Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

He raised his brow but said nothing, only nodded and turned away. She and Colm had agreed to keep their relationship a secret, so as not to raise any unwanted questions.

How could they explain what had happened last night at the gatehouse to anyone else, when they didn’t fully understand it themselves?

Halfway to the door, he turned back. ‘I’m cooking dinner on Sunday, if you fancy joining me. I’ve a leg of lamb on offer. And plenty of roasted veg.’

‘You made it to the grocery store, then?’ The sun was out for the first time in days, and the distant sound of a snow plough echoed up the hill from the main road.

‘Nae. I raided Mrs Neeson’s pantry.’

Helen smiled. ‘What time shall I be there?’

‘One o’clock-ish. No need to bring anything,’ he added before she could ask. ‘Just yourself.’

‘I’ll be there.’ Still smiling as Colm departed, Helen glanced down at the envelope in her hand. It was postmarked from London but the return address was unfamiliar.

Curious, she slipped a finger under the flap and slid out several stapled pages. It was a report...the Freetown police report on Andrew Campbell’s death. A note from Tom was clipped to the top.

Quickly, before anyone might see her, Helen took the document and went into the library, relieved to see it was empty. She shut the doors behind her and sat down to read.

Helen – Took their bloody time to get this report to me, but I reckon the law, like everything else in Freetown, moves slowly... Campbell’s death was ruled ‘death by misadventure’ – fancy term for an accident. Drowning, no evidence of foul play. All pretty cut and dried.

When are you back in London? Are you coming back, or staying on permanently in the land of sporrans and haggis? Tom

Helen unclipped the note and began to read. Andrew Campbell and a recent acquaintance, Michael McFarlane, had rented a sloop and snorkelling equipment and headed out to the Banana Islands to spend the afternoon swimming and diving.

A squall kicked up unexpectedly, overturning the boat and pitching the two men overboard. Although McFarlane clung to the hull and was eventually rescued, Andrew decided to strike out and swim the twelve miles to shore.

He never made it.

Helen lowered the pages to her lap with a frown. Campbell was an excellent swimmer, it was true; but even an athlete would’ve been daunted by the storm conditions that day. The swells were enormous, the sea wild and unpredictable for several hours. Surely Andrew wouldn’t have risked striking out on his own in such conditions.

Why didn’t he stay with the boat, like McFarlane? Why did he decide to swim to shore instead?

Had something happened on that boat? Something that made Andrew feel the need to leave?

As she returned the pages to the envelope, Helen’s expression was troubled. The police report, although full of useful information, raised far more questions about Andrew Campbell’s death than it answered.

Chapter 30 (#ulink_7c1a96b3-aece-5231-8d4d-cddf620bdb3f)

Wren couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

‘You’re looking very happy today, darling,’ Tarquin observed as he joined her in the morning room and kissed her. ‘Any particular reason?’

She wanted to tell him about the possibility of adopting Caitlin’s baby, but she’d promised not to breathe a word of the pregnancy to anyone, particularly not to Tarquin. ‘I’m just happy to see the sun back out, I suppose. All this snow we’ve had of late, and the dreary grey skies...’

He went to the windows and observed the softening blanket of snow with satisfaction. ‘A few more days of this, and we might even see the ground again.’

‘Just think how fun it’ll be, once we have a child of our own, Tark,’ she said as she joined him and slipped her arm around his waist. ‘We can go sledding, and we’ll build a snowman; and in the summer we’ll go on walks, and pick wild berries, and go sailing on the loch, and...oh, I can hardly wait.’

He glanced at her in surprise. ‘You make it sound as if we’ll have a child very soon. Do you know something I don’t?’

She smiled at him, longing to tell him. But, ‘Of course not,’ she said lightly. ‘Wishful thinking, that’s all. Now – would you like a cup of tea with your toast this morning, or would you prefer coffee?’

Colm let himself outside and paused to study his surroundings in satisfaction. The sky was a clean-swept, clear blue, with nary a cloud – or a flake of snow – to be seen. A few more sunny days like this, and within a week or so, all of the snow would be a distant, melted memory.

He was just about to head down the hill to the gatehouse when the growl of an engine reached his ears. A low-slung sports car crested the drive and proceeded cautiously towards the castle, then slowed to a stop.

Colm frowned. Who in the world?

He watched as a tall, well-dressed man emerged from behind the wheel and stood, resting one arm on the roof. Although his dark hair was peppered at the temples with grey, it did nothing to lessen his attractiveness. He fixed Colm with a pleasant yet quizzical expression.

‘Can you tell me, please,’ he called out, ‘if this is Draemar Castle?’

‘Aye, it is,’ Colm answered. ‘Are you looking for someone in particular?’

‘Yes.’ He glanced at the castle in interest, then returned his attention to Colm. ‘My name is Niall, Niall MacDougal. I’m looking for Miss Caitlin Campbell.’

‘I can’t believe you came here,’ Caitlin hissed ten minutes later, ‘to my parents’ home!’ She glanced back over her shoulder at the face of the castle. ‘Thank God it was only Colm you spoke to ‒ what if my father should see you, what if he or my mother find out you’re here?’

‘They won’t. I’m not planning to stay. Does anyone else besides your grandmother know about us?’ he added.

‘No – but they all will, if they see you out here! And it’s bad enough that grandmamma knows. She’ll have you arrested if she sees you here and finds out who you are…’

‘I had to see you.’ He stepped closer, and his dark eyes searched hers. ‘I came all this way, braved a lot of messy roads in a car that really isn’t made for snowy conditions, to tell you I miss you, Cait. Come back. Come back to Edinburgh. I’ll get you reinstated.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘I can’t come back. It’s impossible.’

‘I’ve started divorce proceedings. I told you I would.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You’re all I’ve thought about.’

‘What about Jeremy?’ she snapped. ‘He’s my friend, Niall, and he’s your son! He’ll be devastated to find out that you and I...’

‘I’m sure he already knows.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, my son is a grown man. Even if he feels something for you – which you’ve assured me yourself that he doesn’t – he’ll have to come to terms with the situation.’

She turned away. ‘I’m sorry, Niall, but I told you, I can’t do this any more.’

‘Caitlin, wait.’ He caught hold of her arm. ‘Our relationship has nothing to do with Jeremy. He won’t care about you and I.’

‘I think he will. He won’t fancy being the butt of his friends’ jokes, once they find out he’s spending the Christmas holidays in Scotland with his father’s mistress—’

‘Caitlin?

She whirled around, guilt written on her face. ‘Jeremy! What are you doing out here?’

He didn’t answer, but regarded her and his father without expression. ‘I think the better question,’ he said to Caitlin even as his eyes remained on Niall’s, ‘is to ask what he’s doing here?’

The three of them got into the Jaguar at Niall’s suggestion and sped off to the village to find a pub, and lunch.

‘So tell me ‒ why did you come here?’ Jeremy asked his father bluntly after the barmaid had deposited their ploughman’s lunches and a trio of pints.