It was pride talking. That was all. Masked his pain.
The same kind of pride governed her reply.
‘How could you?’ she retorted scathingly. ‘I was never yours in the first place.’
‘Dee! Stop it, please,’ Cat appealed. ‘Stop it before it goes too far!’
But it had already. Dee saw that. There was no going back now.
What Baxter might have said or done without his sister there was anyone’s guess, but Cat’s anguish finally got through to him.
With a last scornful look at Dee, he released his rage by slamming the door on his way out.
‘Baxter!’ Cat called after him, but he chose not to hear, and by the time she’d followed him out he was in his Range Rover and reversing down the drive.
‘What’s going on?’ Ewan appeared at the corner of the stairwell.
‘Not sure,’ Cat admitted. ‘Is Morag okay?’
‘Fast asleep,’ Ewan confirmed. ‘I thought Dee was staying over tonight.’
‘She is.’
‘Then why was Baxter here?’
‘Good question.’ Cat frowned over the possible answers, before saying, ‘You go to bed. I’ll be up in a moment.’
‘Well, not too long,’ Ewan advised. ‘Remember, we came home early because you were exhausted.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Cat conceded. ‘But I want a word with Dee—find out just what is going on.’
‘Mmm.’ Ewan’s expression told her to leave well alone.
But Cat was already walking through the cottage to the back bedroom.
She heard the sound before she even reached the room, and any idea of interrogating Dee disappeared. How could she, when the girl was sobbing her heart out?
She knocked and called out, and the crying stopped for a moment.
It was stifled in a pillow as Dee lay, face down, silently praying for Cat to go away. She couldn’t talk to her. Not his sister. For what could she say? I’m crying because I made your brother hate me and I did that because he’s breaking my heart?
What sense did that make? What sense did any of it make?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘HOW do I look?’ Dee struck a pose as she emerged from the changing room.
Cat did a double take at the girl normally in jeans and sweatshirt.
It was a beautiful dress—white satin sweeping to the floor, narrowed at the waist, sleeves tight to the wrist but slipping off the shoulder to make a continuous neckline at the rise of her breasts.
It was the girl inside it, however, that made it special. She had changed from a waif with spiky hair and a match-stick body to a creature with a mass of blonde waves, a bewitching face and a figure to die for. Cat wondered when that had happened.
‘Stunning,’ she breathed in awe rather than envy.
Dee didn’t notice as she tried to adjust the neckline so it revealed less. ‘Not quite my taste, but it should do.’
‘Are you sure about all this?’ Cat tried once more to bring some sanity to the whole affair. ‘I don’t think Baxter intended you to get an actual wedding dress.’
‘Didn’t he?’ Dee echoed indifferently.
“‘Something appropriate” were the words he used to me,’ Cat relayed.
And to Dee, when she’d last met him outside the minister’s house.
‘I’d say this fits the description.’ She practised a wide, careless smile to go with the dress.
It slipped as she caught Cat’s knowing expression in the mirror.
‘Eat your heart out, brother dear,’ the older woman murmured dryly. ‘That is the point, isn’t it?’
Dee pulled a face. She had avoided any discussion of her feelings over the last month—no mean feat, considering she was now live-in nanny at the Macdonalds’.
‘Well, if it is, I’ll be wasting my time,’ Dee responded at length. ‘I doubt he’ll be there.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Cat observed. ‘My brother has always had something of the masochist in his make-up. And how better to indulge it than watch the girl you want marry someone else?’
‘It’s not like that,’ Dee denied. ‘He doesn’t… Well, not on a permanent basis.’
‘Are you certain?’ Cat asked.
‘Quite.’ Dee gave a firm nod. ‘He thinks I’m too young for him.’
‘Or he’s too old?’
‘Same thing.’
‘It’s not, actually,’ Cat replied after some consideration.
But Dee had already had enough of true confessions. She said, ‘I’m going to take this off,’ and slipped back into the changing room.
She reckoned without a persistent Cat musing through the curtain, ‘I mean, wouldn’t it be awful if the only thing keeping you apart was this stupid business of age?’
‘It isn’t,’ Dee stated briefly, stepping out of the dress and returning it to the hanger.
Cat didn’t seem to hear her. ‘I was rather taken aback myself the night I found the two of you together,’ she ran on. ‘But I’ve had the chance to think about it since… I was twenty-three when I met Ewan, and he was forty-one. That’s an even bigger age gap than between you and Baxter, and our marriage worked.’
‘It’s not just age.’ Dee wondered why Cat was pursuing this. She surely knew her brother wasn’t really serious about her?
‘Then what?’ Cat asked as Dee came out again.
‘I’m not his type,’ Dee shrugged.
Cat snorted dismissively. ‘My brother doesn’t have a type. If he did, he might be settled by now… So who knows? Maybe you’re it!’
Or maybe Cat wanted her to be it, Dee surmised from the word ‘settled’. Perhaps his sister was scared that he would take off back to Africa, regardless of his health, unless there was something to keep him here.
‘Cat,’ Dee said quietly, ‘I’m sure you mean well, but I’m sorry—whatever happens, I’m marrying Joseph next Saturday.’
‘All right, you’ve made a commitment. I accept that, and if it’s the only thing to save Joseph…’ Cat sighed. ‘It just seems so drastic, especially marrying in the church.’
‘That wasn’t my idea.’ Dee wasn’t altogether comfortable with that aspect, either.
It was Baxter who had deemed it necessary. Dee had heard it second-hand through Cat: if Dee insisted playing the martyr, she might as well do it while God was watching! It would also be more convincing to the immigration authorities.
So here they were, hiring a wedding dress and waiting for the banns to be read a third time by a local minister who had smiled favourably on the union.
That had been the worst part—deceiving the kindly old gentleman when they’d gone for the mandatory talk, pretending to be a couple, promising things that were a lie.
She’d come out of the manse house shaken, and had immediately lit up a cigarette. Joseph had been subdued, too.
‘Anything wrong?’ Baxter had asked, climbing down from his Range Rover where he’d been waiting outside.
It was Joseph who answered for them both. ‘It is not easy, Dr Baxter, lying to a holy man. I think God will be angry.’
Baxter’s lips quirked downwards, and Dee half expected him to dismiss this as rubbish. Though his parents had been missionaries, he had never exhibited the slightest sign of being religious himself.
It surprised her when he said, ‘God will forgive; he sees what’s in your heart,’ in assurance to Joseph.
The young African seemed to take some comfort from this notion, and managed a farewell smile to Dee as Baxter opened the passenger door for him.
But when it was just Dee and Baxter, the latter certainly didn’t waste any words salving her conscience.
Instead he muttered, ‘If you’re thinking of pulling out, say so now.’
‘Why should I? It’s just a load of mumbo jumbo as far as I’m concerned,’ she dismissed.
He gave her a hard glance, as if testing her true feelings, and Dee stared right back at him.
Mistake. Had she really imagined she’d reco
vered?
She looked away, heart beating like a drum, and dragged on her cigarette.
‘You’re smoking again,’ he remarked.
‘Well spotted,’ she bit back, rather than defend herself.
She’d stopped after a couple of days at the tower, but then lapsed when she’d moved to Cat’s and found herself living a hundred yards from a newsagent’s.
‘I’m surprised Cat tolerates it,’ he added, ‘especially in her current condition.’
Did he have to be so pompous? ‘I don’t smoke in the house… Anyway, if the lecture’s over, there’s Ewan.’
He followed her gaze and saw his brother-in-law parking up ahead, but when she would have walked away he caught her arm. ‘Not yet. You’ll need this.’
He held out a cheque. It was made out to her, for six hundred pounds.
‘If this is meant as a down payment for marrying Joseph—’ she began angrily.
‘It isn’t,’ he told her shortly. ‘You’ll have to buy something appropriate to wear for the wedding.’
‘Right.’ She didn’t thank him. She couldn’t. She just took the money and ran.
Dee fixed her mind back in the present and asked the owner of the bridal boutique, ‘How much is this one to hire?’
The lady, who had been keeping at a discreet distance, beamed in satisfaction.
‘Four hundred and fifty pounds for the day, plus a refundable bond of £one hundred to pay—and may I say I’ve never seen anyone look quite so beautiful in it?’
Dee smiled briefly, wondering how many starry-eyed brides had heard that from her.
‘Fine. I’ll take it.’
‘When for?’
‘Saturday.’
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘Next Saturday?’
Dee nodded. It already was this Saturday.
‘We normally have a couple of months’ notice…’ The woman turned the pages of her order book ‘But, yes, you’re in luck. There’s not many girls that can carry such a dress. It originally belonged to a model…quite famous, actually,’ she confided.
‘Really?’ Dee made a show of being impressed, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Cat paid with her credit card, having agreed to cash Baxter’s cheque for Dee, and the woman let them take the dress with them rather than come back again.
‘Thanks for coming with me,’ Dee said to Cat over coffee in Jenner’s, where they’d arranged to meet Ewan and Morag.
‘Well, I would say “my pleasure”,’ Cat replied, ‘because I love weddings. But I just wish it was for real.’
She looked genuinely gloomy, and Dee asked, ‘Is it the legal aspect? Because if that’s a problem for you maybe Baxter could find other witnesses.’
‘No, we’ll do it. The less people involved, the better,’ Cat reasoned, then smiled as Morag appeared, skipping ahead of her father.
Morag was hugely excited at the prospect of a wedding, and nagged Dee mercilessly when they were in the car until Dee agreed to model the dress the moment they arrived home.
Only, when they did, it was to find Baxter leaning against the bonnet of his car.
Morag was out of the car and in his arms the second they came to a halt. Ewan and Cat also greeted him with enthusiasm.
Dee was alone in hanging back. Having looked once, and discovered her heart still doing acrobatics at the sight of him, she was careful not to look again.
She trailed the others inside, meaning to escape to her room, but Morag grabbed her hand when she tried to slip away.
Baxter also stopped her, saying, ‘I have to speak to you.’
‘Oh, not now.’ Morag was crestfallen. ‘Please Uncle Baxie. Me and Dee are going to put on our dresses for the wedding. We’ll show them to you if you like,’ she added, as if that would be persuasion enough.
Uncle Baxie confined himself to a dry, ‘Isn’t that unlucky or something?’ rather than puncture his niece’s confidence.
‘Only if you’re the groom, brother dear,’ Cat put in, careless of the hard stare she got in reply.
Morag took it as approval. ‘Come on, Dee, Mum says it’s all right. We’ll get yours from the car…’ She pulled at Dee’s hand.
‘All right.’ Dee went rather than remain under Baxter’s gaze.
By the time they fetched the dress, the others had gone through to the lounge. Whatever Baxter wanted to tell her, it could obviously keep.
She let Morag drag her upstairs to dress.
‘Oh, it shines!’ Morag gave her approval as she danced round Dee and the satin dress. ‘Mummy said it wouldn’t be a real one, but she was wrong.’
Dee wished now that it weren’t. She caught sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror. The dress was still beautiful. It was she who tainted the image. She might have the right to marry in white, but it was still hypocritical. She was marrying one man while loving another.
‘You’ll have to brush your hair.’ Morag handed her her own child’s hairbrush and watched Dee do it at the dressing table before saying, ‘Right, let’s go downstairs. I can’t wait to show Uncle Baxie.’
Dee could. She sat where she was. ‘You go down,’ she told the girl. ‘It’s you he wants to see. He won’t care about seeing me.’
She smiled to make the words sound light-hearted, and perhaps she managed because Morag hesitated only briefly before taking off downstairs by herself.
Dee stayed where she was, supporting her head with an elbow, almost glaring at herself in the mirror.
What a fool she would look walking down an aisle in this dress! She just couldn’t do it. She would marry Joseph, but in something simple that wouldn’t underline the farce of it.
‘Dee—’ Morag returned at a run ‘—Uncle Baxie says I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, but Mum says if he thinks that he should see you, so he’s coming up…’
Dee didn’t hear the rest. She stood and turned just as a figure appeared in the open doorway. He came no further. He didn’t need to. He had a perfect view from where he was.
His eyes went from the top of her head down to the satin shoes on her feet and back again, stopping en route at the rise of her breasts. He said nothing. His expression said it all. He hated it.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Morag pressed at his silence.
‘The dress, yes,’ he finally murmured.
Not the girl in it. His eyes told Dee that as they raked her once more. What other reaction could she have expected?
‘I need to speak to you.’ He repeated what he’d said earlier. ‘Change first, and we’ll go somewhere.’
His tone was impassive, so as not to distress Morag, but it still cut through Dee like a knife. They’d never really been lovers, but at least they’d once been friends. Even that was gone. There was no going back.
‘He didn’t really like it, did he?’ Morag was astute for a five-year-old.
Dee shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s Joseph I’m marrying,’ she reminded them both.
Morag nodded, then ventured, ‘Maybe Uncle Baxie would have liked it if it was him.’
Dee wasn’t sure what to reply to this, so didn’t bother.
She changed back into her jeans and T-shirt and put the dress on the hanger, then covered it in Cellophane. It was the last time she would wear it, even if it was a waste of £450.
She took it down to her room on the ground floor while Morag skipped off to find the others. She hung it up in her wardrobe, then slipped out to see Henry.
The old dog had moved to the Macdonalds’ with her, but Morag had turned out to be allergic to dog hair, so they’d made him a home in the garden shed with old blankets, and an oil heater for the night time.
Henry greeted her with a tail wag, but otherwise didn’t get up.
‘How is he?’ A voice behind her asked.
She turned to find Baxter there.
Henry wagged his tail in recognition of Baxter too, and Baxter knelt on his haunches to pat him.
‘He still manages his walk,’ Dee
relayed, ‘but otherwise he doesn’t stray far.’
‘Aye, well…he’s an old dog,’ Baxter warned in his gentle Scots accent.
Dee understood. Her beloved Henry was growing tired, and she might lose him soon. The thought upset her too much to dwell on.
‘What do you want?’ she said instead to Baxter.
‘We have to talk, but not here… Joseph’s waiting back at the tower for us.’ His manner was impersonal but serious.
Dee decided not to argue. She put a handful of dog biscuits down for Henry, then followed Baxter out to his car.
He drove in silence and she sat, remote from him, unconsciously drumming her fingers on the door.
They were almost at the tower when he sighed. ‘If you really need to, you can smoke.’
She glanced at him in surprise before replying, ‘I’ve run out of cigarettes.’
It was actually a lie. She’d given up again, but didn’t want him to think his disapproval had been the moving force. Morag’s sniffing and asking her point-blank why she sometimes smelled ‘yuk’ had proved a much better deterrent.
She craved one now, however, as they lapsed back into strained silence until they reached the tower. Outside it was parked a minicab with a waiting driver.
Baxter showed no surprise at it and made no comment.
Dee had to ask, ‘Who’s that for?’
‘Joseph.’
‘Where’s he going?’
‘The airport.’
‘Airport?’ Dee echoed in alarm. ‘He’s returning to Kirundi?’
‘No, actually, he’s not.’ The denial was emphatic ‘But I thought you might jump to that conclusion, so I want you to hear what’s happening from his own lips.’
Dee frowned, still in the dark, but guessed enough to say, ‘I take it I won’t be needing any wedding dress?’
‘Not to marry Joseph, no,’ he confirmed. And, at her silence, prompted, ‘Disappointed?’
‘There was nothing going on between Joseph and I,’ she stated impatiently, ‘and you know it.’
‘Perhaps,’ he conceded, before climbing out of the car.
Dee followed, looking up at the tower. It had been weeks since she’d been here, and absence had made the heart grow fonder. It now seemed magnificent rather than bleak.
Bride Required Page 18
