If only her father were here to witness this, and to share this moment of almost black humour with her, Tilly thought wryly, as she wondered how her mother had managed to mentally banish the various sets of step-families she had collected via her previous marriages.
Her mother beamed, and turned away to lead them back into the house. Silas bent his head and demanded, ‘What was that look for?’
Too disconcerted to prevaricate, Tilly whispered grimly, ‘Ma already has enough darling ex-steps and their offspring to fill her side of any church you could name.’
‘Somehow I don’t think that Art would want to know that.’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ Tilly said, with a shrewd guess of her own.
‘Do you?’
‘Hurry up, you two.You’ll have plenty of time for whispering to each other later, and it’s cold with the door open.’
The first thing Tilly saw as she stepped into the hallway was an enormous Christmas tree, its dark green foliage a perfect foil for the artistically hung Christmas tree decorations in shades of pale green, pink and blue, to tone with the hallway’s painted panelling. Suddenly Tilly was six years old again, standing between her parents and gazing up with eyes filled with shining wonder at the Christmas tree in Harrods toy department.
That had been before she had understood that when her father complained about her mother’s spending habits, and the circle of friends from which he was excluded, he wasn’t ‘just teasing’. And that the ‘uncle’ her mother had been so desperate for her to like was destined to replace her father in her mother’s life. That Christmas she had been so totally, innocently happy, unaware that within a year she would know that happiness was as fragile and as easily broken as the pretty glass baubles she had gazed at with such delight.
Christmas—season of love and goodwill and more marital break-ups than any other time of year. A sensible woman would take to her heels at her first sighting of a Christmas tree and not come back until the bleakness of January had brought everyone to their senses.
‘What time is dinner, Ma?’ Tilly asked her mother prosaically, determined to set the tone of her enforced visit from the start. ‘Only, I could do with going up to my room and getting changed first.’
Behind Art’s back Annabelle made a small moue, and then said in an over-bright voice. ‘Oh, I am sorry, darling, but we won’t be having a formal dinner. Art doesn’t like eating late, and then of course we have to consider the children. The girls are such devoted mothers, they wouldn’t dream of breaking their routines. Art is quite right. It makes more sense for us to eat in our own rooms. So much more comfortable than dressing up and sitting down for a five-course dinner in the dining room.’
Tilly, who knew how much her mother adored dressing up for dinner, even when she was eating alone at home, opened her mouth to ask what was going on and then closed it again.
Her heart started to sink. She knew that she wasn’t imagining the desperation she could hear in her mother’s voice.
‘Isn’t this the most gorgeous, magical place you have ever seen?’Annabelle was saying in an artificially bright voice, as she indicated the huge octagonal hall, decorated in its sugared almond colours, from which a delicate, intricately carved marble staircase seemed to float upwards.
‘It is beautiful, Ma,’ Tilly agreed. ‘But rather cold.’
Immediately her mother gave small pout. ‘Darling, don’t be such a spoilsport. There is heating, but…With the children being used to living in a controlled-temperature environment they really do need to have the benefit of what heating there is in their suites, even if that means that some of the other rooms have to go without.’ Annabelle was heading for the stairs. ‘I’ve put you and Silas in the same room, just like you asked me to do.’
So he had been right, Silas decided grimly. So much for this just being an innocent, escort-duties-only commission! However, before he could say anything, Art had begun to study him, frowning.
‘You look familiar…Have we met somewhere before?’
Silas felt his stomach muscles clench. ‘Not so far as I know,’he responded truthfully.Art had turned down all his attempts to get an interview with him, but that didn’t mean Art hadn’t seen his photograph somewhere, or perhaps requested information about him. And if he had…
‘So what exactly is it you do?’ Art persisted.
‘Silas is an actor,’Tilly answered firmly for him, preempting the criticism she sensed was coming by adding determinedly, ‘And a very good one.’ She gave her mother a look which she hoped she would correctly interpret as I need to talk to you urgently about this bedroom situation, but to her dismay her mother was refusing to make eye contact. In fact, now that she looked at her mother more closely, Tilly could see how tense and on edge she was beneath her too-bright smile, how desperate she was for everyone’s approval of the castle. And of herself? Was it because of this insecurity within her mother that she had always kept the gates to her own emotions firmly padlocked? Because she was afraid of becoming like her mother?
As had happened so many times in the past when she sensed that her mother was unhappy, Tilly felt her protective instinct kick in. Leaving Silas’s side, she moved over to Annabelle, linking her arm with her mother’s in a gesture of daughter-to-mother solidarity.
‘An actor. How exciting!’ Annabelle exclaimed. ‘That’s probably why you think Silas’s face is familiar, Artie, you must have seen him in something.’
‘I doubt it. It don’t waste my time watching people play at make-believe.’ Art gave a snort of derision.
How could her mother be in love with a man like this? Tilly wondered despairingly. Her original misgivings about the marriage were growing by the second.
She gave her mother’s arm a small squeeze. ‘Why don’t you take me upstairs and show me the room?’ she suggested lightly, adding, ‘I’m sure that Silas and Art can entertain one another while we indulge in some mother-and-daughter gossip.’ She knew she was taking a risk, throwing Art and Silas together without being there herself to make sure Silas didn’t say the wrong thing, but right now her need to ensure they had separate rooms took precedence over everything else. ‘I haven’t even seen your dress yet,’ she reminded her mother.
‘Oh, darling, it’s so beautiful,’ Annabelle enthused, the tension immediately leaving her face to be replaced by a glow of excitement. ‘It’s Vera Wang. You know, she does all the celebrity wedding gowns. Her people swore at first that she couldn’t fit me in, but Art persuaded them to relent. It’s just such a pity that I didn’t think to get you to come to New York at the same time, so that we could have looked for something for you. Art’s grandchildren are going to be our attendants, of course. We’ve agreed that they’ll be wearing Southern Belles and Beaux outfits, so…sweet. And it would be lovely if your Silas would give me away…’
Suddenly Tilly wanted to cry—very badly. Here was her mother, trying desperately to put a brave face on the fact that while Art had his daughters and grandchildren to provide him with family support and fill the traditional wedding roles, Annabelle had to rely on her daughter and a man who was being paid to escort her.
Swallowing hard, Tilly sniffed back the tears that were threatening to fall.
‘Dad would probably have given you away if you’d asked him.’
Immediately her