He shook his head. ‘No. I really do need to try and get some sleep, I’ve got six hundred miles to drive in the morning.’
She nodded, rubbing her arms briskly with her hands, making her breasts jiggle slightly. ‘Right. I’m going to turn in, too. Do you want to take the bathroom first? I’ve got one or two things to do down here.’
‘Sure. Thanks.’
He washed quickly, trying to get out of her way before she came up, but he was too slow. She was there, sitting on the edge of her bed—his bed, he realised in surprise. He recognised the old black iron frame that he’d brought from home, and it brought memories crashing back over him. Memories of Maisie trailing her hair over his chest, while he lay on his back, teeth clenched, gripping the rails of the headboard while she teased him. Memories of lying with her in the lazy aftermath of their love-making.
Memories of the first time he’d made love to her…
‘I’m finished in the bathroom,’ he said, and she looked up and smiled.
‘Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.’
It was a clear dismissal, but he didn’t take it. Instead he stepped into the room, running his hand over one of the big brass knobs on the foot of the bed.
‘I didn’t realise you’d still got this,’ he said, his voice sounding a little taut and uneven to his ears.
‘Yes. There didn’t seem to be any point in getting rid of it. I changed the mattress a few years ago.’
‘Of course.’
Her eyes were wary, huge in her pale face. He ought to leave, to go to his room and lock the door and push the key under it so he couldn’t let himself out. Instead he reached out his hand, his fingers cool from the brass, and trailed them over her warm, smooth cheek.
‘You’re still beautiful, Maisie,’ he said softly.
‘Rob…’
He dropped his hand and took a step back. ‘No. You’re right. It would be foolish, wouldn’t it?’ he murmured. And anyway, he’d promised her, told her that all she’d ever needed to do was say no. Well, she was saying it now, and he had to respect that, had to walk away.
But she stood up, and he just had to taste her, had to kiss her. Nothing more. Just a kiss goodnight.
He bent his head, his lips brushing hers lightly before settling, and with a tiny sigh she lifted her hands to his shoulders and laid them there. To push him away, or draw him closer?
She did neither, just stood there while their mouths clung, the softest, lightest, most chaste kiss imaginable.
And then he eased away. His chest was taut, his heart racing, and he was within a hair of tearing off that wretched dress that hid her from his desperate, hungry eyes.
So he took a step back, and then another, reaching the door and hanging onto it as if it would help to hold him back.
‘Goodnight, Maisie,’ he said gruffly, and turning on his heel he crossed the little landing in a stride and went into his daughter’s room and closed the door.
Firmly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE was gone by the time she woke in the morning.
She went down to the kitchen, hearing the sound of the washing machine spinning as she approached, and saw a note propped against the kettle.
‘Sheets in washer. Thanks for yesterday, and doing invitations. See you soon, Rob.’
Thanks for yesterday.
Which part of it? The picnic on the river? Putting him in touch with Annette? Dinner?
The kiss?
Her breath hitched in her chest, and she stared down at the blur of sheets in the machine and felt a pang of regret that he’d done that, that he hadn’t left the task to her, so she could have stripped them off and carried them downstairs with her nose pressed to the soft cotton, inhaling the scent of him.
She was being ridiculous! Thank goodness he’d done it for her, because her fevered imagination didn’t need any more fuel to fan the flames. She’d spent most of last night lying awake thinking of him in the bed next door, just the thickness of a wall away, her body aching for another kiss, another touch.
More than that. Too much more. Dangerously, insanely too much more.
She’d fallen asleep at last, and had missed him leaving. The washing machine must have woken her—it had a tendency to thump when it started spinning. So he’d been gone—what? An hour and a half? So he must have left at five.
She wondered how much sleep he’d had, or if he’d given up and headed off, intending to book into a hotel en route and get a few more hours.
She turned the kettle on and picked up his note. She needed to stop thinking about him sleeping, because sleeping meant bed, and bed meant trouble. Big trouble.
She didn’t need any more trouble than she was already in. Dinner last night had been like a drug, sitting with him in a candlelit restaurant, walking by the river—foolish. And he wanted her to go to the hotel in Ardnashiel for a food tasting and go through that all over again?
Including the kiss goodnight?
A shiver of what could have been excitement ran over her skin, and she crushed it ruthlessly. He hadn’t meant anything by it. She was reading things where there were none. If he’d wanted to, he could so easily have made love to her last night. She hadn’t resisted, but she hadn’t allowed herself to beg either, and given free rein, he’d walked away.
He’d probably slept like a log, she told herself in disgust, and making a cup of tea she took it into the study and tackled the accounts that were waiting for her attention.
They were getting busy on the estate, spring giving way to summer and the tourist season getting under way, so there was plenty to keep Rob occupied when he got back.
He was glad of that. Alec was working hard, but it was just as well because it left Jenni free to concentrate on her studies, and in any of his free time he was decorating the gatehouse, ready for them to move in straight after the wedding.
That left Rob, of course, in between a million and one admin jobs at Ardnashiel and juggling his business in London, to sort the rest of the wedding details, and because he didn’t want to trouble Jenni, and because he trusted Maisie’s judgement more than his mother’s on the subject of contemporary weddings, inevitably he’d end up talking more to her.
It would be hard.
Not as hard as lying there all night beside her, with just the wall between them, so he could reach out and lay his hand on it and feel closer to her. That had been hell, and he’d given up and left when it had became obvious that he was going to get no sleep that night.
He’d pulled over in a service area and reclined his seat so that he could doze for a while, but he’d been glad to get home and go to bed for ten hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep, and when he’d woken up, he’d given himself a serious talking- to and moved on.
No more dreaming about what might have been, no more longing for things he couldn’t and was never going to have, no more turning the clock back. He was living in the here and now, and here and now he was rushed off his feet.
But the problems kept coming to find him anyway, starting with the florist.
She had a problem, apparently, so he discovered ten days after he’d got back. Jenni wanted flowers over the arched doorway at the entrance to the church, but the florist didn’t know either how to fix them or what, exactly, was required. What about pew ends? Pedestals? And how many tables would there be? And what were the bride’s mother and the groom’s mother going to require in the way of corsages?
How the hell was he supposed to know? It was a minefield.
He went and studied the church doorway, and discovered that at some point someone had inserted small rings around the top of the arch—for decorating it?
Whatever they’d been for, they were there, so he could tick that box.
As for what Jenni had planned to be fixed there, he was lost—never mind the number of tables and the corsages and all the other stuff.
So he phoned Maisie, and the sound of her slightly distracted voice went straight to his gut and tied it in knots
.
‘Hi. Florist questions,’ he said, getting straight to the point. ‘Have you got time to talk?’
‘Um—yes, sure. Sorry. I was just editing a feature. Actually, can I call you back? I need to email it now.’
‘Sure.’
He hung up, made himself a coffee and paced around his office until the phone rang. Stupidly, it made him jump, and his heart raced.
Unnecessarily. It was the hotel. Had they decided yet on the menu?
‘No. I’ll call you—we need to have another tasting.’
‘Would you like to book it?’
‘I can’t,’ he told her, ‘not right now. I might be able to in about half an hour—can I call you?’
‘Of course.’
He hung up, and the phone rang again almost immediately. ‘Hi.’
‘It’s the hotel again, Mr Mackenzie. I forgot to say we can’t do any tastings on Friday or Saturday nights now, because the hotel’s full on those nights for the next several weeks, so it would be best to go for midweek, if you can.’
‘Fine.’ It meant Jenni couldn’t be there, but that was fine. He was happy to go on his own with Maisie. More than happy.
He hung up again, drummed his fingers, made another coffee—and then she rang.
‘Rob, hi, I’m sorry it took so long,’ she said apologetically, her voice soft and lyrical. Damn. His guts were knotted again.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve been busy with other calls.’
Well, it wasn’t really a lie. ‘The florist wants to know what you want over the church door—we’ve solved the fixing problem, there are rings up there, but she’s not sure— she was talking pedestals and garlands and pew thingamies—she just lost me.’
Maisie chuckled. ‘It’s OK, I know exactly. Give me her email address, I’ll send her some photos. What else?’
‘Table centres—how many tall, how many low? How many, generally, but we haven’t had all the replies yet so I can’t tell her. Oh, and what are you and Alec’s mother wearing, and what do you want as a corsage?’
‘I don’t know about Alec’s mother, you’ll have to ask her. It needs to be something to tone with the other flowers. And does your mother want one? She might well. You’d better ask her, too.’
‘OK. And you?’
He could hear her fractional hesitation, sense her reluctance.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, surprising him. ‘I’m having second thoughts about my outfit.’
‘But I thought that was all settled? You bought it when you were with Jenni. She wouldn’t tell me anything about it, though, just told me I had to wait and see. She wouldn’t even tell me the colour, never mind what it looked like. She just said I’d like it.’
There was a muffled sound at the other end. ‘Um—it’s cream,’ she said after a pause. ‘Like really rich clotted cream—and it’s lace.’
‘Cream? I thought only the bride should wear white or cream?’ he queried, struggling with the etiquette.
‘It’s up to the bride, and anyway, it’s a rich cream, almost gold. And Jenni loved it, she told me I had to have it, but…’
‘What? You don’t sound too sure,’ he said, leaning back and propping his feet up on the desk. ‘If you’re not certain, get something else. I know Jenni approved it, but you shouldn’t let that influence you if you don’t feel good in it.’
‘Oh, I feel good in it. I love it.’
That confused him completely. ‘So what’s the problem?’ he asked, wondering how something so straightforward could be so hard. ‘Doesn’t it fit?’
‘Yes, but—that’s the trouble, really.’ He could almost hear her chewing her lip. ‘I’m just not sure. It’s very…fitted.’
He felt the heat ramp up a few degrees. ‘Fitted?’ he said, his throat suddenly tight.
‘Yes—it’s sort of snug, and it tucks in under the bottom and just…well, it fits. It fits beautifully. I’m just not sure it’s—I don’t know, motherly enough.’
It didn’t sound in the least bit motherly. He was going to choke if he couldn’t breathe soon, and his entire body was on red alert. ‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely. Jenni liked it,’ he reminded her, desperate now to see this dress that tucked in under her cute, delectable bottom that just fitted so well in his hands.
‘Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s a lovely outfit, and at the end of the day if I go for something that tones with cream it’ll go with whatever I end up wearing, if it’s not that. I’ll talk to the florist. Was there anything else?’
Was there?
‘Ah—yes. Food tasting. When can you come up? It’s Jenni’s twenty-first in a fortnight, and she’s coming home for the weekend. She’s out with her friends on Friday night, and then coming up on Saturday morning, so you’ll probably want to be here, won’t you, for that?’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. Um…I’ve made sure I’m free that weekend, and I’ve got time before and after to allow for travelling.’
‘So why not come before? We can’t do the food tasting at the weekend, because they’re too busy, but they can do midweek. How about coming up overnight on Tuesday, and we’ll go on Wednesday evening. Then you can see the florist and sort out any other details and go back the following week.’
There was a small silence, and then a quiet sigh. ‘OK. I’ll do that.’
‘I’ll book it,’ he said, quickly, before she could change her mind. ‘I’ll email you the booking reference and the florist’s email address so you can send her the pictures and arrange for her to come to the castle and the church and see what we’re talking about, and I’ll see you next week.’
He hung up before she could argue, dropped his feet to the floor and sucked in a deep breath. All he could see was Maisie’s firm, rounded bottom lovingly snuggled in rich, creamy lace, and it was doing his head in.
He booked the sleeper, emailed her all the details he’d promised and went out for a long, hard walk.
With only four weeks to go to the wedding, Maisie went to see Jeff and spoke to him in more detail about the photos.
‘I’m going up in a couple of days,’ she told him, ‘and I’ll take some more shots of the church, the castle, the grounds— just so you know what you’re dealing with. There’s a disk here with lots on already, and I’ve labelled them so you know what they all are, but you could do with finding your way around beforehand. When will you be able to get there?’
He shrugged, relaxed and certain of himself. ‘Maisie, I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. When do you want me there?’
‘By the Friday morning at the latest? You can see the marquee, work out what shots you want, talk to Jenni and Alec about what they want, then in the morning you can take photos of Jenni getting ready, and walk down with us to the church.’
‘What if it rains? Will there be a car?’
‘On standby.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘It won’t rain. It’s not allowed to rain.’ And then she sighed. ‘It’s Scotland. Of course it’ll rain. Oh, damn, Jeff, why is it all so complicated?’ she asked him, and he gave a soft chuckle and made her a coffee.
‘Chill. It’ll be fine. It’ll be a lovely, sunny day, and even if it’s not, I’ll get you some brilliant atmospheric umbrella shots. You’ll have a great time.’
He was right, of course. She’d been to lots of wet weddings, and the weather had never put more than a fleeting dampener on the party spirits. She was just used to East Anglia, where the sun shone more often.
‘I’ll do whatever you want. It’s your girl’s day, not mine, and you know what you’re aiming for. And trust me.’
‘I do trust you. I wouldn’t ask anyone else. You’re a darling,’ she told him with a smile, kissed his designer-stubbled cheek and sat back with her coffee and chilled, just like he’d told her to. He was right, she could trust him. He’d do just what she asked, and he’d do it well.
She gave an inward sigh of relief, ticked that box and scanned her mental list.
Accessories. She still hadn’t chose
n shoes or bag—still hadn’t reconciled herself to the outfit, come to that, never mind worked out if she wanted a hat. She finished her coffee, then went home and pulled the outfit out of the wardrobe and put it on.
And swallowed. It really did hug her body lovingly. Very lovingly.
Oh, it was elegant enough, and beautifully, superbly cut. And it definitely suited her.
It’ll knock Dad’s socks off.
Her heart gave a little lurch, and she pressed her hand to her chest and breathed in. Silly. She put the bolero on, hoping it would make it more demure, but the peep of skin through the lace was somehow more alluring, more sensual.
But she did love it. She turned round, held a mirror up and studied her posterior critically, and then threw the mirror down with a sigh. To hell with Rob. She loved it, she wanted to wear it and he’d probably be too worried about his speech to notice her.
She took it off, put it in a bag and went shopping for accessories.
He wasn’t at the station to meet her. Instead of Rob, she found Helen on the platform, looking a little wary.
‘Maisie—welcome back,’ she said with a tentative smile. ‘Did you have a good journey?’
She nodded. ‘It was fine. I never sleep very well on the train, but it was fine. I take it Rob’s busy?’
‘Yes. He’s out on the hills with some guests. Alec had to sort something out for the gatehouse, so I offered to come and get you. I hope you don’t mind.’
Maisie smiled, reached over and hugged her. ‘Of course I don’t mind. In fact, if you’re not in a hurry, why don’t we have coffee at that lovely place on the way?’
‘Oh. Well, that would be very nice,’ she agreed, returning the smile less tentatively. ‘Actually, I could do with your advice,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not sure about my outfit for the wedding.’
Maisie laughed, picked up her case and followed Helen to the car. ‘You as well?’ she said, and Helen looked at her in puzzlement. ‘I wasn’t sure about my dress. Jenni loves it, but…’
‘Jenni said you look wonderful in it. She said the colouring was perfect for you, and it was the most beautiful fit.’
Mother of the Bride Page 13
