Mother of the Bride

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘It is. I’m just not sure it’s motherly enough,’ she said, repeating the words she’d said to Rob earlier, but Helen flapped her hand.

  ‘Do people really worry about that sort of thing these days? I have a philosophy. If it makes you feel good, wear it, if it doesn’t, don’t, and it doesn’t matter what it is. I try not to dress inappropriately, but I do always insist on being me, and it’s always stood me in good stead. The thing is, do you feel like you, or like someone else dressed up?’

  She thought about that as she loaded her case into the boot and got in the car. ‘Me,’ she said after a pause. ‘I feel like me—but different. Better.’

  ‘Then it’s right,’ Helen said. ‘The trouble with mine is I feel like me, but old and stuffy and tedious rather than better.’

  ‘Is it a new outfit?’ Maisie asked, happy to keep the conversation on safe ground, and Helen told her about it, that it was on approval and could be exchanged, that she’d tried several things but not known which to go for.

  ‘I don’t suppose you could spare the time while you’re up here to help me choose something else, could you?’ she asked tentatively, and Maisie was surprised, yet again, at her reticence. She’d remembered her as matriarchal and rather bossy, but this woman was uncertain, almost conciliatory. Had Rob given her a hard time for being mean? Was that it? Was Helen trying to make amends for all the bitterness and unhappiness around the time of Jenni’s birth?

  ‘Of course I can spare the time,’ she said. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

  Helen’s face lit up, and she pulled up in the car park of the lochside café a few moments later still smiling, and turned to Maisie. ‘Well, here we are. Shall we go in?’

  They found a table by the window—the table she’d sat at with Rob when they’d had their revealing and painful conversation—and she vowed that this time she’d guard her tongue and try incredibly hard not to fall out with his mother. She was being nice today, but Maisie was under no illusions. It was a fragile truce—or so she thought, until they were seated and the waitress had taken their order.

  Then her smile faltered briefly, and she met Maisie’s eyes, her own clouded. ‘Maisie, I—I owe you such an apology. I’ve treated you badly in the past, and I’m so ashamed of what I did. I didn’t know you, I didn’t try and get to know you, or give you the benefit of the doubt, and I think I misjudged you terribly. I thought you were using Rob for your own ends, and I had no idea—well, that you’d been so innocent. I really thought you were just after his wealth.’

  Maisie gave a soft laugh. ‘Helen, I didn’t even know he had any when I met him. I knew the house in Cambridge was his to live in, but I thought it was on a lease and he just wanted someone living there for security while he was away. I didn’t know anything about housing then, I was still living at home. It didn’t occur to me that he owned it. To be honest, it was such a gift I didn’t look at it as closely as I should have done,’ she admitted with a soft laugh. ‘All I could think about was getting away from home, from a father who wouldn’t let me wear make-up and a brother who thought I’d been put on earth to take over where my mother left off. Only, of course, once I was pregnant neither of them wanted anything to do with me, my father because I’d brought shame on my mother’s name, my brother because the last thing he wanted was a screaming brat in the house.’

  Helen clucked softly, and shook her head. ‘I had no idea. When Rob moved you up here to have Jenni, so you wouldn’t be alone, I had no idea that you would have been quite so alone. And—well, we didn’t exactly make you welcome, did we?’

  Maisie shook her head ruefully. ‘Not exactly. But looking at it from your point of view, would I have acted any differently? I don’t know that I would.’

  Helen gave a strained little smile. ‘It’s very generous of you to say that, Maisie, but I think you would, you know. You don’t have it in you to be harsh or judgemental.’

  Maisie laughed at that. ‘Oh, Helen, you’re so wrong,’ she said, her voice filled with regret. ‘I thought you were stuck-up and cold-hearted, and I was convinced you hated me and thought I wasn’t good enough for your son.’

  ‘I did,’ she said honestly. ‘But I didn’t know you, my dear. And you’ve done a wonderful job of raising your daughter. It’s just such a pity that you and Rob weren’t together to do it.’

  She sighed. ‘Yes. He’s missed a lot.’

  ‘He’s missed you,’ Helen said softly, surprising her. Maisie gave a tiny gasp of laughter and shook her head.

  ‘No. No, he hasn’t. After he came back from the navy, he was different. He wasn’t interested in me. Jenni, yes. He adored her. Me? I’m not convinced he thought of me as anything other than the mother of his child.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong. I think he really loved you, and I think he still does.’

  Her head flew up, her eyes meeting Helen’s in disbelief. ‘No,’ she whispered.

  Helen nodded, and Maisie turned her head and stared out over the water. Rob still love her? He could hardly be in the same room with her without them arguing.

  But he’d kissed her—so softly, so tenderly.

  And then he’d walked away.

  Was that the act of a man in love? She didn’t think so. A man in love would have stayed, taken what she was so freely, so willingly offering. Or would he? Would he have walked away, and hoped that she’d follow in her own time?

  As she had with him?

  Suddenly she couldn’t wait to see him, didn’t want to sit there with Helen talking about him, but wanted to be with him, to talk to him, to see if there might be any truth in his mother’s words.

  But he was out walking over the hills with some guests, so there was no hurry. She forced herself to drink the coffee their waitress put down in front of her at that moment, and she switched the conversation from Rob to Jenni, to the wedding, to Alec and how the gatehouse was coming on— anything rather than speculate on whether the man she loved still cared about her as anything other than the mother of his daughter…

  He couldn’t wait to see her.

  He would have been there to meet her, but Alec had had a hitch with the kitchen fitters and he’d had to take the guided walk out instead.

  He just hoped his mother wasn’t causing a riot with Maisie. He didn’t think she would, but he couldn’t be sure, and he was on tenterhooks for the entire day. They got back at four-thirty, and the guests headed off to their cottage with effusive thanks and he took the dogs in through the kitchen door and found Maisie sitting there with Mrs McCrae, dribbling what looked suspiciously like his best brandy into the bottom of a massive fruit cake.

  ‘Don’t tell me—the wedding cake?’ he asked, kissing Mrs McCrae on the cheek and earning a swat on the shoulder for his pains, and then he met Maisie’s eyes and his heart turned over.

  How could the woman grow more lovely every time he saw her? ‘Hi, there. Good journey?’ he asked, leaning over to brush his lips against her cheek, relishing the softness, breathing in the scent of her and stifling a groan.

  ‘Pretty much as predicted. How was your guided walk?’

  ‘Pretty much as predicted,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I’m starving, Mrs M. Any sticky gingerbread left?’

  ‘You know fine well there’s not, you finished it yesterday. There’s shortbread cooling on the rack, and tea in the pot. And Alec said thanks, and the kitchen’s going to be done on time.’

  ‘Really? I wonder what he threatened them with?’ he said mildly, breaking off a chunk of shortbread and pouring himself a mug of tea while he munched it.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to eat so much you aren’t ready for this food tasting?’ Maisie said, eyeing the shortbread.

  ‘Not a chance,’ he said round a mouthful. ‘I’m ravenous. I’ve probably walked nearly twenty miles today. I’m going to make a few phone calls, and then I’m getting into the bath. I’ll see you later, Maisie. Six-thirty OK for you? Our reservation’s at seven.’

  ‘Six-thirty’s fine,’ s
he said, so with a brisk nod, he grabbed another chunk of shortbread and headed for the stairs, then stuck his head back into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t wear stilts, by the way, we’re walking down as it’s fine so we can check out all the wines.’

  ‘OK. Dress code?’

  ‘Pretty.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a dress code,’ she pointed out, but then had to watch his mouth twitch into a mischievous grin.

  ‘It’s my dress code,’ he murmured. ‘See you in a couple of hours.’

  And with a wicked wink he was gone, leaving her sitting there, her heart drumming, her mouth slightly open.

  She shut it, fast, but not so fast that Mrs McCrae didn’t notice, and she felt her cheeks burn.

  ‘Shall I wrap the cake again now?’ she asked hastily, and without waiting for an answer she closed the greaseproof paper round it and put the lid back on.

  The hotel restaurant was busy, even though it was midweek, and Rob was interested to see how many of their own guests were eating there.

  No wonder the owner was giving them such a good deal on the wedding breakfast! Clearly their business brought in a lot of trade, but the disadvantage was the lack of privacy. He was recognised, of course, and he didn’t want to be. He wanted this to be about them—about the food, too, of course, because of the wedding, but mostly about them, because with every day that passed he grew more uncertain about the reasons for their divorce.

  ‘It’s lovely in here,’ Maisie said, looking around the restaurant. Modern tables and chairs, slate table mats, and above all the view over the sea from the floor-to-ceiling windows made it a wonderful place to eat, and it didn’t hurt that the food was excellent, he thought.

  They were shown to a quiet table, tucked out of the way in an alcove but still with a stunning view across the sea to the islands. ‘I’ll tell the chef you’re here,’ the waiter said, disappearing, and moments later he arrived, smiling and greeting Maisie enthusiastically.

  ‘So like Jenni. I would have known at once who you were. OK, the menu. You were undecided, Mr Mackenzie?’

  He dragged his eyes back off Maisie and looked at the chef. ‘Yes. They liked the duck and the chicken. I wondered about that. I thought maybe the lamb would be better, or change the starter to something else—scallops, perhaps.’

  ‘I shall cook you one of everything, and let you share— would that be the best idea? And then you can choose. And wine—I’ll bring you a bottle of each, red and white, to get a balance.’

  He disappeared, leaving them alone, and suddenly the small alcove seemed airless to Maisie.

  ‘So, how was the journey really?’ Rob asked softly, and she laughed.

  ‘Oh, it was all right. I’m getting used to it, I’ve done it a few times now, and it’s long and tedious, but it’s less stressful than flying with all the parking problems and hanging around for check-in. Still, next time I come up will be the last for a while, I expect.’

  Something flickered briefly in his eyes and was gone, and she forced herself to be business-like. ‘So—I’m seeing the florist tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. She’s coming at nine. I’ve cleared my diary. I didn’t know if you’d need me, but I’ll be about if so.’

  Need him? Oh, yes, she needed him, but not in the way he meant.

  ‘Thanks.’ She twirled her empty wineglass absently, then set it down. ‘So, what else has been going on, wedding-wise?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else.’

  She met his eyes and smiled in relief. ‘Do you know what? I’d love to talk about something else. Why don’t you tell me about your day?’

  He shrugged slowly. ‘Not much to tell. I walked miles. It was good.’

  ‘See any tourist eagles?’

  He gave a soft chuckle, and tore a piece off his roll, shredding it bit by bit. ‘No. No eagles of any sort. These rolls are lovely and soft. And warm. Interesting. What flavour’s yours?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s got seeds in…mmm. Nice. How about yours?’

  ‘Sundried tomato—here, try it,’ he said, and held it up to her lips.

  She leant back slightly and took it from his hand, but it didn’t help because their fingers brushed anyway and it was nearly as potent. She chewed and swallowed. ‘Oh, that’s lovely.’

  ‘Give me some of yours?’

  No way. She pushed the plate towards him. ‘Help yourself,’ she said, and then to fill the silence she asked, ‘How’s Alec getting on? I still haven’t seen their house.’

  ‘I’ll show it to you tomorrow, when the florist’s gone. It’s coming on well— Ah, here’s the food.’

  He sounded almost relieved, which was ridiculous as it had been his idea to feed each other. The waiter set down three plates on the table between them.

  ‘Scallops with chorizo, lemon and thyme on wild rocket, pan-fried oriental duck breast on summer leaves, and charred peppers with roasted goats’ cheese and chilli oil dressing. Enjoy your meal.’

  The sommelier arrived and poured a selection of wines, then left them to it, and Rob picked up his knife and fork, speared a piece of tender, succulent scallop with a sliver of crisp, spicy sausage and held it to her lips. ‘Try this. It gets my vote every time,’ he said, his voice soft and yet roughened, somehow, so that it teased at her senses.

  She opened her mouth, took the morsel and closed her eyes, because she simply couldn’t look at him a second longer. The flavour exploded on her tongue, and after a moment she opened her eyes again and nodded.

  ‘That’s lovely.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Here, try the duck.’

  She stabbed it herself, then moved on to the pepper and goats’ cheese. ‘Let me try that,’ he murmured, and with her heart pumping she put a little on her fork and held it out to him, watching spellbound as his firm, full lips closed around the fork and he drew it off and chewed, slowly and thoughtfully.

  ‘No. OK for the veggies, but the goats’ cheese doesn’t do it for me. Try the scallop again.’

  And once again his fork was at her lips, his eyes locked with hers, and the air between them was brittle with tension.

  She didn’t know how she got through the meal. He fed her chicken breast stuffed with Brie and wrapped in Parma ham, served on a bed of haggis—haggis, of all things, but as he said, it was a Scottish wedding—and rack of lamb on neeps and tatties—again the Scottish thing—with a redcurrant and rosemary jus.

  ‘I like the chicken,’ she said, struggling with the whole feeding bit, because he would insist on mixing flavours and offering them to her, a bit from one plate with a bit from another, just to see if the dishes needed adjusting. ‘What about the vegetarians?’

  ‘They’re having wild mushroom risotto with some pesto something-or-other. I don’t know. Jenni liked it. What do you think of the wines?’

  ‘I like the white. I’m not much of a red wine drinker but it’s beautifully smooth.’

  ‘I think so. Ready to try the desserts?’

  ‘I think so, but really only a little,’ she said. The dessert had been pretty much unanimously agreed, an assiette of lemon tart, chocolate mousse and vanilla ice cream in a tiny brandy snap basket. It was beautifully presented, but Rob had asked for just one to share, so this was worse. This was him feeding her tasty chocolate mousse, as light as air and rich as Croesus, on the tip of a spoon—a spoon which had been in his mouth.

  ‘How’s the ice cream?’ he asked, and opened his mouth, a smile playing round his eyes as he waited for her to return the favour.

  Outwardly, they were doing nothing but sharing their desserts. Inwardly—inwardly, he was causing havoc, and when they’d scraped up the last morsel of creamy deliciousness and the waiter suggested coffee, she shook her head.

  ‘No, thank you, I’m fine. I don’t need anything more.’ Because there would be truffles, and he’d insist on holding one to her lips, or biting one in half and feeding her the rest, and she didn’t think she could stand it.r />
  ‘I agree,’ he said, and moments later the chef appeared at their side.

  ‘So, how did you get on?’ he asked.

  ‘Excellent,’ Rob said warmly. ‘A really great meal. And I think we’re agreed on the scallops, the chicken and the assiette.’

  ‘Excellent choice. Well, we’re looking forward to cooking it for you on the wedding day. Fingers crossed for the weather.’

  ‘You do that,’ Maisie said with a smile as she got to her feet. Heavens, she felt a tiny bit tipsy. All that wine tasting, she thought, and when the fresh air hit her, she felt suddenly light-headed.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes—a bit tired. I’ll be all right after I’ve had some sleep. I can’t sleep properly on the train.’

  And the alcohol might have left her system by then. Not that she’d had much, but she didn’t drink, as a rule, and any was more than usual.

  ‘It’s very dark.’

  ‘It’s all right. Here, give me your hand,’ he said, and tucked it into the crook of his arm, his fingers wrapped over hers as they walked slowly back up the hill from the village.

  ‘I can’t believe our little girl’s going to be married and living there in just four weeks,’ she said as they passed the gatehouse and walked down the drive over the stone bridge into the castle forecourt.

  ‘I know. It only seems like yesterday she was a baby. I’ve been trying to write my speech, and there’s so much I want to say, so much to remember. I don’t want to leave any of it out.’

  ‘Rather you than me. I’d hate to make a speech.’

  He chuckled quietly and led her into the kitchen, then put the kettle on the stove and turned to lean against it, arms folded, his eyes strangely pensive.

  ‘It’s so good to have you back here,’ he said softly. ‘It feels somehow right, as if you’re back where you belong.’

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out. It did feel right, oddly. Almost as if there was a place for her here now, where there had never been a place for her before.

  He shrugged away from the stove and moved slowly towards her, stopping when he was just inches away, lifting his hands and cupping her face tenderly in his palms. One thumb traced the edge of her lips, dragging slightly over the moist skin, bringing a whimper to her throat.