Knowing when to keep quiet, Susan reached across, topping up Kate’s glass as she stared into the flames.
Susan had a point – all right, several of them, really. Kate had spent so many nights here when she’d first moved to the island, texting Emma back home in England, desperately trying to disguise her homesickness. Then, as the months had moved on, she’d settled into island life, and to coming home in the evenings to this little sofa where she’d sat, curled up with a hot chocolate, watching DVDs or re-reading her favourite books. It seemed so tiny in here now, compared to the vast sitting room at Duntarvie House. That room’s fireplace alone would take up half the wall in here. It had been a real shock to the system, moving from such a tiny cottage into the big house.
‘Did I ever tell you about my wedding day?’
Kate shook herself out of her thoughts, focusing again on Susan, who was leaning back against the cushions, fingers linked together, her arms stretched out above her head. She looked like a cat.
‘I’ve seen photos. It looks like it was a gorgeous day—’
‘Ah, the camera lies. My dad got drunk and flirted with one of the bridesmaids. I cried all morning because the flower arrangements weren’t perfect. Tom cut himself shaving and had a piece of loo roll stuck on his chin for half the getting-ready photos – his best man thought it was so funny he didn’t tell him. It was a total nightmare, if I’m honest.’
‘You’re not really selling the idea to me.’ Kate gave half a smile.
‘No, but it’s the first time since I got here I’ve seen your face crack.’ Susan clinked her wine glass against Kate’s.
‘You don’t think I’d be taking a massive risk?’ Kate swirled her wine, watching the liquid whirlpool round, talking half to herself.
‘You only get one life, Kate. You took the leap and moved up here in the first place. Don’t bottle it now.’
Kate put down her glass, taking a deep breath with closed eyes. She’d given up her old life and moved to the island of Auchenmor. There was a gorgeous man standing in a castle right now who happened to love her. A bloody castle. And a Christmas wedding would be really quite gorgeous . . .
‘Right. You’re right. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘That’s the spirit. I’m going to text Tom, tell him to let Roddy know you’ve not hijacked a rowboat to make your way back to the mainland.’
‘I should probably text him myself . . . ’
‘Let him sweat a bit,’ said Susan, authoritatively. ‘Keep him on his toes. Meanwhile, I’ve got a leave pass for tonight and we’ve got a ton of wine and chocolate to get through – we can call this an impromptu hen night.’
5
Moving Backwards
Kate woke as the low morning sun hit her in the face. Opening her eyes, she felt the light burn into her head like a hot knife. She screwed them closed again, groaning. Her mouth was dry as sand and her back completely rigid. This wasn’t bed. She tried to turn around, but instead of Roddy’s sleeping form, there were the back cushions of the sofa. The cottage sofa – where she’d – oh, God.
The fire was a pile of cold grey ash and the room was freezing cold. On the other sofa, sprawled out under makeshift covers, was Susan. Kate clambered out from beneath her old duvet, which smelled faintly of damp. It was like being back in the first year of university.
In the kitchen, she got two glasses of water and fished in her handbag for some paracetamol. Thank God there was a pack. Please let them work fast. Her head felt like someone was banging a mallet on it in time with her pulse.
‘Ughhh.’ A groan came from the sitting room. Kate took Susan her drink, popping out a further two painkillers from the pack and handing them over silently. Susan swallowed them obediently before shuffling into a semi-upright position.
‘Tom’s going to go mad – he doesn’t know where you were, does he?’ Kate felt a sudden wave of panic. ‘How much wine did we drink in the end?’
‘I texted him last night and told him not to expect me back. Don’t you remember?’ Susan laughed.
‘I remember singing Spice Girls songs and showing you I could do the splits. Then it all goes a bit fuzzy.’
Susan waved a hand towards the fireplace. All three wine bottles lay empty, along with the remnants of a carpet picnic of crisps, sweets, microwave curry and chocolate.
‘Ringing any bells yet?’
‘I don’t want to think about it. I feel a bit queasy just looking at that lot. And – oh, shit.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Roddy. I just stormed off. What the hell is he going to think?’
Susan eased herself upright, looking seasick. ‘He’s fine. I think I told Tom to tell him you’re with me. I think.’
Kate shot her a look of concern. She’d stormed out and left Roddy, telling him she didn’t want any of this. In the cold light of a hungover morning, with her temper cooled, she was realizing that she might have been a bit hasty. Maybe he’d been in touch. She reached into her bag, finding her phone. Pulling it out, she realized it was dead. There was no way of knowing if he’d been in touch, except by doing the walk of shame down the hill to Duntarvie House – with this elephant-sized hangover, there was no way she’d be safe to drive. She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her.
As it turned out, Tom was swinging down the drive in his 4x4 with both the children strapped in the back.
‘You two aren’t fit to be let loose with a bottle of wine, never mind a gallon of the stuff.’
Kate slid into the back seat beside Mhairi, their toddler. She was chewing on a gingerbread Christmas tree and offered it, companionably, to a nauseated Kate.
‘It’s fine, sweetheart, you have it.’
‘Mama have?’ Mhairi strained forward, sticky biscuit in her fat little fist.
‘Mummy’s a bit delicate today, my darling. You have it.’
‘Daddy said you and Kate would have big headaches today, Mummy.’ Jamie, with the wisdom of a newly-six-year-old, looked at Kate, sizing her up.
Tom snorted with laughter as he pulled the car to a stop in the courtyard of Duntarvie House. ‘I think Daddy was right, Jamie. What do you think, Mummy and Kate?’
Kate gave a seasick smile. ‘Daddy knows his stuff. I think I might have to have a little nap.’
She stood for a moment as the car scrunched away on the gravel, still aware of the sound of her heart thudding in her ears. She felt weirdly nervous. The kitchen light cast a familiar, welcoming glow in the midwinter gloom. She approached cautiously, half expecting to see Roddy peering out from the window, but there was no sign of him.
She opened the big wooden door which led into the hallway. Despite the early hour, one of the forestry workers had already delivered a huge Christmas tree, at least 25 feet tall. It was balanced at an angle against the staircase and gallery above. The whole place was filled with the unmistakable scent of pine needles, the parquet floor covered with muddy boot prints and scattered pieces of fir tree. It was Jean’s day off, and if she got back tomorrow to find the place looking like this she’d go mad.
Hang on. Kate had been standing in the hall for a few moments now, and there was no welcoming shout from the study, or any sign of life at all. Perhaps Roddy had taken her at her word, and decided it was over. She felt another wave of sick-feeling wash over her, but this time it wasn’t the hangover. Why on earth hadn’t she stopped to talk to him, instead of just storming off? She tentatively opened the sitting-room door, hoping to see him sprawled across the sofa, long legs stretching towards the fire – but no, the room was empty and the fire hadn’t been lit.
She peeked around the door into the library, hoping he might be working at his desk, headphones on, but again no. The desk looked just as it had last night when she’d walked out.
A sudden swoop of panic hit Kate, a long-forgotten childhood fear. She ran her fingers along the green leather of Roddy’s desk, remembering how, after her dad had died, she’d sneak into his study and sit at hi
s desk, eyes scrunched closed, hoping that if she opened them again he’d magically reappear. So much of her old pre-island life had been coloured by her fear of the unknown, by staying safe. She’d pottered along in a boring relationship for five long years because she was frightened of being alone. And now here she was, having proved to herself that she could strike out, find a new life for herself, and end up living in a bloody castle into the bargain.
There was just one slight technical hitch – she’d come back to apologize, but there was nobody to say sorry to. Roddy was nowhere to be seen. She slipped out of the study, deciding she’d check upstairs.
Kate had made a complete circuit of the square corridor upstairs, but there was still no sign of Roddy – or the dogs, for that matter – anywhere. There was nothing worse than having an apology all ready, and nobody there to hear it. She trudged downstairs, feeling utterly miserable. Boxes were piled in the hall – the extra Christmas decorations she’d ordered for the wedding must have arrived. She felt her shoulders slump a bit lower. This was awful. She plugged her phone into the charger, hoping for a message.
Perhaps if she put the kettle on, it’d give her a chance to think. It’d certainly help with the seasick hangover feeling, if nothing else. She opened the kitchen door, and took a breath of surprise.
The table was laid beautifully for two. A rocket and watercress salad had wilted in an Emma Bridgewater dish, a bottle of posh red with the cork removed sitting on the dresser. One glass sat on the table, another beside the sink – on closer inspection, Kate realized half the bottle was missing. She opened the fridge. Inside were dishes full of food, covered with cling film. Guilt had settled in nicely beside the hangover, giving her a double whammy effect. She took out the milk, deciding the only answer was tea. Five minutes later, having drunk a miserable cup whilst staring out the window, she decided perhaps it was better to try and find him sooner than later.
She stood in the courtyard for a second, wrapping her coat tightly against the bitter wind blowing up from the sea. This winter had been so much colder than last year. She heard a bang, and realized instantly where she’d find Roddy.
He was chopping wood in the log shed, banging furiously with the axe, muttering to himself. He cracked through a thick log, splitting it in two. Kate stood behind him, watching him work for a second, bracing herself.
Sensing he was being watched, Roddy turned around.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ His face was thunderous.
‘I was drinking wine with Susan – I’m—’ she began, but he threw the axe down on the floor, stopping her mid-sentence. It landed with a soft thud on the earth, and then there was silence.
‘You disappeared without even a word. I’ve left about fifteen messages on your bloody phone—’
‘It’s dead – I didn’t realize until this morning . . . ’
‘Oh, that’s fine, then. Not that I was worried or anything.’ He picked up a log and turned it over, sizing it up.
‘I didn’t mean to worry you. I thought Tom was calling you to let you know I was okay.’ She’d been pretty thoughtless, really, and she felt a wave of guilt. ‘I was just a bit upset.’
‘You were upset?’ Roddy threw the log back onto the pile. He turned around to face her, wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes were black against the pallor of his cheeks, stubble shadowing his chin.
‘I thought you were dead, Kate. Or you’d got on the last boat back to the mainland.’
‘I stayed in the cottage.’
‘Yeah. I know. Tom called – eventually – but meanwhile, I had no bloody idea where you’d gone. You can’t just walk off when you feel like it.’
‘Yes, I sodding well can. I was angry.’ Mixed with her hangover, Kate felt a prickle of anger at Roddy. He could be so peremptory sometimes. ‘I don’t want to be married because it’s convenient, or because it’s the right thing to do for bloody Duntarvie Estate.’
‘I couldn’t give a shit about Duntarvie Estate. I want to marry you because I love you.’ This came out as almost a shout. Roderick looked at her, furious.
‘Fine.’ Kate snapped back at him, irritated.
‘Fine.’ He turned away from her, picking up the axe again.
‘Right. That’s that sorted.’
‘Right.’
She turned on her heel and stomped back towards the house, the sounds of wood-splitting echoing in her ears.
Quite a bit later, having slept on the sofa in front of the fire, Kate was stirring, half awake, wondering if there was any chance of a gallon of Coke and several bacon rolls to stave off the last of her hangover.
Drowsing, she was woken by the sound of the sitting-room door creaking open. Roddy’s head popped around it, his expression slightly sheepish. He came in and knelt down on the floor beside her.
‘I’m sorry.’ His smile was crooked.
‘Me too.’ She reached her hand out, brushing wood shavings from his hair. He was filthy, needed a shower, looked like he hadn’t slept for days, and was utterly beautiful.
The dogs, who had all sneaked in, covered in mud, snaked around him as he reached into his pocket. They were hoping for treats, but he pushed them off, opening his hand to reveal a beautiful diamond set into the muted old gold of a family heirloom. He took Kate’s hand.
‘Third time lucky.’
Kate looked steadily into his eyes. She knew she had to make a decision – but this time it was the right one.
‘Kate Jarvis – will you marry me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Definitely? No changing your mind? You don’t have to storm off and think about it for twelve hours and three bottles of corner-shop plonk?’
‘Definitely.’
Kate’s phone bleeped from the coffee table. With a wry smile, Roddy handed it to her.
‘I’m going to take a guess that’s Emma. She texted me earlier to check you were still alive.’
Any chance you can fill me in on what’s going on? Last I heard last night, you were halfway down your fourteenth bottle of rose, you hated Roddy, you were contemplating rowing across to the mainland, and all men were tossers.
Um . . . Kate began.
‘Roddy.’ Kate shook him out of sleep.
‘It’s not time to get up yet, honey.’ He pulled her towards his chest with a lazy arm, not bothering to open his eyes.
‘I know.’ She’d been lying awake for the last hour, going over this in her head. They could sleep afterwards. ‘I’ve had an idea. Well, I’ve had your idea.’
‘Good.’ He half-smiled through his sleep haze, giving a nod. ‘My ideas are usually great ones.’
‘Shut up, you.’ She laughed. ‘I think we should get married on Christmas Eve.’
Roddy’s eyes snapped open.
‘You are joking? After all that?’
‘Look. We’ve got the perfect opportunity sitting here. You said yourself there was no point in waiting.’
‘I also said we didn’t need to rush it, and your exact words were something like “no chance” as you ran out of the room at about ninety miles an hour, if you recall.’
‘Yes, but . . . ’ Kate pulled a face. Technically he was right, but she’d got this all worked out in her head.
‘Sweetheart, if you want to get married on Christmas Eve, I’m all for it. I love you. I’m happy to tell the world.’
‘We would be telling the world, remember?’ Kate reflected on the emails she’d exchanged previously with Sian about wedding ideas. She was keen to get as much media coverage as possible for her new site, but that would mean loads of publicity – and hopefully bookings, too – for Duntarvie House next summer.
‘Go for it.’ Roddy kissed Kate’s forehead. ‘As long as Sian isn’t about to text and demand a conference call, I’m happy to do whatever it takes.’
They drove in to Kilmannan that morning in separate cars. Roddy was going on to check on the progress of Finn’s new forestry project, which had the potential to make a real difference. He’d ha
d a plan to create and sell one-off pieces of sustainable wooden furniture as well as the garden furniture, which had started to take off thanks to online sales, and a recent feature in a Scottish magazine had led to a flurry of commissions. Things felt exciting and positive. Even the half-longed-for, half-dreaded arrival of Kate’s mum, due in on the eleven o’clock ferry, couldn’t make a difference to her mood. Parking outside the council offices, Kate stood and watched as Roddy tucked his Land Rover up against the pavement to avoid blocking the narrow road.
She pulled her scarf tighter against her face, tucking her nose in to keep it warm – there was a biting wind coming in from the harbour. Roddy leaned over, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
‘You’ve definitely picked up all the right stuff? I put my birth certificate on the table, and they need another form of—’
Smiling, shutting her up with a kiss, he patted the envelope he had tucked under one arm. ‘It’s all in here.’
Excitement and nerves hit at the same time. Reaching across, Kate squeezed Roddy’s hand to reassure herself.
‘Once we’ve done this bit, it’s really happening. I think it’s more fun doing this without waiting around for ages and spending two years stressing out about wedding plans.’
She was gabbling a bit as they sat in the waiting room of the registrar’s office. It happened whenever something exciting or stressful was happening, and this was both. An impromptu Christmas wedding was one thing, but one where the stakes were this high was quite another.
‘Two years of Sian flapping about making sure everything is picture perfect would send me insane.’ Roderick’s tone was decisive. On discovering that her plans for a winter wedding feature for her new launch weren’t cancelled, Sian had activated Total Control Freak mode. Roderick had dealt with it by developing a sudden, all-encompassing need to involve himself in Finn’s marketing plans, claiming that Finn could really do with a hand with the business side of things.
Sealed with a Christmas Kiss Page 6