Winter's End Part 10

"You don't get many afternoons like this one," she said once Emma had joined her at her side.

"No," Emma answered admiring the glowing amber ball of the sun setting in the oceanic horizon.

"You have been gardening." Ethel noticed the freshly dug earth. "It's a wise time to start. Make sure you ask Nancy for seeds. She has an a.s.sortment of those. Harvests them each time at the end of their season."

"Thanks Ethel. I will."

They remained silent for a while as they watched the setting sun sink lower into the horizon. The chatter of birds in the distant trees indicated they also had retired for the evening. The blue skies that were dominated by sea-eagles, sparrow hawks and buzzards by the day was now gradually darkening and bereft of them. A cloud of bats flew swiftly through the evening sky.

"Where's the children's uncle?" Ethel asked. "He doesn't seem to be home."

"No, he isn't. He's actually returned to London this morning."

Ethel glanced at her, a frown furrowed in her wrinkled brow. "No? But aren't you going to that dance in Dunvegan tomorrow?"

Emma gave her a small, half-smile. "Well, he was supposed to be my escort. Now that I have none, I don't know if I want to go anymore."

"Nonsense," Ethel scolded. "After all that effort to buy yourself a dress? Plus you had been so excited about this dance."

Emma chuckled. "I know. But you can't expect me to go alone. And even if I do, who should I take along? The only other people I know here in Skye are you, Theodore and Nancy. You're definitely I'm not taking. You'd fizzle a lively Irish set dance to a sad slow dance. Do you know how apprehensive the entire isle is of you?"

Ethel gave a small croaky grunt. "What would they know? All they care to do is indulge themselves in small, irrelevant gossip. It's always been there. Way before I was born and it still continues today. I remember how much we used to fear old grandfather Kinnaird, Arthur's grandfather."

"Was this when you married Arthur?"

"No, no la.s.s. This was long, long ago. Way before I was married. I was just about young Jai's age. Eight or ten years old maybe. His name was Clement Kinnaird. Very officious looking man. His hair was brushed into a cowlick lock, full sideburns, an imperial moustache and a spade beard that we thought was so sharp at the ends, he could use it to split the next person he found offensive. His tongue was just as sharp and he had a voice that boomed when he was angry. Worked his employees to the bone that man. He had an intolerance for any man to question him. We were all so terrified of him. Many believed that the Kinnairds were descendants of the devil himself. They were all so uptight and vicious looking. And of course, Mr. Clement Kinnaird's spade beard didn't help alleviate the rumours at all. But no, the Kinnairds never mingled with anyone except when there was a charity ball or a dinner function. Even so, Mr. Kinnaird's voice would barrage at the butlers and maids for being late or clumsy. As for the little Kinnairds, we rarely did see them. They were privately tutored unlike most of us who attended public schools. Oh, we, children, shook in our shoes if we ever did step in grandfather Kinnaird's path.

Well, one fine day, I, along with my friends, helped our mothers sell cake and pies to raise funds for our church. For our good efforts we were rewarded with a couple of pennies. We thought we were rich. A penny could get us a lot in those days. We put together our hard earned money and discovered we had a half-s.h.i.+lling in total. So there we were, four little girls, rus.h.i.+ng up to Portree General Store run by Mr. Andrew McDonald to buy ourselves candies. I had my eyes set on the Chocolate Swirl, a beautiful swirl of milk chocolate with a malt nougat centre on a stick." She sighed. "Ahh, but it cost threepence a stick. Seeing my sad face, my friends offered to part with half of what we earned to make me happy.

I can still remember how extremely elated I was when Mr. McDonald handed me over the Swirl. As I skipped out, licking deliciously at my candy, someone b.u.mped into me so hard, I dropped my precious stick of candy into the dirt. I looked up disappointedly and found Mr. Clement Kinnaird scowling at me.

"Watch where you're going, child!" he berated. He pushed me roughly aside and walked on without a care in the world.

I was seething with rage. I didn't care any longer that it was Clement Kinnaird, the man almost all of Skye feared. All I wanted was revenge for my soiled Chocolate Swirl.

Now Mr. Kinnaird was the old fas.h.i.+oned sort who still preferred to ride his buggy around the island.

With what money we did have left, and much against the advice of my friends, I bought six raw eggs and hid it under the thin blanket that Mr. Kinnaird kept in the box seat of his buggy. Not long after, Mr. Kinnaird walked over with thunderous and angry strides. As expected, he hopped into his buggy and sat heavily down on the hidden eggs.

"Arrr!" he growled, throwing down the reins angrily. He looked around and saw us watching him from the veranda of a store. Of the four that stood there, I had the widest grin. So it wasn't surprising that he had guessed instantly who dared to play such a trick on him. His trouser dripping with egg yolk, he sprinted after us. We ran, but my short legs were no match for him.

He held me by the scruff of my dress collar and shook me. "Did you do this?" he boomed. "Oh, you must have, you little rascal!"

I shook violently, trying to loosen his hand on me. I was lucky that day because someone called out just then for the old man and I used the opportunity to free myself.

"I'll get you, you little rascal!" he shouted angrily. "I will get you one day!"

Oh, how I shook with fright that day. Even as I slammed my bedroom door behind me, I still felt he would be coming around the corner to catch me. I was so afraid that my parents would sell me out to him because of all the power the man had."

"Well, did he?" Emma asked curiously and absolutely intrigued. "Did he catch you?"

Ethel smiled. "Yes, he did. Ten years later, when I turned eighteen years old. Apparently I discovered that I was one of those rare ones who ever did stand up to him. I supposed I created a lasting impression on him for my brawny ways. He convinced young Arthur that I would might just be the right bride for him."

Emma stared at her open-mouthed, in disbelief. "Really?"

Ethel chuckled. "Ahh...those were the days," she said reflecting them as she looked up into the now dark sky. She arose from her chair and started walking back into the house. "I had better get going. I have some things to catch up on."

Emma stood up and followed her hurriedly to the front door.

"Oh," said Ethel, before stepping outside. "Make sure you're ready for that dance tomorrow. I'll have someone escort you there. He'll pick you up at six."

Emma stared after her, bewildered. "What? Who? Theodore?"

Theodore gave her a short shake of his head and opened the car door for Ethel.

"Emma, be ready," Ethel said, before hopping in. "Six. Remember."

"Ethel, but who is accompanying me to the dance?"

CHAPTER 10.

Emma put in the last bobby pins into her hair. She had styled it into a low thick chignon that rested neatly at the nape of her neck. She rechecked herself for probably the hundredth time in the mirror. The dress fit her perfectly.

She was nervous though. She didn't know who Ethel had arranged as a date for the evening. She tried calling her up in the day but Ethel nor Nancy would divulge the details of her mystery date.

"I can't talk about it, Miss," said Nancy over the phone. "The lady will not approve."

"Please, Nancy," Emma pleaded. "You've got to give me some idea."

"I'm really sorry, Miss. But if Mrs. Kinnaird even as has an inkling that I told you, it will be off with my head. I swear."

And that was the end of the conversation.

Emma imagined Mr. Clement Kinnaird with a top hat, long coat tails and his spade beard at her door. She giggled. She didn't think there was anyone like Clement Kinnaird existing in this day and age.

She smoothened her dress. She sighed as she thought of what Richard could be doing. He called once since he had left and she had only said h.e.l.lo. She couldn't bear to carry on a proper conversation over the phone. Her heart ached each time he did but she was beginning to believe that she had mistaken his protective instincts and care for anything more. Instead she avoided his calls, finding it awkward to speak to him. The children, however, were more than delighted to hound their Uncle Richard with questions and tales of their daily school grinding life.

The clock on her dresser told her that it was almost six. Theodore had come by to pick Jai and Hannah at five in the evening. They, unlike her, were too eager to spend the night with Grandma Ethel. Ethel was falling into a terrible habit of spoiling them with gifts. Tonight, she had also got Nancy to engage the children with cooking lessons.

Her mobile phone buzzed and she almost fell over to answer it. She hoped that it was Ethel calling to cancel her date.

"h.e.l.lo," she answered.

"Emma, it's me Lisa."

"Hi, Lisa," she said in a disheartened tone.

"What's wrong? You don't sound too happy. Has your date arrived yet?"

"No, he hasn't."

"But it's six."

"Not in his watch."

"Poor you. And you don't even know who it is. Are you sure you can trust Mrs. Kinnaird to arrange you a date? How can you be sure he won't be a grouch like her?"

"I'm sure it will be fine," Emma sighed, tiredly.

"Listen, if he doesn't turn up, let me know. I know a couple of chaps in need of a date. They would be overjoyed to have someone like you on their arms."

Emma smiled. She was sure they would be. In the time she had come to know Lisa all over again, she had also come to learn of the few very interesting, eccentric characters who called Lisa a friend. There was the s.h.a.ggy fisherman who spent all his years on a boat and a cigarette that never seemed to leave the corners of his mouth. There was also the short, frazzled carpenter from Glendale with a fetish for all kinds of bottles. It was known that he decorated his yard, trees and house with every kind of bottle he could find, which glimmered in the suns.h.i.+ne and tinkled in the wind.

"You are worrying too much, Lisa," she a.s.sured quickly. She didn't want her to set off on a mission to arrange a subst.i.tute date. She prayed that Ethel's date wouldn't turn up and if luck was on her side, she might even make a play for "it's too late, Lisa" excuse. "I'm pretty certain he will come," she said into the phone. "There aren't too many who can defy Ethel Kinnaird."

Lisa huffed. "Yeah, you're probably right. But you promise to call me if he doesn't arrive?"

"Yes, yes."

With further false a.s.surances that she would call Lisa, she finally got her to hang up. She looked at the clock and it was almost fifteen minutes after six. Her nervousness was slowly giving way to impatience and then vexation. She swore to give five more minutes to her very late date and if he didn't arrive by then, she would strip out of her very expensive dress.

Finally her doorbell rang. She marched furiously down the steps with a dreadful scowl on her face. With a determined mind to remind the man of his manners despite the risk that he would take to flight, she opened the door.

"Are you Emma Winston?" said the man.

Emma stared at him in disbelief, her legs wavering beneath her. It was Chris Cameron.

Emma looked at the man seated beside her. She couldn't believe that Ethel had set her up with her very famous grandson, Chris Cameron. He braced his elbows against his window, his finger on his lips in deep thought. His eyes were focused on the dark road ahead of him as he steered towards their destination in Dunvegan.

His long brown fringes fell over the sides of his face softening the otherwise scruffy, stubbled chin. He hadn't said a word since they had left her driveway.

"Are you Emma Winston?" he had said at her door.

"Yes," she mumbled in disbelief.

"Get in," he said as he walked back to his silver Jaguar. He hopped into the driver seat and revved his engine as he waited seemingly impatiently for her to join him in his car.

She paused momentarily unsure if she should. He didn't appear at all pleased with their blind date. She bit her lip, stamping down her pride to walk back inside her house and slamming the door behind her.

Looking at him now, sullen and quiet, she silently compared him to the picture she often saw of the Kinnaird's in Ethel's parlour. He had the same steely eyes that was prevalent in all the Kinnairds. She imagined him with a spear beard and an imperial moustache. A s.h.i.+ver ran up her as she thought of how incredibly ideal he would make a Clement Kinnaird. He also certainly was grouchy. Lisa was right. Ethel had sent her a date more grouchy than she was.

She suddenly felt nauseated despite the well-flowing air conditioning in the car. She instinctively touched the b.u.t.ton on the side of her door to roll the windows down. She felt the cool fresh air breezing through it as the window slithered down. It was though momentary because it just as quick was rolled back up.

She turned sharply to the grouchy, handsome man beside her.

"You don't want to do that," he said without looking at her. "If the wind catches that scowl, you might need a surgeon to wipe it off."

She stared at him stunned, astounded beyond belief. She pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She was determined not to ruin the night with this man's ill-manners. She bit back a sharp retort and robotically fixed her attention on the dark road. Her mind wheezed with all the words she needed to have with Ethel. And if she was lucky, she would be happy to dish some unsavoury terms to this man as well. But tomorrow. When she would be back safe in the protective haven of her home.

An hour later, Chris Cameron parked his car in the car park of The Gaelic Inn. He switched off his engine and threw open his car door. Leaning towards the back, he pulled out his dark blazer and swished it over his body hugging dark tee-s.h.i.+rt and khaki slacks. Even in such casual wardrobe, he couldn't disguise his royal Hollywood glamour.

"We're here," he said, slamming the door shut.

Emma swallowed nervously. She blushed profusely when she realised she had been staring at him like a high school teenager.

She opened her door to discover he was already walking away towards the hotel. She huffed indignantly and followed him. She heard the click of his car door lock behind her. He was paying attention. He just didn't want to be seen with her, she presumed. She shook her head unbelievingly. She might as well have come alone. She gave a second thought to Lisa's fisherman friend and the bottle collector. They were beginning to seem far more appealing than this fiasco right now.

As she neared the hotel, the echoes of the chatter and music flowed out of the hall and into the foyer of the inn. Chris was standing waiting for her to catch up to him. Maybe he wasn't too obnoxious after all. She quickened her pace and gave him a small half-smile.

"Tickets," he said.

"What?" she asked, taken aback.

"Tickets," he said, thumbing at the ushers at the door.

"Oh, yes," she said, fumbling through her purse for it. She handed out the two tickets to him.

He looked at her and then pulled one out from her fingers. Presenting it to the usher, he disappeared into the crowd.

She watched, immobilised by his ill-manners. Fuming out of embarra.s.sment and his disrespect for her, she slapped her ticket roughly into the usher's palm.

The usher looked up at her baffled. But she gallantly walked past him and into the myriad of colourful attendees.

She breathed in deeply in another feeble attempt to calm herself. Maybe it was for the best, she reasoned with herself. After all, would she want to continue to be subjected to his abominable behaviour the entire evening?

"Emma! Emma!" It was Lisa emerging around one of the many large circular tables spread sporadically through the room. "Emma! Here!" She waved with her fingers, a wide smile on her face. "You made it. Where's your date?" She looked around and behind Emma. "You're not hiding him, are you?" she teased.

"I...um...no," Emma gulped. "He's here. Somewhere," she added rather quietly.

"Oh, okay. No problem. Come on. I saved you a chair. I'm sure he will be able to find you, right?"

"I...guess," Emma said. If he was interested, she thought.

Lisa led her to the table that sat her husband and two other couples. "This is Noah and Belinda Pearson," she introduced. "And that is Max Burns and his partner Grace Parker, who seems to have disappeared yet again."

"I'm here," said Grace, calling out from behind them. "I'm Grace Parker. Hi," she said.