Winter at Cray (22 page)

CHAPTER TEN

LOUISE was awake early on the Thursday morning, Emma Kincaid
’
s one hundredth birthday, and she lay listening to the distant sound of the sea below the rise and the impatient voice of the wind round the old house.

It would be lovely when spring came again, she thought, then reminded herself with a sigh that she would probably not be there when spring came round again to the little island.

Jonathan would like it in the spring—the thought came unbidden to her mind and she dismissed it hastily. Jonathan Darrell had no place in her plans and certainly no place on Berren, for he would no doubt consider it a wilderness, even in spring.

There are many things for an idle mind to dwell on and as she lay there lazily, Henri Dupont came again into her thoughts and the puzzle of why Jonathan had been so certain that the Frenchman would not be worrying her again. There had been such an air of finality about the way he had told her, something almost ominous, and then there was that faint mark on his face that could have been a bruise.

She sighed, turning to look at the clock, dismissing her thoughts as fanciful, but the worry still sat determinedly at the back of her mind and she called only absently when Davey McGregor knocked on her bedroom door.

‘
The auld lady
’
s in fine form this mo
rnin
’
,
’
Davey informed her with a smile, when she handed her her tea.
‘
She said I was the first one ta wish her a happy birthday an
’
I was a guid girl.
’

‘
I suppose you were the first,
’
Louise said, smiling at the girl
’
s obvious pleasure.
‘I’m
glad she
’
s feeling fit to face the celebrations, it
’
s a big day today, Davey.
’

‘
Ooh aye,
’
Davey assured her,
‘
Mrs. K
’
s fit ta face a whole army if she
’
s a mind to, but I
’
m no so sure about Miss Charlotte, though.
’

Louise pulled a wry face.
‘
Oh dear, is Aunt Charlotte grumpy this morning
?’
She was used to the girl
’
s somewhat familiar manner and knew she was none the less respectful for it.

‘
Well,
’
Davey demurred,
‘
she
’
s no exactly grumpy, ye ken, but she
’
s no exactly a ray o
’
sunshine either, but there, mebbe a sip o
’
tea
’
ll do her guid.
’

‘
Let
’
s hope so anyway,
’
Louise said feelingly, sipping her own tea, with some misgivings for Aunt Charlotte
’
s temper.

It was difficult to cope with sometimes, and made life difficult enough when there was only the four of them. With a houseful of guests it would be doubly embarrassing if Aunt Charlotte decided to be temperamental. ,

Everyone was at breakfast that morning, even Aunt Charlotte, Louise was relieved to notice, determined to miss nothing of the celebrations.

There was always a certain amount of jealousy involved with the two old ladies, for there was barely twenty years between them and at that age it was little enough. It must have been difficult trying to live up to Emma Kincaid for eighty years, and now, when Charlotte would normally have expected to sit back and enjoy the ease of old age, she had to contend with the unflagging competition of her own mother.

When Emma Kincaid put in an appearance it was to a chorus of
‘
Happy Birthday
’
and her smile told how gratified she was at her welcome, delighting in the attention being showered upon her.

Louise, watching her, thought how incredibly frail she looked and had a momentary touch of panic when she thought of Cray without her. The sharp blue eyes refused to admit to the necessity of spectacles, although she normally wore them when they were their usual small household, her glance flicking round the assembled faces at the table.

Thin, probing fingers examined each gift as it was revealed and she carefully thanked each donor, some with more enthusiasm than others, for she was past the age when pretence is considered a necessary politeness. She hugged Robert and baby Poppy, a suspicion of tears glistening in her eyes as she kissed them both.

‘
It
’
s a pity you
’
re not a boy, my darling,
’
she told the tiny girl, who gazed at her solemnly.
‘
There are so few boys to carry on the name of Kincaid.
’
She shook her head.
‘
Maybe you
’
ll have a brother before I go,
’
she added hopefully, and Diamond drew her pencilled brows together at the suggestion.

‘
Not yet, darling,
’
she drawled as she took Poppy and handed her to her father.
‘
There
’
s plenty of time yet.
’

Old Emma shook her head, and Louise realised how old and tired she really looked, despite her dogged determination.
‘
Time is one thing I
’
m running out of,
’
she said shortly, and for a moment there was an uneasy silence as if they all realised only now how true it was.
‘
Where
’
s Jon?
’
she demanded a moment later, and Louise looked round, startled to discover he was not there, yet she was sure he had been there when they were eating breakfast only a short time before.

It was Stephen who answered, his satisfaction obvious.
‘
I saw him earlier,
’
he said.
‘
He was on his way out. I expect he realised he had no place here today, being a family affair.
’

‘
Nonsense!
’
old Emma declared with surprising resonance.
‘
Louise!
’
She sought the familiar red head in the gathering.
‘
Go and find him for me, will you?
’

‘
Yes, of course, Great-gran.
’
She caught Stephen
’
s black frown as she left the big room, wondering if Stephen had been right about the reason for Jonathan staying away, although, she told herself, it was unlike him to be so self-effacing.

She looked in the small sitting-room, but it was empty and the fire only just coming into life. About to go upstairs and look for him there, she turned with her foot on the first tread, as the front door opened and admitted a bluster of icy wind and Jonathan carrying a huge bouquet of roses in his arms.

‘
Oh, there you are,
’
she told him, staring unbelievingly at the bouquet he carried and which he thrust in her direction while he divested himself of coat and gloves.
‘
I
’
ve been sent to look for you.
’

‘
Her Majesty?
’
he asked, one brow arched impudently, and she nodded.

‘
Great-gran wondered where you were.
’
She looked at the flowers as he took them from her.
‘
Roses in November is extravagance indeed.
’

Toil think she
’
ll like them?
’
He held them at arm
’
s length for a moment, eyeing them critically.
‘
I wasn
’
t sure what to get her that wouldn
’
t mean me treading on someone
’
s corns. Flowers are sufficiently impersonal to be permissible and personal enough to convey what I mean, aren
’
t they
?’

Louise nodded, finding herself strangely touched by the gesture.
‘
She
’
ll adore them,
’
she told him,
‘
but don
’
t be surprised if she bursts into tears. She
’
s overexcited and nostalgic, and red roses will probably prove the last straw.
’

‘
Oh.
’
He paused half-way across the hall, uncharacteristically hesitant about delivering his gift.
‘
Perhaps I shouldn
’
t—
’

‘
Of course you should,
’
Louise assured him.
‘
She
’
ll love you for it.
’
Which was probably only too true, she thought ruefully, and Stephen would hate him with equal vehemence because he had not thought of it first.

He smiled, looking at the roses he held.
‘
If you think so,
’
he told her,
‘
you
’
re the expert.
’

‘
Not on bouquets of red roses I
’
m not,
’
she denied,
‘
and—
’
She bit her lip on the rest of the sentence, but he was eyeing her curiously almost as if he guessed what she had been going to say.

‘
And—?
’
he prompted.

‘
Nothing, it was just something that crossed my mind, but on second thoughts I
’
d rather not say it.
’
He pulled a face at her over the top of the roses.
‘
Using past experience as a guide,
’
he guessed,
‘
that probably means that it was uncomplimentary and aimed at me. Right?
’

She flushed to have her intention so accurately interpreted.
‘
If you like,
’
she told him shortly, and would have turned away, but a touch on her arm stayed her.

‘
What was it?
’

She shook her head.
‘
It doesn
’
t matter. It
’
s a special day and I don
’
t want to—
’

‘
Coward!
’
he interrupted with a grin, and she bit her lip.

‘
All right,
’
she retorted,
‘
if you insist. I was going to say that I
’
m surprised you thought of it.
’

‘
Oh?
’
He stood looking down at her, willing her to meet his eyes which she stubbornly refused to do.
‘
Too romantic, you think? Don
’
t you think I
’
m the red roses type, Louise?
’
His voice had that deep, seductive note she despised so much and she curled her fingers into her palms.

‘
I wouldn
’
t have said so,
’
she admitted defiantly, and glared at him when he laughed.

‘
Well, you don
’
t know much about me, do you?
’
he asked.
‘
And if you prefer to believe the worst—Oh well—
’
He sighed with exaggerated regret, then without warning, bent his head and kissed her full on her mouth before he strode off across the hall to the big room.

For a second or two Louise stared after him, her face flushed with the heavy throb of her pulse, then, hearing the old lady
’
s cry of delight when she saw the roses, she hastened after him in time to see old Emma holding the bouquet, tears rolling down her cheeks as she rocked gently, the flowers in their cellophane wrapping just touching her face softly.

‘
Red roses,
’
she whispered, almost to herself.
‘
Red roses. You always promised me red roses, Robert.
’