Christmas With Her Ex

by Fiona McArthur

  He grimaced. ‘I ache with food.’

  Actually, Connor ached with something else. The urge to hold Kelsie and hug her to him. Grab her hand and race her off to her cabin—much more private—because this was the last opportunity they would have to be alone before they were transferred to the non-sleeper part of their journey—but that way lay madness. Or was it happiness that he was afraid of?

  He wished he knew which it was, although the ghosts from the past had such a stranglehold on him he had to assume the former.

  Now he’d discovered she was flying out tomorrow night they had very little time. He’d been disappointed when that had come out but not shocked. They had less reason to be careful because she would fly away and now he knew. No doubt she would have mentioned it yesterday if he’d asked her.

  In fairness to himself, his intention hadn’t been to sleep with her and find himself teetering on the edge of where he’d been all those years ago—back under her spell.

  Maybe it was a good thing she was going. Not enough time for the miracle of Christmas to take a hand. But they should at least part friends.

  He owed her that. He actually thought he needed it, too.

  ‘Perhaps we could talk privately?’

  The blue of her eyes darkened doubtfully and he thought again how much he loved the way her face had matured into the woman in front of him.

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged. He wished he knew. ‘For lots of reasons—all of them nebulous.’ But he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that they were balancing on the edge of an important truth—no matter which way it went. ‘Or just because I left without explanation this morning and it wasn’t my intention to hurt you.’

  She shrugged unwillingly. ‘We can talk in the bar.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kelsie heard the resignation in his voice.

  She chewed her lip as she moved forward again through the next carriage. Did she really want to talk in the bar? With Winsome about to descend on them at any moment and the possibility of others overhearing?

  Or did she want to risk being in close, private proximity to Connor where physical things could happen? Had happened before. Ooh. Naughty but nice.

  She considered her lonely flight home tomorrow, at thirty thousand feet, imagining scenarios in her head if she chose the wrong answer now.

  Would she regret not giving him a chance to speak to her in private? Yes. Best not to wonder, then. ‘Fine. Your cabin or mine?’

  Connor smiled. ‘Mine’s closer. And larger.’

  Her brows went up. She’d known it would be. ‘Show-off.’

  He looked down at her. ‘Jealous bag.’

  She laughed. ‘You always were good at the comebacks.’

  ‘You weren’t too bad yourself when you plucked up the courage.’

  ‘I’ve grown up,’ she tossed over her shoulder.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘You certainly have.’

  He touched her shoulder, she stopped, and they were there already. More reasons to go to his cabin. He unlocked his cabin and gestured for her to enter.

  ‘Madam?’ He looked so tall as he smiled down at her. So big and achingly familiar, and she could almost taste the impending loss, because they would be a world away from each other very shortly. But that was her life and she loved her life.

  She looked up into his face as she passed under his arm and she remembered the last time they had been alone. Felt the twist in her belly and the warmth in her skin as she brushed against him. ‘Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.’

  He shook his head. ‘To my mind it’s more of a black-widow thing.’

  With her being the black widow? Not very complimentary!

  He must have seen he’d offended her. Good. ‘Let’s just say I’m pretty sure you can protect yourself if you want to.’

  Ah. But right at this moment did she want to? Kelsie hoped those thoughts didn’t show in her face as she looked around the spacious suite. Two large seats facing each other with a table between them. Twice the size of her cabin and at least that much more expensive. She’d never really thought about the financial disparity between them but that reared its head now as another reason a relationship wouldn’t work.

  ‘So is this all yours?’

  ‘It connects through that door to my grandmother’s suite, which is the same.’

  ‘Nice.’

  He crossed to the tiny refrigerator she’d missed in the corner. ‘Would you like a cold drink?’

  ‘Juice. Thanks.’ Something to do with her hands was always good.

  He sat down when they both had drinks. Opposite each other, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts, both with small smiles on their faces as they compared the stilted awkwardness to how they had been just a few hours ago.

  Connor started. ‘I hope I didn’t upset you this morning when I left without saying goodbye—’

  Did he expect her to say yes? She interrupted. ‘I admit I thought it was a little unusual but I’m not needy.’

  Much. She so did not want to be needy. ‘So what did you want to talk about?’ She paused, thought and then said it out loud. ‘Contraception, perhaps?’ She wouldn’t put it past him and would not get her hopes up it could be something a little more flattering.

  ‘Did you get the package I left?’

  Surprise. Surprise. ‘Hmm.’ Bite your tongue, Kelsie! Say nothing.

  He leaned forward. ‘So you’ve taken them.’

  ‘No,’ she said coolly, and stood up. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted out. Now! ‘It makes me angry you’re so obsessed with something that isn’t your business. I didn’t need them because I’m already covered. It’s what grown women do.’

  He stood too. ‘Wait.’ Touched her arm, carefully, as if afraid she’d brush him off, his eyes perplexed. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

  She shrugged. ‘Offended mostly. I thought you were very speedy at declaring the risk of not being protected because you were so sure I wasn’t.’

  Like she was still a silly little girl. Not a mature, professional woman. If she didn’t get out of here soon she was going to cry and she did not want to do that! She’d spent the last fifteen years growing up. Growing a tough outer layer. Fighting to be the independent woman she’d thrown away the young Connor to become.

  ‘Okay.’ So perhaps it had been a bad choice to leave her like that. ‘I’m sorry. But there was other stuff going on.’ Connor wanted to pull his hair out. At least she’d finally explained how she felt. Half the time he had no idea what she was thinking and it wasn’t surprising he’d managed to upset her.

  He thought of telling her about the phone call but knew he’d been glad of the excuse. So that was a cop-out. ‘Though, to be fair to me, contraception or lack of it is my business. I don’t know if you see me as a one-night stand or an old boyfriend but either way the honourable thing to do is ensure you don’t become pregnant when I’m the one who’s been irresponsible.’

  ‘You’ve still got control issues.’

  He stilled. Stared at her thoughtfully. ‘No. You think I have but I don’t. I have care issues. I’m beginning to think you’re the one with the control problem.’

  ‘That’s not true. You’re just sexist.’ And she spun on her heel and walked out.

  Connor looked at the empty doorway. ‘Sexist?’ He repeated it. ‘Me? Sexist?’ He adored women. He was a reproductive specialist, for pity’s sake, and he respected and admired women immensely.

  She had serious trust issues. He knew her parents had been very unhappy before they’d separated; her father had drunk a fair bit and maybe it wasn’t about him at all. Maybe she was terrified of falling in love and committing to one person for ever? Well, she wasn’t the only one. His phone rang and he turned away from the door and stared unseeingly out the window as he answered it.

  Kelsie swept out of his compartment with her cheeks hot but not as hot as her temper. Did he want her to say he wasn’t a one-night stand? And why was it all about hi
s honour? He made her so angry but she just couldn’t pinpoint why. She’d said the one thing she’d known would alienate him and reminded herself why she hadn’t thrown herself on his chest.

  As she flounced through the bar car, she decided against any form of male company, ever, and she glared at Winston Whatsit the Third when he stood up and smiled at her until he shrank back in his chair.

  His terrified reaction did something to restore her good humour. Yes. That’s right. She was a woman to reckon with, wasn’t she? A black widow. Thank goodness she didn’t need a man to make her feel like she had a perfect life.

  When she reached her compartment she resisted the urge to dig out her bottle of limoncello she’d bought as a last-minute impulse in Venice and pour a generous slosh into her glass. Grrrrr, she thought as she glared at the bottle made famous in the lemon groves of the Amalfi coast. She’d like to bury someone in the lemon groves on the Amalfi coast.

  Connor sat with his grandmother and stuffed his frustration, anger and disappointment in Kelsie into a sealed box somewhere under his diaphragm, where it sat like a lump.

  He saw his grandmother open the yellow envelope and then frown across at him. He was in trouble. Well, what was new!

  Winsome pointed the paper at him. ‘What did you do to that poor girl?’

  What had she done to him was more like it! ‘Which poor girl?’

  His gran’s eyes almost disappeared as she glared at him and for the first time in half an hour he felt like smiling. ‘Don’t play with me, Connor. You know I mean Kelsie.’

  He couldn’t believe he was the one being scolded when he had been the one ill used. The whole thing was the result of two incompatible people butting their heads against a brick wall. But he did hate to see his gran upset. ‘Nothing. She’s fine.’

  The letter was waved his way. ‘She’s apologised for not joining us for brunch.’

  He sat forward. Caught his grandmother’s eye and held it. ‘That poor girl has been forced into our company the whole trip. She’s probably having lunch with Winston Whatsit the Third.’

  His grandmother looked a little hurt that he’d suggested she’d forced their company on Kelsie. He saw the pang of guilt cross her face and truly regretted that. But before he could apologise she’d absorbed his next comment.

  ‘Eh? With who? Who’s he?’ Diversion was always good with Gran. Lowered the blood pressure.

  ‘Fellow at the bar. He fancied her, I think.’

  Another death stare. ‘And that doesn’t bother you?’

  Not at all. Kelsie wouldn’t touch a man that drank to excess with a ten-foot pole. He knew that much. ‘Why should it?’

  His grandmother gave her most impressive snort yet. ‘Hmmmph! Because you’re damn well in love with the girl, that’s why.’

  The humour abruptly left the conversation.

  He was seriously fed up with this whole situation. In fact, thanks to his grandmother and a certain person who would remain nameless, he’d probably acquired a phobia about trains for life!

  ‘Kelsie Summers and I are not meant to be together. That’s the end of it.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to the bar.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to lunch!’

  ‘I hope you enjoy your brunch, Grandmother,’ he said very calmly and quietly. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be joining you either.’

  Kelsie picked at her brunch with a very nice lady who was recovering from cancer and had become a naturopath.

  She talked to Heath, the waiter, who had also been born in Sydney, like she had, and a lovely couple who had saved for five years to enjoy the journey on their tenth wedding anniversary. Max must have loved them.

  She struggled through fluffy eggs with Scottish salmon, lobster with truffle sauce and a small slice of white Christmas cake with VSOE chocolates on the side.

  Oh, my goodness, she thought as she placed her hand protectively over her stomach and put down her silverware.

  It wasn’t gluttony, it was diversion from not looking through into the next cabin where she could see the back of Winsome’s head. Or not searching for the dark one that would be close by.

  She was starting to dislike all food. Finally it was time to return to her own compartment and pack the last of her belongings into her shoulder bag before they arrived in Calais.

  As she glanced around her snug little cabin she never would have believed she would be wishing this journey to end, but that was how she felt. And it was all Connor Black’s fault.

  Finally the train arrived and it was time to transfer from the gorgeous Orient Express, bursting with tradition, opulence and dignified pride, to a coach! How unglamorous was that?

  Half a dozen VIP coaches were lined up waiting for them and at the bottom of each set of steps a busy, blue-suited VSOE hostess carried a clipboard and checked off names.

  When Kelsie cast a lingering glance back at her previous transport Wolfgang was there lined up in front of the last carriage with the other staff, posing for pictures.

  There was Max, looking very distinguished, and the head chef with his towering white chef’s hat, and the maître d’, black-suited and standing very straight, and Heath the waiter looking a little pink in the cheeks at all the attention, as passengers took photos of the staff.

  Kelsie had to smile when she saw Winsome thrust her camera into ‘that man’s’ hands and hurry forward for a photo of her with the official entourage as she squeezed in between Wilhelm and Max. Then she remembered the older lady had said it was her last trip.

  Symbolically the end of an era for Winsome—though hopefully it was the beginning of a new spring with her time with Max.

  For Kelsie it was just the end of a train journey. She turned away.

  Connor took the snap of his gran, and had to smile at her waving him on to take another. It was a good thing he didn’t have time to see which coach Kelsie was boarding. As he put the camera down his grandmother came up, beaming, beside him. At least they were coming to the end of this awful train journey where he’d just complicated the blazes out of his life, but despite everything he was truly glad to have seen his grandmother so happy.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he frowned. Un-expected phone calls rarely heralded good news‘Excuse me,’ he said to Winsome, and answered. Listened. ‘I’ll ring you back,’ he said, and ended the call.

  ‘Gran?’

  Winsome gazed around like a kid in a lolly shop, soaking in the moment, a brightness to her eyes that could have been excitement or maybe the shine of tears, and reluctantly she drew her attention back to him.

  ‘I need to head straight to London as quickly as possible for the patients I told you about. The mother is bleeding and they’d like me to be there. Would you be all right if I left now and had you met at Victoria?’

  He saw her blink and focus more fully on him. ‘Now?’

  ‘They’re sending a helicopter for me.’

  She frowned. ‘Don’t like helicopters. I’ll take the train.’ She glanced at him coyly. ‘I can always find Kelsie and sit with her.’

  Internal wince. ‘Or Lady Geraldine. She’d love your company.’ He resisted the impulse to warn her to stay away from Kelsie. But it would only encourage her. ‘Would you like me to find Lady G. and Charlotte?’

  ‘No. No. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ He looked at her. Her cheeks were overbright and yet the rest of her face was a little pale. It had been a huge twenty-four hours and she’d had a fair intake of food—and wine! Maybe he shouldn’t go?

  ‘Go,’ she shooed him. ‘Go to that poor woman. I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine for eighty years without you hovering at my elbow. I’ll be fine for the next six hours.’

  He redialled the number but the whole time he waited for a connection he studied Winsome. She didn’t seem to be flagging. Lord, the woman had more energy than he did.

  Harry Wilson picked up.

  ‘That’s fine. If you send the helicopter I’ll come now.’

  Gran wou
ld be fine. He’d ask Max to find a hostess to watch out for her and arrange for someone to meet her at Victoria. And Nick, Charlotte’s fiancé, was a doctor so at least there was medical help on the train if needed.

  The Wilsons were his last patients with a baby due this year. His next wasn’t due till February. So he could stay longer with Gran afterwards to make up for this.

  He spoke to Wolfgang, who nodded, and his bag was identified and handed over and he was directed to a far corner of the car park where a large orange cross was painted on the bitumen.

  Apparently it wasn’t unusual for passengers to skip the Channel crossing and take a helicopter to London from here.

  He didn’t have to wait long before the beat of helicopter rotors could be heard, which only increased his respect for Harry Wilson’s business arm.

  As long as Winsome was okay, this had worked out well. He was glad to get away.

  After he’d watched his grandmother helped aboard one of the big silver coaches he’d refused to look for any other people he might know. Specifically one who had labelled him a controlling sexist. No wonder she hadn’t married him if she thought that. All he’d ever wanted to do was look after her. What was so heinous about that?

  The helicopter drew closer and he cast a last glance across to the coaches. Which one was she on?

  No! He was glad he could remove himself from the temptation to do something as monumentally stupid as he’d done all those years ago. It was a good thing.

  Ten minutes later, as the helicopter took off he couldn’t help but glance down. The train looked like a toy. As did the coaches as they began to pull out of the car park. He glanced ahead and the sky was grey and featureless. Not unlike his life stretching out before him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KELSIE TURNED AWAY, brushed away the regret that she’d probably never see any of these people again, and made darned sure she was on a different coach from the Blacks. It was time to move on.

  There was a brief hold-up, their hostess informed them all, while a helicopter took one of the passengers away.