Winter's End (13 page)

He held me by the
scruff of my dress collar and shook me. “Did you do this?” he boomed. “Oh, you
must have, you little rascal!”

I shook violently,
trying to loosen his hand on me. I was lucky that day because someone called
out just then for the old man and I used the opportunity to free myself.

“I’ll get you, you
little rascal!” he shouted angrily. “I will get you one day!”

Oh, how I shook with
fright that day. Even as I slammed my bedroom door behind me, I still felt he
would be coming around the corner to catch me. I was so afraid that my parents
would sell me out to him because of all the power the man had.”

“Well, did he?” Emma
asked curiously and absolutely intrigued. “Did he catch you?”

Ethel smiled. “Yes,
he did. Ten years later, when I turned eighteen years old. Apparently I
discovered that I was one of those rare ones who ever did stand up to him. I
supposed I created a lasting impression on him for my brawny ways. He convinced
young Arthur that I would might just be the right bride for him.”

Emma stared at her
open-mouthed, in disbelief. “Really?”

Ethel chuckled. “
Ahh
…those were the days,” she said reflecting them as she
looked up into the now dark sky. She arose from her chair and started walking
back into the house. “I had better get going. I have some things to catch up
on.”

Emma stood up and
followed her hurriedly to the front door.

“Oh,” said Ethel,
before stepping outside. “Make sure you’re ready for that dance tomorrow. I’ll
have someone escort you there. He’ll pick you up at six.”

Emma stared after
her, bewildered. “What? Who? Theodore?”

Theodore gave her a
short shake of his head and opened the car door for Ethel.

“Emma, be ready,”
Ethel said, before hopping in. “Six. Remember.”

“Ethel, but who is
accompanying me to the dance?”

Emma put in the last
bobby pins into her hair. She had styled it into a low thick chignon that rested
neatly at the nape of her neck. She rechecked herself for probably the
hundredth time in the mirror. The dress fit her perfectly.

She was nervous
though. She didn’t know who Ethel had arranged as a date for the evening. She
tried calling her up in the day but Ethel nor Nancy would divulge the details
of her mystery date.

“I can’t talk about
it, Miss,” said Nancy over the phone. “The lady will not approve.”

“Please, Nancy,” Emma
pleaded. “You’ve got to give me some idea.”

“I’m really sorry,
Miss. But if Mrs. Kinnaird even as has an inkling that I told you, it will be
off with my head. I swear.”

And that was the end
of the conversation.

Emma imagined Mr.
Clement Kinnaird with a top hat, long coat tails and his spade beard at her
door. She giggled. She didn’t think there was anyone like Clement Kinnaird
existing in this day and age.

She smoothened her
dress. She sighed as she thought of what Richard could be doing. He called once
since he had left and she had only said hello. She couldn't bear to carry on a
proper conversation over the phone. Her heart ached each time he did but she
was beginning to believe that she had mistaken his protective instincts and
care for anything more. Instead she avoided his calls, finding it awkward to
speak to him. The children, however, were more than delighted to hound their
Uncle Richard with questions and tales of their daily school grinding life.

The clock on her
dresser told her that it was almost six. Theodore had come by to pick Jai and
Hannah at five in the evening. They, unlike her, were too eager to spend the
night with Grandma Ethel. Ethel was falling into a terrible habit of spoiling
them with gifts. Tonight, she had also got Nancy to engage the children with
cooking lessons.

Her mobile phone
buzzed and she almost fell over to answer it. She hoped that it was Ethel
calling to cancel her date.

“Hello,” she
answered.

“Emma, it’s me Lisa.”

“Hi, Lisa,” she said
in a disheartened tone.

“What’s wrong? You
don’t sound too happy. Has your date arrived yet?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“But
 
it’s six.”

“Not in his watch.”

“Poor you. And you
don’t even know who it is. Are you sure you can trust Mrs. Kinnaird to arrange
you a date? How can you be sure he won’t be a grouch like her?”

“I’m sure it will be
fine,” Emma sighed, tiredly.

“Listen, if he
doesn’t turn up, let me know. I know a couple of chaps in need of a date. They
would be overjoyed to have someone like you on their arms.”

Emma smiled. She was
sure they would be. In the time she had come to know Lisa all over again, she
had also come to learn of the few very interesting, eccentric characters who
called Lisa a friend. There was the shaggy fisherman who spent all his years on
a boat and a cigarette that never seemed to leave the corners of his mouth.
There was also the short, frazzled carpenter from Glendale with a fetish for
all kinds of bottles. It was known that he decorated his yard, trees and house
with every kind of bottle he could find, which glimmered in the sunshine and
tinkled in the wind.

“You are worrying too
much, Lisa,” she assured quickly. She didn’t want her to set off on a mission
to arrange a substitute date. She prayed that Ethel’s date wouldn’t turn up and
if luck was on her side, she might even make a play for “it’s too late, Lisa”
excuse. “I’m pretty certain he will come,” she said into the phone. “There
aren’t too many who can defy Ethel Kinnaird.”

Lisa huffed. “Yeah, you’re
probably right. But you promise to call me if he doesn’t arrive?”

“Yes, yes.”

With further false
assurances that she would call Lisa, she finally got her to hang up. She looked
at the clock and it was almost fifteen minutes after six. Her nervousness was
slowly giving way to impatience and then vexation. She swore to give five more
minutes to her very late date and if he didn’t arrive by then, she would strip
out of her very expensive dress.

Finally her doorbell
rang. She marched furiously down the steps with a dreadful scowl on her face.
With a determined mind to remind the man of his manners despite the risk that
he would take to flight, she opened the door.

“Are you Emma
Winston?” said the man.

Emma stared at him in
disbelief, her legs wavering beneath her. It was Chris Cameron.

*****

Emma looked at the
man seated beside her. She couldn’t believe that Ethel had set her up with her
very famous grandson, Chris Cameron. He braced his elbows against his window,
his finger on his lips in deep thought. His eyes were focused on the dark road
ahead of him as he steered towards their destination in
Dunvegan
.

His long brown
fringes fell over the sides of his face softening the otherwise scruffy,
stubbled chin. He hadn’t said a word since they had left her driveway.

“Are you Emma
Winston?” he had said at her door.

“Yes,” she mumbled in
disbelief.

“Get in,” he said as
he walked back to his silver Jaguar. He hopped into the driver seat and revved
his engine as he waited seemingly impatiently for her to join him in his car.

She paused
momentarily unsure if she should. He didn’t appear at all pleased with their
blind date. She bit her lip, stamping down her pride to walk back inside her
house and slamming the door behind her.

Looking at him now,
sullen and quiet, she silently compared him to the picture she often saw of the
Kinnaird’s in Ethel’s parlour. He had the same steely eyes that was prevalent
in all the
Kinnairds
. She imagined him with a spear
beard and an imperial moustache. A shiver ran up her as she thought of how
incredibly ideal he would make a Clement Kinnaird. He also certainly was
grouchy. Lisa was right. Ethel had sent her a date more grouchy than she was.

She suddenly felt
nauseated despite the well-flowing air conditioning in the car. She instinctively
touched the button on the side of her door to roll the windows down. She felt
the cool fresh air breezing through it as the window slithered down. It was
though momentary because it just as quick was rolled back up.

She turned sharply to
the grouchy, handsome man beside her.

“You don’t want to do
that,” he said without looking at her. “If the wind catches that scowl, you
might need a surgeon to wipe it off.”

She stared at him stunned,
astounded beyond belief. She pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
She was determined not to ruin the night with this man’s ill-manners. She bit
back a sharp retort and robotically fixed her attention on the dark road. Her
mind wheezed with all the words she needed to have with Ethel. And if she was
lucky, she would be happy to dish some unsavoury terms to this man as well. But
tomorrow. When she would be back safe in the protective haven of her home.

*****

An hour later, Chris
Cameron parked his car in the car park of
The Gaelic Inn
. He switched off
his engine and threw open his car door. Leaning towards the back, he pulled out
his dark blazer and swished it over his body hugging dark tee-shirt and khaki
slacks. Even in such casual wardrobe, he couldn’t disguise his royal Hollywood
glamour.

“We’re here,” he
said, slamming the door shut.

Emma swallowed
nervously. She blushed profusely when she realised she had been staring at him
like a high school teenager.

She opened her door
to discover he was already walking away towards the hotel. She huffed
indignantly and followed him. She heard the click of his car door lock behind
her. He was paying attention. He just didn’t want to be seen with her, she presumed.
She shook her head unbelievingly. She might as well have come alone. She gave a
second thought to Lisa’s fisherman friend and the bottle collector. They were beginning
to seem far more appealing than this fiasco right now.

As she neared the
hotel, the echoes of the chatter and music flowed out of the hall and into the
foyer of the inn. Chris was standing waiting for her to catch up to him. Maybe
he wasn’t too obnoxious after all. She quickened her pace and gave him a small
half-smile.

“Tickets,” he said.

“What?” she asked,
taken aback.

“Tickets,” he said,
thumbing at the ushers at the door.

“Oh, yes,” she said,
fumbling through her purse for it. She handed out the two tickets to him.

He looked at her and
then pulled one out from her fingers. Presenting it to the usher, he
disappeared into the crowd.

She watched,
immobilised by his ill-manners. Fuming out of embarrassment and his disrespect
for her, she slapped her ticket roughly into the usher’s palm.

The usher looked up
at her baffled. But she gallantly walked past him and into the myriad of
colourful attendees.

She breathed in
deeply in another feeble attempt to calm herself. Maybe it was for the best,
she reasoned with herself. After all, would she want to continue to be subjected
to his abominable behaviour the entire evening?

“Emma! Emma!” It was
Lisa emerging around one of the many large circular tables spread sporadically
through the room. “Emma! Here!” She waved with her fingers, a wide smile on her
face. “You made it. Where’s your date?” She looked around and behind Emma.
“You’re not hiding him, are you?” she teased.

“I…um…no,” Emma
gulped. “He’s here. Somewhere,” she added rather quietly.

“Oh, okay. No
problem. Come on. I saved you a chair. I’m sure he will be able to find you,
right?”

“I…guess,” Emma said.
If he was interested
, she thought.

Lisa led her to the
table that sat her husband and two other couples. “This is Noah and Belinda
Pearson,” she introduced. “And that is Max Burns and his partner Grace Parker,
who seems to have disappeared yet again.”

“I’m here,” said
Grace, calling out from behind them. “I’m Grace Parker. Hi,” she said.

“This is Emma,” Lisa
introduced. “Where have you been? You’re all flustered.”

“I am,” Grace
answered excitedly. “You won’t believe who’s here at the dance.”

“Who?” asked Lisa
curiously.

“Chris Cameron.”

Lisa turned to the
small crowd gathering in the further corner of the dance hall. She glanced at
Emma, chagrin sweeping out the smile she once carried.

Grace and Belinda
babbled endlessly with sheer excitement over the prospect of meeting a Hollywood
star at the dance. Their jabber moved endlessly from the movies of the famous
actor to his personality, his looks and his string of affairs among other
gossip they had read of him. The men meanwhile rolled their eyes and continued
a conversation of sport celebrities who rightfully deserved all that attention.