‘Ah,’ Archie said grimly, ‘that’s just it. She is indeed, as you term it, “up the duff”. She’s pregnant with this married bloke’s baby.’ He finished his whisky and held out the glass. ‘I’ll have another.’
As the first glass of whisky took hold, Dominic got to his feet and took Campbell’s glass, then made his way to the drinks table. ‘So what do you plan to do?’ he asked over his shoulder as he poured them each a fresh glass. He was proud of himself. He only spilled a tiny bit.
‘What can I do, short of throwing Caitlin out into the snow? And I could never do that.’ His scowl deepened. ‘She says he wants to marry her. He’s getting a divorce from his wife.’
‘That’s good, at least.’
‘Good? My daughter’s breaking up a marriage, Dominic, and she’s about to tie herself for life to the lying, cheating, unfaithful sod who made it happen. There’s nothing good about it. Any of it.’
‘Well, mate,’ Dom said, and gestured expansively, slopping whisky down the front of his shirt as he did, ‘it couldn’t have been much of a marriage, then, could it? I mean, it might seem like the end of the world right now. But look on the bright side ‒ by this time next year? You’ll be a grandfather!’
Archie glared at him and drained his whisky. ‘You’re nae making me feel any better, Dominic. Kindly shut up and pour us another dram.’
As a quiet knock sounded on her bedroom door that evening, Gemma blew her nose and snapped, ‘Go away, Dom. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
‘It’s Pen. Might I come in for a moment?’
‘Of course.’ Surprised, Gemma tossed aside her bridal magazine and got up to let Mrs Campbell in. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised as she opened the door, ‘I look a mess. I’ve been crying.’
‘That’s to be expected, isn’t it, after finding out you have no wedding gown,’ the older woman sympathised. She indicated the dress bag draped over her arm. ‘I thought this might solve the problem.’
Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘What…what is it?’
‘My wedding dress. It’s an Ossie Clark, made for me when I was still a model.’ She smiled. ‘And much thinner.’
‘An Ossie Clark?’ Gemma blinked. ‘But he designed clothes for Mick and Bianca Jagger, and for all manner of celebrities in the sixties and seventies! That dress must be worth a fortune.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ Pen said briskly as she unzipped the bag, ‘but I’d never part with it, even so. I wore it when I married Archie. Of course,’ she added, ‘I’m a bit taller than you. But a pair of heels should take care of that.’
As she withdrew the dress, a length of cream chiffon with a satin halter-neck bodice, Gemma gasped. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said reverently as she fingered the length of chiffon. ‘I’ve never seen such a gorgeous dress.’
‘Let’s try it on, shall we?’
With a nod, Gemma took off her pyjamas and woolly socks and slid the dress over her head. It fell in a soft, floaty column to the floor. She stared at herself in the cheval mirror, mesmerized. ‘Oh…I love it.’
‘It’s a bit long, but as I said, a nice set of heels should solve it.’ Pen regarded her with satisfaction. ‘It suits you. You look radiant.’
‘Thank you. But…why?’ she asked, turning to the woman in bewilderment. ‘This was your wedding dress. I can’t possibly wear it. You’ve been so kind to us – all of us – letting us stay here for weeks on end, feeding us, putting up with Dominic. I’m not even family! I can’t allow you do this.’
‘Of course you can,’ Pen said firmly. ‘You can’t get married without a wedding gown, after all.’ She smiled, and picked up the empty dress bag and turned to go.
Tears filled Gemma’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she cried, and flung her arms impulsively around Archie’s wife. ‘I can’t ever repay you for all that you’ve done.’
Pen arched her brow. ‘Oh, but you most certainly can.’
‘Anything,’ Gemma agreed, her expression fervent. ‘Just name it.’
‘Marry your young man,’ Pen said, and reached up to catch Gemma’s hand in hers. ‘And be happy. That’s what you can do for me.’
And with another smile, she left.
Caitlin came downstairs the next morning to find the front door open as Wren, Helen and Colm carried in pots of poinsettia plants and set them down in the entrance hall.
‘That’s the last of the lot,’ Colm announced, and deposited two more plants by the door. ‘I’ll go out to the woods this morning and fetch some greens.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Helen offered.
‘Mind you bring back plenty,’ Penelope called out as she came down the stairs. ‘We’ll need to drape them along the mantels and the balustrade, and we’ll need extra to make wreaths. And bring plenty of holly.’
Colm nodded. ‘We’ll load up the back of the truck with as much greenery as we can.’
‘Ooh, I love the smell of pine,’ Helen enthused. ‘It’s so Christmassy.’
‘Wait until we’ve finished decorating,’ Pen informed her. ‘The entire place will reek of pine and evergreens and the scent of Mrs Neeson’s Dundee cake and shortbread baking in the ovens.’
‘I can’t wait. My mouth is watering already.’
Pen moved one of the potted plants away from the doorframe, then straightened and brushed her hands together. ‘It was lovely to see you and Mr Bennett in the pub last night, Helen.’
Colm, one hand resting on the doorknob as he made to leave, paused. ‘In the pub, was she?’ Although he addressed the question to Mrs Campbell, he fixed Helen with a level gaze. ‘Fancy that.’
‘Yes, she was having a chat with one of her co-workers from London,’ Pen said, and smiled. ‘He seemed a lovely man, Helen. A pity he couldn’t stay.’
‘He had to get back,’ Helen said, flustered, ‘back to London. And I had...errands to run.’ Her eyes slanted guiltily to Colm’s, but their dark-hazel depths gave nothing away.
‘What on earth is all that?’ Caitlin asked as she eyed the plants crowding the floor.
‘Poinsettias,’ Wren replied. ‘It’s Christmas in less than a week, and these just arrived from the greenhouse in Aberdeen. We’ve to decorate the castle, not only for the holidays, but for the wedding, too. Why don’t you run along and get some breakfast? Then you can come back and help us fashion wreaths for the front door.’
‘Don’t we have servants for that?’
‘We
