Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

Chapter 43

Late that afternoon, Helen got in her car and drove the short distance to the gatehouse. She was determined to talk to Colm, to make him understand why she’d done what she did and to admit that she was wrong to do it.

She marched up the steps and rapped on the door.

Of course, there was no answer.

You stubborn bloody Scot, she thought grimly. Next, she tried the door, but it was locked. She couldn’t call him, either, as he didn’t have a telephone.

‘What need do I have for a phone?’ he’d told her once, full of scorn. ‘Anyone at the castle who needs me knows where to find me.’

‘But...what about anyone else who might need to speak to you?’

‘There isn’t anyone else,’ he retorted, and changed the subject.

Well, Helen told herself, he couldn’t stay locked inside that damned gatehouse forever.

‘I know you’re in there, Colm MacKenzie!’ she shouted at the door, her gloved hands clenched at her sides. ‘You’ll have to talk to me, sooner or later.’

Silence.

Furious, she turned away and strode back to her car. She stalked down the walkway, lost in black thoughts – stupid, stubborn man; why couldn’t he mind his own bloody business, snooping on her laptop like that – when she slipped on a patch of ice, and fell.

With a cry of mingled pain and rage at her own stupidity, she tried to stand. Pain radiated through her ankle and half the way up her calf. Tears threatened; she blinked them away and gritted her teeth as she tried once again to get to her feet.

But with nothing to pull herself up on, no wall or hedge for leverage, she couldn’t get back up.

Helen let out a breath of frustration. If she could only manage to stand, and if she took it very slowly, she might – possibly ‒ make it back to the bloody car—

A hand reached out and gripped her arm, none too gently. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Colm growled as he bent down to glare at her. ‘Why can’t you ever leave things well enough alone?’

‘Why can’t you ever tell me anything?’ she flung back. ‘Why do you guard every scrap of information about yourself like it’s...like it’s radioactive?’

‘Because some things are none of your business, Miss Thomas, that’s why.’

Helen bit her lip as her ankle throbbed with pain. She’d been downgraded once again to ‘Miss Thomas’, she noticed. ‘You’re...you’re right,’ she admitted. Her voice was barely audible.

‘What was that?’ He raised his brow and cupped a hand behind one ear. ‘Did I actually hear you say I’m right?’

She glared at him. ‘Yes, damn it. You’re right. It wasn’t my business. I shouldn’t have gone snooping online. I’m sorry.’

He made no reply but scooped her up into his arms and made his way back to the gatehouse. Thrusting his foot out, he kicked the door open, then deposited her on the sofa.

Almost, Helen thought suddenly, like a husband carrying his bride over the threshold for the first time.

Except that Colm wasn’t her husband. And he was beyond furious with her.

And she could hardly blame him.

‘You’re a pain in the arse, Miss Thomas,’ he informed her as if he’d read her thoughts, ‘and no mistake. And you’re a problem I can do without.’

‘Just get my handbag from the car,’ she gritted, ‘and I’ll have someone from the castle come and fetch me back. I’ve no desire to inconvenience you any further.’

Then, with a sinking sensation, she remembered she hadn’t brought her handbag. She’d been so focused on confronting Colm, on making him listen to her, that she’d left the damned thing behind in her room.

‘No one at the castle has time to ferry you back and forth, any more than I do.’ He disappeared into the kitchen and banged around, making enough noise to make her wince. ‘They’ve work to be doing, same as me. And looking after you,’ he added with a scowl as he returned with a basin of warm water in his hands, ‘is a full-time job.’

Helen eyed the basin he set down on the floor by her foot with suspicion. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s Epsom salts, is what it is,’ he retorted, ‘to soak your blasted foot in.’ He reached in his shirt pocket and thrust a couple of aspirins at her. ‘Take those. They’ll help with the pain and swelling until you can get to a doctor.’

‘But I haven’t any water. And I can’t very well take a pill without water.’

‘Ye daft woman,’ he muttered. He stood up and stalked back into the kitchen to fetch a glass from the cupboard. She heard the cupboard door slam shut, followed by the sound of the tap running.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured a moment later as he thrust a half-filled glass of water into her hand.

He grunted. ‘Take the bloody pills.’

Wordlessly she complied.

He stripped off her boot and sock and lowered her swollen foot into the bowl. ‘Is this a habit of yours, Miss Thomas?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Twisting your ankle. Showing up at my door half-frozen. Complicating my bloody life.’

‘Forcing you to be civil? Making you interact with another human being?’ she retorted. ‘I’m sorry that’s so painful for you, Mr MacKenzie.’

For some minutes there was no sound but the crackle of the fire and her laboured breathing. The carriage clock on the mantel chimed softly – one, two, three, four ‒ as Colm leant back against the sofa and began, haltingly, to speak.

‘I was working extra hours at the woollen factory,’ he said, his words low. ‘We needed money for the baby, for a bigger place. My wages didn’t stretch far enough. Alanna had her eye on a cottage for let in Glen Ayr, a cottage with a fireplace and a fenced yard and a couple of old apple trees.

‘‘It’d be perfect for the bairn,’ she told me the minute she saw it. ‘We can put a swing in the tree, and we’ll have room upstairs for a proper nursery.’’

Helen was silent.

‘I’d worked a double shift the night before. I’d got a few hours of sleep when I felt Alanna shake me awake to say that something wasn’t right. She was having pains. I told her it was probably Braxton Hicks and went back to sleep. She shook me again and said no, this was a different pain altogether, and she was scared. So I got up, and we packed her overnight bag, and I helped her into the car, and we left straight away for Kilmarnock.’

He sat back and rested his shoulder against the sofa. ‘Half the way there, I must’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. One minute I was awake, the next...’ His voice trailed away. ‘I was upside-down in the car, suspended by my seat belt. I couldn’t feel anything, and I couldn’t see Alanna. All I saw was blood, and shattered glass.’

‘The scar on your thigh,’ Helen murmured.

He nodded. ‘When I came to again, I was in hospital, and they told me...they told me my wife and my baby were dead.’

Helen reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Her face was wet with tears. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

‘The police wanted to charge me with involuntary manslaughter,’ Colm went on grimly, ‘because they were convinced I’d been drinking. But when the blood tests showed no trace of alcohol or drugs in my system, and when my boss at the woollen factory confirmed I’d worked a double shift the day before, no charges were filed.’

Colm laid his head against Helen’s legs and closed his eyes. It was only when she felt the dampness on her thigh that she realized he was weeping.

‘Alanna was all I had,’ he rasped. ‘She was mine, Helen. My everything. I never had a proper family growing up, no one to give a shit whether I lived or died. Alanna was my one true friend, my wife, my rock – my home. She was so excited to have our baby. She had so many plans for the cottage, for the nursery. But because of me, because I fell asleep,’ he spat the word out ‘it all came to naught.’

‘You were exhausted,’ she reminded him, her words gentle. ‘You were working extra hours so you could provide for your family. You did it because you loved them.’

Helen stroked his hair, so soft and thick, and murmured meaningless words of comfort – meaningless, because really, what words could mitigate the pain and emptiness of losing someone you loved? – until Colm’s shoulders stopped heaving, until his grief and anger and pain eased.

‘I didn’t go anywhere for days, weeks afterwards,’ he said dully. ‘Just sat in our flat and drank and slept and stared at the walls. Finally, when I couldn’t put it off any longer, I gathered up the baby’s things – the tiny clothes and the shoes and rattles and suchlike. I couldn’t bear to look at it...any of it. I threw it all in a couple of bin bags and left it on the church steps.’

‘I know how much that must’ve hurt.’

He lifted his head and saw the sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ he said softly. ‘I dinnae mean to burden you with my troubles. Or to remind ye of your own.’

In answer, she managed a smile. ‘We’re a pair, aren’t we? “Colm and Helen’s Lonely Hearts Club”.’ Her smile faltered. ‘Tell me, Colm ‒ why is life so unfair? Why do some people sail through it without a hitch, and others – like us – suffer such awful tragedies? Why?’

He pulled her down beside him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘I don’t know, lass. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.’ He paused. ‘But I know this ‒ I’m glad you’re here.’

She lifted her head to look at him quizzically. ‘Really? I thought you despised me.’ She gave him a watery smile. ‘“Ye daft Sassenach”,’ she mimicked.

‘You are a daft Sassenach,’ he retorted, ‘sometimes.’ His voice softened. ‘But you have one redeeming quality. Well...two, actually.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘You make a decent pot of tea. And you put up with myself.’

Later, when the fire had died down to embers and it was fully dark outside, Helen’s eyes drifted open. She and Colm had fallen asleep on the floor, sprawled together in each other’s arms. His breathing was regular, his heart beating steadily against her ear. He smelt of wood smoke and, faintly, of damp wool.

‘I love you, Colm MacKenzie,’ she whispered against his chest. ‘You daft Scotsman.’

Chapter 44

Christmas music played softly in the drawing room the next evening when the doorbell rang.

‘I wonder who that could be, and on Christmas Eve!’ Pen exclaimed as she set aside her glass of sherry and rose from her chair. ‘I’ll just go and see who it is.’

‘Perhaps it’s carollers,’ Gemma offered, and turned to Dominic. ‘Ooh, I’d love that! We should’ve got carollers to sing at our wedding tomorrow.’

‘If you had your way,’ Dominic grumbled, ‘the entire bloody heavenly host would sing at our wedding tomorrow.’

Gemma raised a brow. ‘Do you think they’re available on such short notice?’

‘For God’s sake, let one of the staff get the door, Mum,’ Caitlin said irritably, and took a sip of her drink. ‘That’s what they’re paid for, after all.’

‘Really, Caitlin,’ Wren admonished, ‘must you always be so difficult?’ She eyed the glass in the younger girl’s hand. ‘I do hope that’s not alcohol you’re drinking.’

‘It’s club soda,’ Caitlin snapped, ‘since you’re keeping track. And must you always be so judgmental?’

‘Ladies, please ‒ it’s Christmas eve,’ Tarquin chided. ‘Let’s put aside our differences for one evening. Surely we can all do that?’ He fixed a stern eye on his sister and wife in turn.

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