‘Yes, I’m sure you do.’ Her words were acid. ‘You miss having me at your beck and call. You miss having someone to make your tea and toast. You miss having me in your bed…’
‘I do miss that,’ he admitted, unperturbed by her accusations. ‘All of it. I won’t lie. But more importantly, I miss you. I’ve left Miriam, you know.’
There was a brief, charged silence as Caitlin absorbed this bit of information. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Married people separate and get back together all the time.’
‘I’ve also filed for divorce.’
She sank down onto the cushioned bench in the hallway. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’ll show you the paperwork if you like. But to do that, I’d have to see you again.’
‘That’s impossible.’ Although she spoke firmly, the certainty had left her voice. ‘I’m back home, at Draemar. And I don’t want to see you again. I...I can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it hurts too much, Niall!’
She thought of all the times he’d promised to take her to dinner, or away for the weekend, and called at the last minute to cancel. She thought of the meals she’d cooked for him in her tiny Chalmers Street kitchen, roast beef or chicken with lashings of gravy from a packet, grown cold and unappetizing by the time he finally slipped away from his wife.
He was always sorry, so very sorry; and she’d relent, and forgive him, and let him in. They’d have the most amazing sex, and she’d lie in his arms afterwards and think that really, she was very lucky, and she should be happy to settle for whatever scraps of his life he gave her.
‘I’m tired of sneaking around,’ she said now. ‘I’m tired of the broken promises and the last-minute cancellations. I just,’ she paused to blink back tears ‘I just can’t do it any longer.’
And before he could protest, or persuade her to give him another chance, she choked out a goodbye, and rang off.
‘Caitlin!’ Her mother stood waiting in the drawing room doorway. ‘Are you coming in?’
Caitlin blinked back her tears and stood up. ‘Yes. Sorry, I just finished my call. It took a bit longer than I thought.’
‘Who was it?’ Penelope enquired as her daughter crossed the hall to join her. ‘One of your university friends?’
‘Yes,’ Caitlin said, and managed a smile. ‘No one important.’
Helen emerged from her bath half an hour later, warm and flushed and wrapped in Colm’s robe. It was amazing what a tub of hot water and bubbles could do for a girl.
‘Feel better?’ Colm enquired as she padded, barefoot, downstairs and into the sitting room.
‘Much, thanks.’ She eyed the whisk in his hand curiously. ‘And what are you doing?’
‘I’ve put your clothes in the dryer. They’ll be ready soon. In the meantime, I called the castle to let them know you’re here. And I thought you might be hungry,’ he held up the whisk ‘so I’m making a wee bite to eat.’
‘You needn’t have done that.’ Helen, despite herself and despite Colm’s scowl, was touched. ‘But I’m glad you did – I’m starving. What are you making us? Can I help?’
‘You can butter the toast, if you like. It’s only eggs and bacon, nothing fancy.’
‘That sounds gorgeous,’ Helen said, and meant it. She followed him into the kitchen – tiny, even by the most generous of standards – and busied herself spreading butter onto the thick slices of toasted brown bread. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea.’
They bumped elbows or brushed against each other more than once in the close confines of the kitchen. Other than a glance from Colm or a muttered ‘sorry’ from Helen, neither of them acknowledged their physical proximity.
When at last the toast was buttered and the tea was brewed, Colm piled scrambled eggs and a rasher of bacon onto a platter, and they sat down to eat at the scarred wooden table.
‘Sorry it’s only eggs,’ Colm ventured as he poured milk into his tea. ‘I need to do a shop, but I haven’t had the time.’
‘It’s perfect,’ Helen assured him, and bit into a slice of crisped bacon. ‘What do you need? I can ask Mrs Neeson to add your things to the weekly grocery order if you like.’
‘Oh, aye, that’d save me a trip. This place keeps me busy. I haven’t time for much else.’
‘What do you do, exactly?’ Helen asked as she picked up her cup and sipped her tea. ‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ she added.
He shrugged. ‘I look after the grounds, mostly. I make sure the roads are cleared, deliver packages up to the castle, run any errands the Campbells might have...and in the autumn,’ he grimaced ‘I take the toffs grouse hunting.’
Helen wrinkled her nose. ‘That must be fun.’
‘Mostly I just haul the guns round. The Campbells have a proper gamekeeper.’
‘What did you do before you came here to Draemar?’
His expression grew guarded. ‘This and that. I did a stint in the army. Tended bar. Worked as a short-order cook for a bit.’
She was treading on dangerous ground, she knew it; but Helen couldn’t resist one more question. ‘Did you ever do any traveling? To...oh, I don’t know – to Africa, for instance?’
‘Why d’ye ask?’ he said evenly.
‘Just curious, I suppose. All that talk of Andrew and his travels to Australia and the Sierra Leone made me wonder if you’d ever ventured anywhere interesting.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve never been outside the UK, Miss Thomas. Travel requires money.’ He reached for the platter of eggs. ‘And that’s something I’ve never had.’
‘So you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, then?’ she asked lightly. She hadn’t failed to notice he’d returned to calling her ‘Miss Thomas’ once again.
He levelled his gaze on hers. ‘No. Far from it. Why so many questions? You just can’t stop prying for ten minutes, can ye?’
‘Look, Colm,’ Helen said, trying – and failing ‒ to hold on to her temper, ‘I know you don’t trust me. I get that. You know I’m a reporter, and so everything I do or say is suspect. But honestly, all I want is to get to know you a bit better. That’s all I’m guilty of...whether you believe it or not.’ She stood up and took her plate to the sink and dumped it in. ‘I’ll do the washing up.’
He was silent as she turned on the tap and reached for the dishwashing soap. With a vicious squeeze, Helen squirted the liquid into the sink and scrubbed at her plate with barely contained anger. Of all the stubborn, paranoid people she’d ever known, Colm MacKenzie took the bloody cake.
‘Here, let me.’
She looked up a moment later to see Colm, plate in hand, standing beside her at the sink. ‘No. I’ve got it.’ Her words were stiff as she thrust her plate with a savage motion into the dish rack. ‘I don’t need your help.’
‘I know ye don’t,’ he retorted, ‘but I’m fond of my dishes and I’ve no wish to see you break ’em into a million bits. Now, move over, woman, and let me rinse.’
‘Where on earth is Helen?’ Wren observed as she unfolded her napkin at dinner that evening. ‘I’ve not seen her all afternoon.’
Caitlin shrugged.