Page 94 of Stolen Kiss

Jennifer cleared her throat. “It’s your grandfather. He’s passed.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Cynthia took three days to come home to Copper Island. She wasn’t prepared to leave Italy until the pregnancy test results were confirmed.

She was pregnant.

Cynthia didn’t need guess-work to figure out how far along she was, as they only had five days together at Easter in late April. She was now four months pregnant. The last time she was pregnant, she spent the entire pregnancy overseas and could proudly show her bump. However, this time she would need clothes that disguised her condition. Thankfully, she was barely showing, and flared skirts with floppy jumpers were all the rage.

Jonathan stood at the top of the drive with his bag at his feet. They were close, forehead to forehead, with their eyes closed.

“I’ll be eight months by the time I see you again at Christmastime,” she whispered.

“Pick somewhere warm, but not too warm. Stay away from snow and ice. I don’t want you falling over,” he whispered back.

“I’ll write and let you know where I’ve chosen as soon as the funeral is over.”

“Okay. Four months is going to be the longest time. Those Turners are ruining our happiness.”

“Well, there is one less now, even so, Father is formidable. So it’s just me, Father, and my brother Freddie now. Until he produces an heir, that is.”

“Looks like you’ll be producing an heir first.”

“Our child can’t be an heir without marriage, and the marriage has to be before I conceived the child. Turner rules. This kiddo won’t be recognised.”

“They’re living in another world on that island,” Jonathan muttered.

“It’s all they know.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Jonathan said.

The car driving up the gravel road drew their attention. Jonathan was leaving first to catch his train back home. Her father had wired money to Jennifer to fly them home. Their flight would be later on.

“Time to go.” Jonathan was back to whispering.

Jennifer appeared from nowhere, picked up his bag, and handed it to the driver. Jonathan looked over his shoulder at the driver behind the wheel and Jennifer walking back into the villa. He slanted his head and covered her mouth with his, swiping inside. Cynthia relished the sensation of his soft tongue against hers and clutched onto the lapels of his jacket. She kissed him back with every ounce of love she could muster and then took a step back. Cynthia dashed her tears away with the backs of her hands as she watched the love of her life walk to the car and slip into the back seat. Jonathan locked eyes with her until she lost him around the corner. Cynthia remained standing there long after the car’s engine had silenced. When Jennifer brought her into a cuddle, she completely lost it and broke down.

“I won’t leave you alone, not for a minute. Let’s go inside and get some tea. You have two people to take care of,” Jennifer said.

Cynthia sniffed and took the hanky from the sleeve of her blouse. She was seemingly already back in her Turner uniformand mannerisms. There were days when she didn’t know if the real her was Cynthia Turner on Copper Island or Cyn Turner in the arms of Jonathan Cranford, somewhere in the world.

The journey back to Turner Hall went too quickly. Soon enough, she was in her rooms with Jennifer, unpacking her clothing and sifting through items suitable to cover her pregnancy. She chewed on her thumbnail as she eyed her black dress. It was a fitted dress with capped sleeves. It was tailor made to fit her shape. Her shape when she wasn’t pregnant.

“What am I going to do? This is my only black dress,” Cynthia said.

“I have a plan. I’m going to sew in elasticated panels in the side seams. If you keep your jacket on but not buttoned up, no one will know.”

“What would I do without you, Jenny?”

“You’ll never have to find out. Now change into your navy trousers and cream blouse, and thank the fashion designers that the current trend is baggy clothes.”

“Freddie is the one who followed fashion, not me.”

“You’ll be fine. Stop worrying. It’s not good for the baby. Three more days, and we’re out of here again. Take one hour at a time.”

“Okay,” Cynthia said and let out a long exhale.

The funeral was much like all the other Turner funerals. The same stonemason family made the headstone, and the same grave digger family prepared the ground. The vicar who had conducted the previous funeral said the words. As the Turner way, it was only family and staff at the chapel. Then it was family only at the wake, which comprised Freddie sulking and glaring at their father and their father narrowing his eyes at Cynthia.

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