Winter's End (16 page)

His phone alarm blared
loudly, awakening him from his sleep. His hand instinctively reached for his
phone to turn his alarm off. Chris barely could open his eyes. He squinted at
his phone for the time. It was eight o’clock. He ran a palm over his face
tiredly. Emma, he thought.

He sat up to glance
at her but her temporary long chair had split back into arm chairs and
positioned at the ends of the bay windows as he had first seen them. Her flat sheet
was neatly folded and placed onto the seat of one of the chairs; the only
evidence of her night spent in his room. His heart paced faster as he wondered
where she could have gone. Breakfast, he reasoned. She must have gone for
breakfast.

He stepped out of bed
to wash himself. A few minutes through his routine, he peeped back into the
room to see if she had returned. The room was still empty. His thoughts drifted
to the possibility of Ethan Wells driving her to
Breakish
.
He swallowed nervously. He rushed through his wash and dressed himself rather
quickly.

Downstairs he headed
for the dining room. It was still quite empty. Guests must still be asleep from
the dance last night, he thought. He strolled out into the gardens hoping to
see her somewhere but there were no signs of her. He ambled back to the dining
room thoughtfully. Ordering himself a light meal of cornmeal pancakes and apple
sauce, he waited impatiently for her to arrive soon.

He kicked himself for
not taking her phone number. He always remembered phone numbers for his
potential lady friends. But that was it. She wasn’t his potential lady friend.
This was a temporary assignment as arranged by his grandmother. For her sake,
he was worried.

An hour later, he was
fidgeting. His pancakes had grown cold and insipid. He had barely touched it.
His eyes glowered. His right hand busily twirled a fork at his fingers.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and scrolled for his grandmother’s number.

*****

Emma slumped into her
couch. Her mind kept retracing the events of the dance two days ago. She hadn’t
spoken or seen Chris Cameron since she sneaked out of his hotel room early that
morning.

She had awoken from
an acute pain in her back. The arm chairs did not give her ample space to turn
at all during the night. She was glad though she had got some rest. She must
have been extremely tired to not have noticed the cramped and uncomfortable
space in which she had slept. But she had suffered more in her lifetime. The
armchairs were luxury in comparison.

She felt her
tentative dress come loose at her waist. Her body would have been exposed had
it not been for the comforter laid upon her. She was thankful for it. She would
have thanked him as well if he hadn’t enraged her so much last night.

She crept up to him
but he was fast asleep. He had covered himself with the thin, decorative coverlet.
She watched him breathe peacefully and he looked so much different than the
arrogant man who tormented her through the night.

She changed into her
dress as fast as she could, placed back the arm chairs softly and folded the
flat sheet. She put it neatly onto a chair although she knew hotel housekeepers
would be throwing it out into their laundry during their run that morning.

She wondered if she
should return the favour of covering him with the comforter but then decided
against it. She couldn’t bear to face him anymore if he awoke. And she was
going to do all she could to avoid him.

She called for a taxi
from the reception and was gone, leaving the harsh memories of her
Dunvegan
dance behind her. She couldn’t resist a sigh as
she saw the inn breeze away in the distance.

Today, she was
determined to push back that disastrous night into the abyss of her memories.
She laid back on her couch and tried to meditate on the silence in her home.
There were no grouchy men, no grumbles, no dragging by the elbows, by the palm…

She sat back up,
agitated. Rolling her eyes, she knew it was going to be a daunting task to
forget all that had happened at the dance. She was curious though as to why
Chris despised Ethan Wells.

The rustle of gravel
stones outside told her that a car had approached her house. She peered through
her windows and saw it was Ethel’s dark BMW coming to a stop. She rose and opened
the door to let her in.

“Hello,” she said as
Ethel stepped out of the car.

Ethel’s face was
grim. She made a sound in her throat but remained quiet as she walked into the
house.

“The children are in
school?” Ethel asked.

“Yes,” Emma replied.
It was Monday. It was a question that needn’t require asking. Worry began to
shadow her face as she felt knots pitting in her stomach. She hadn’t been quite
as cordial with Ethel when she had picked up the children early in the morning
after that ill-fated date.

“Good,” said Ethel,
nodding. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” she
said.

“Let’s go to your
conservatory. It’s peaceful there. Might even aid to put this whole torrid turn
of events on a better note.”

Emma followed, her
curiosity piqued but also inevitably mingled with concern. She watched Ethel
fiddle with the hems of her shawl as she settled into a couch by the window.
She had never seen Ethel fidget with anything ever.

“I understand that
you were disappointed with your date,” Ethel started.

“Disappointed is too
mild a word,” Emma said wryly. “Aghast was more like it.”

“Christopher can be a
little exasperating at times,” said Ethel.

“Exasperating!”
exclaimed Emma. “He was crude, boorish and overtly disparaging. I have never
felt so abased and horrified by any person’s behaviour! Shockingly, at the same
time!”

“
Aaahh
,”
Ethel winced. “This is faring worse than I presumed.”

“What more, he is obnoxious
and egocentric. He creates an entirely modern twist to the legend of
Narcissus,” Emma berated. “I know that he is your grandson. And don’t be
mistaken, that I don’t love you any less today than the day I met him. But
really Ethel, the man has a terrible problem with his attitude.”

“I agree,” said
Ethel.

“I know that you will
hate me for saying all this…,” Emma suddenly braked mid-way through her
sentence
 
and stared at Ethel, stunned
beyond words. “What? You…agree. You mean you knew he was going to be such a
pain and yet you set up a date between him and I? Why?”

“He was just being
protective.”

“Of you? Why? What could
I possibly do to you?” Emma asked, baffled.

“It’s what I suggested
I would ask you to do.”

“I don’t understand,”
Emma said, confounded by the turn in the conversation.

Ethel sighed tiredly.
She hung her head in deep thought. “Christopher rushed home because he thought
I was suffering from a severe bout of cold,” she said slowly. “So naturally he
wasn’t too happy about the false pretences. But when I dropped the bombshell of
the date, he didn’t take it too well.”

“Ethel!” Emma cried.
“You basically cornered him into going out with me.”

“I know, I know,” she
replied, nodding her head profusely. “But I have my reasons. So hear me out
before you rush into passing a judgment.”

Emma scowled. “Alright,”
she said after a little while. “I might as well hear it all.”

Ethel took in a deep
breath before she continued. “I am ninety years old Emma. And I’ve buried
almost everyone I’ve ever loved. All that keeps me going is Christopher. When
Mary died five years ago, my heart almost broke. Christopher had moved on with
his life and he really has no intention of returning to continue with the
family businesses. The idea that Mrs. Deanna Boyd and her sons taking over it
cringes me absolutely. But I really don’t have a choice, do I?” Her eyes
focused on the silvery picture frames that encased photographs of Hannah and Jai.
She remained quiet as she studied the little red woollen hat Hannah was wearing
and the yellow daffodil she held in her hands. “The businesses have been in the
Kinnaird family for so long. It would be unfair if I refuse to pass it on to
someone who would take good care of it only because their mother is such a
twit.” She transgressed into another lapse of silence. “Christopher has had a
problem with women. He’s never been able to hold a relationship with one. It
was always one blonde dunce to another. All they ever really saw in him was a
stepping stone to stardom and fame. Christopher is no fool, I can tell you
that. But he keeps giving a blind eye to such women. He keeps them hanging at
his arm. It baffles me as to the reasons but the fact is that he does.” Her
eyes glazed, her thoughts tapering into her memories. “Probably it was because
he never had a mother. I tried my best but…maybe it’s not the same…” Her voice
withered into a whisper, gradually growing silent. She sat there still,
assessing herself.

Emma watched her and
when she didn’t talk any more, she grew worried for her old friend. “Ethel,”
she said, leaning forward to caress her arm.

Ethel turned to her
and smiled. “And then I met you. And Hannah. And Jai. You’ve all been the joy
of my life these past three months.”

Emma smiled back and
affectionately rubbed Ethel’s arms. “So have you been, Ethel. To all of us.”

Ethel straightened
up. “That is why you should marry Christopher.”

“What!” Emma
exclaimed, her mouth dropped in shock, taken aback by the sudden proposal.
“Ethel, that’s preposterous!”

“What’s preposterous
about it? You’re single and so is Christopher.”

“Yes, but that is no
basis for a marriage. I hardly know him. And I can’t say I like him much after
that disastrous date.”

“So what? He’s nice.
Once you get to know him.”

“Ethel, you would say
that. He is your grandson,” Emma replied wryly, rolling her eyes. “I, on the
other hand, see him from an entirely different perspective.”

“Emma, I’m dying,”
Ethel blurted.

Emma watched Ethel
critically. “You’ve got to be joking. That’s really low, Ethel. Especially
coming from you. Trying to emotionally blackmail me to get me married to Chris.
I didn’t expect that from you. Why would…”

Ethel sighed again
interrupting her. “Christopher has agreed.”

Emma sat back,
shocked. “What?”

“Christopher has
agreed,” Ethel repeated. “I wanted to let you know that. Of course, he will
come and talk to you about it. But he insisted I break it to you since I’m bent
on having it.”

Emma was silent,
stupefied by what Ethel was asking of her.

“I’m in my last
stages of life, Emma,” continued Ethel. “All I’m asking is that those I love be
with me while I finish this ending lag of living. I want to see Christopher
settled. I want to be assured that he will be fine once I close my eyes for the
very last time. With a woman who I know will keep him happy.”

“He doesn’t love me,”
mumbled Emma, close to tears.

“He will. Once he
gets to know you like I do, he will love you. He’s my grandson. I know him. I
know what he needs. He fails to recognise it but my old eyes do not.”

“I have children,
Ethel. I can’t just jump into a marriage without knowing the man.”

“Do you trust me,
Emma?”

“What a question,
Ethel,” Emma blurted annoyingly. “Of course, I do. But it is Chris, I don’t
know.”

“Then you don’t trust
me,” Ethel said. “I love your kids. I would never hand them over to anyone who
might harm them in the least possible way. Not even my own grandson. But
Christopher is soft and gentle. He won’t show it though. He hates to be seen
that way.”

“I need to give it
some thought, Ethel,” Emma said in a low voice. She looked over at Ethel’s
tired greying eyes and her own watered at the prospect of losing Ethel.

“Okay,” Ethel said,
nodding her head. “I understand.”
 
She
stood up and started walking slowly to the door.

“Ethel,” said Emma.
“It
doesn
‎
’t
mean I don’t care. It’s just that it’s a big decision.”

“I know,” Ethel said
giving her a small smile. She turned again and began walking. At the door, she
paused. “Emma, if it is about Richard Winston, I want you to know that he will
never make you his wife.”

A tear scrolled down
Emma’s cheeks.

“It’s hard to accept,
Emma,” said Ethel. “But he has never fought to make you his.”

“I have to try.”

Ethel gave a small
pat on her arms and walked out, leaving Emma shaken at her front door.

*****

Emma’s mind raced
over all that Ethel had said. Her hand trembled, anxiety filling her as she
tried to prepare for her children’s return from school.