Page 36 of A Very Irish Christmas
We’re still laughing when Charles walks into the room, and I feel suddenly strangely guilty. Their drama is exactly that – theirs, not mine – but his presence still makes the atmosphere palpably different. It’s frostier in here than outside in the snow, and I see both men transform before my eyes. Apart, both are easy-going in their own unique way – together, they feel like a ticking time bomb of icy politeness.
Charles’s gaze takes everything in, including the jacket that Ryan had oh-so-casually flung onto the furniture – designed, I suspect, purely to annoy Charles if he happened to walk in.
‘Good morning, Cassie,’ he says, sounding deeply formal. ‘And to you, Connor,’ he adds, walking over to pat the baby’s head – Connor is, after all, irresistible.
‘Ryan. What can I do for you?’
The words are fine, but the tone implies that he has no desire to do anything for Ryan other than beat him to a pulp. These two should be fighting a duel or something – they have the setting for it, I think, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds.
‘It was actually Cassie I was wanting to see, Your Lordship. Due to my impressive skills, and the fact I had a helping hand, Whimsy is pretty much done. Still smells of paint, but looking grand.’
He digs in his pocket, balancing the baby on his hip, and passes me a set of keys.
‘Better late than never,’ he says, as I accept them. ‘Let me know when you’re moving in, and we’ll all meet you in the pub, give you a proper village welcome.’
I nod, and thank him, and he passes me Connor. He gives us both a nod, and says he has to be on his way. The temperature goes up a few notches as soon as we hear him drive away – you can almost see Charles relax.
‘So,’ he says, making himself a plate and pouring a cup of tea, ‘that’s good news, I presume?’
‘Yeah, I guess,’ I reply, shrugging. Truthfully, part of me will be sad to leave this place – to leave the beautiful gardens, the historic building, and, more importantly, its eccentric residents.
‘You don’t have to go, you know,’ he adds, speaking quietly. He looks uncertain, which isn’t an expression I’ve seen on him before.
‘What do you mean? I paid to stay in Whimsy, and I’m guessing the rental fee on this place would be considerably more!’
‘I simply mean that if you’d like to, you’d be welcome to spend more time here. Georgie has enjoyed having you around, as has Allegra. And, just possibly, so have I.’
He gives me a small, sheepish grin as he adds the last part, and it’s very cute – like he’s admitted a weakness and is now concerned as to how the world will see him. I am tempted, but I also know that this trip was about me learning how to be happy alone – not about living a fairy tale fantasy in the English castle.
‘How about I stay tonight?’ I respond, untangling Connor’s vice-like grip from my hair. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I’d be more than happy to carry on discussing your projects with you, though. I know you’re looking for investors, and I have a few ideas about how to make this a more attractive proposition for them.’
There is a flicker of disappointment, but being the kind of man he is, he hides it almost immediately. I wonder how hard it must be to constantly be on alert, constantly watching what you say and how much of yourself you let creep out into the world. I guess it’s part of his upbringing, this stiff upper lip – his normal way of functioning. It must be exhausting, especially when you’d rather be knee-deep in mud on an archaeological dig.
‘That sounds marvellous, Cassie, and is very much appreciated. Now, I have to take my mother for a hospital appointment this morning, but perhaps I could ask Roberts to prepare us a celebratory dinner? A kind of last supper? What’s your favourite meal?’
I feel like I should say something location-appropriate, like pheasant or quails’ eggs or caviar, but in the end I shrug, and say: ‘I’m a sucker for a good mac and cheese.’
He laughs, and as ever the simple act of being genuinely amused transforms him.
‘Mac and cheese it is!’
FOURTEEN
The next afternoon, Roberts gives me a lift down to the village with my luggage. The snow is still falling, thick and heavy, and every country lane we drive through is a picture of rural winter charm. Bright-eyed birds perch on thick white boughs, the fields spread out around us, and the village itself is transformed.
It was rain and mud and grey skies the night I arrived, and it still looked gorgeous. Now, it is like something from a Christmas card. The tree sparkles snow, and the warm glow coming from the windows casts a golden shimmer over the central square. Everywhere I look I see tiny touches of beauty – the strings of lights bright against the darkening sky, the mellow stone of the buildings dusted with white, the cobbled streets coated with fresh snow. It is perfect, and I sigh out loud. Roberts quirks one amused eyebrow as he parks outside the inn.
‘It is rather pretty, isn’t it?’ he asks.
‘Beyond pretty,’ I reply, smiling. ‘Thank you – for the lift, for the hospitality, for the baking. I’ve had a wonderful time.’
‘The pleasure was all ours, Cassie. It’s been a delight having someone new in the old place. Allegra seemed much better for it, too – it gave her the incentive to strive.’
‘How was the hospital appointment?’
‘As well as can be expected. Unfortunately it’s a one-way street, and there will be many bumps in the road ahead for her.’
‘I know, and I’m so sorry. But at least she has you, Roberts.’
