to admire the ring and the idiot bought it for me. How can I possibly marry a man I’ve known for less than two months?’

Abbie giggled. If anyone was going to marry a man she had known less than two months, it would be Kit. ‘So, you’re not going to accept him?’

‘I didn’t say that either. I’m considering my options.’

Abbie could hear the sound of kissing and then Kit’s low laugh. Kevin was there with her and they sounded happy. ‘I’ll leave you to your options, then. Call you soon. Night, Kit. Happy Christmas.’

Barbara tapped on the door and appeared carrying two glasses of champagne. ‘If you won’t come to the party, the party will have to come to you.’

She took one gratefully and took a sip. ‘Sorry, Barbara, I was just calling home.’

‘That’s OK, but you’ve spent far too much time on your own these past two weeks. Besides, I’ve a nice man that I want you to meet.’

Abbie pulled a face. ‘I’m not in the market for a man. They’re too much trouble.’

‘This one won’t be, I promise. He’s talking to Martin about horses. You probably know him already. It’s Chris Warrington.’

Abbie’s head shot up. ‘American ambassador, Chris Warrington?’

‘The very one.’ Barbara left the room with a smug smile on her face.

Abbie raced upstairs and riffled through her wardrobe. Lots of jeans and business skirts, but at the back was the dress she had worn to the theatre with Jack. She ran her hands over the silky fabric. It held painful memories, but it was the only dress she had with her.

Abbie put on some make-up and hurried downstairs. If she wanted to find an American citizen who had recently moved to Ireland, Chris Warrington was the man who could open the way for her.

She was aware of a few admiring glances from some of the partygoers. It was amazing what a flirty dress and a pair of heels could do. Abbie made a beeline for Martin and the ambassador.

‘Chris, I’d like you to meet my niece, Abbie. Abbie, this is Chris Warrington.’

‘Ambassador.’ Abbie smiled and offered her hand.

A pair of blue eyes twinkled at her from beneath a
shock of white hair. Chris Warrington was on his second posting to Ireland and had a reputation as an astute politician and a decent man. ‘It’s first names only while I’m here. Martin and I go way back.’

‘Aye, I sold him a nice little filly about eight years ago.’

‘And made a nice profit too.’ Both men laughed.

Abbie decided to strike while the iron was hot. ‘I was wondering if you might be able to help me. I’m doing a follow-up on a story about Honduras, but the official in the State Department who was helping me has just been transferred here. I was in a plane crash and lost a lot of my notes.’