Читать книгу Christmas At Pemberley - Katie Oliver - Страница 18

Chapter 11

‘Oh, dear,’ Wren murmured, and went nearly as pale as Natalie. ‘Not that dreadful girl again... She’ll soon have the entire household at sixes and sevens!’

Without another word, she abandoned her guests and hurried out to the entrance hall.

‘Well,’ Helen mused as she raised a brow and set her drink aside, ‘what do you suppose that was all about?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gemma replied, and raised her brow, ‘but I say we go and see what’s going on. Are you with me, ladies?’

They rose and made their way out to the hall to find Tarquin already there. A young woman in tartan trews and a jaunty red duffle coat stood inside the door, her feet surrounded by luggage and Vuitton trunks. A tiny, biscuit-coloured dog regarded the Campbell wolfhounds from the safety of the girl’s arms; its expression could only be called smug. A young man stood next to her.

‘Caitlin!’ Tarquin exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’ He glanced at her companion. ‘And who is this?’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She turned to the silent young man beside her. ‘This is Jeremy MacDougal. He drove us up from Edinburgh. We had a bit of a hair-raising trip; thank God he’s got a Land Rover, or we’d never have made it through the snow. Jeremy, this is my brother, Tark.’

The two men exchanged wary glances and shook hands.

Tarquin returned his attention to his sister. ‘I thought you were still at school.’

‘Classes are over for the holidays,’ she said airily, and shrugged out of her coat. Natalie caught sight of the Pringle label before the girl tossed it aside as though it were made of cheap nylon and not costly Scottish wool. She removed her cap and shook a length of red-gold hair loose.

‘I also thought you were going to Ibiza with your friends for Christmas.’ Tarquin eyed the stack of luggage and Jeremy in turn, his expression unreadable.

‘Well, I was,’ Caitlin agreed, ‘but then I thought, with Mam and Dad gone off to Corfu, why not come home and enjoy the peace and quiet? Besides, I broke it off with Robert. I came home to nurse my broken heart.’

‘You don’t seem especially heartbroken to me,’ Tark observed.

‘I’m not,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t dump him sooner.’ She glanced at the women regarding her with undisguised curiosity from the drawing room doorway. ‘Where are your manners, Tarkie-poo?’ she scolded him. ‘You haven’t introduced me to your guests.’

After breakfast the next morning, Natalie felt much better. After howling all night, the winds abated and the snow had stopped; now the sun was out, sparkling on the windswept breast of the newly fallen snow.

‘Rhys, it’s a gorgeous day,’ she said as she knelt on the window seat in the drawing room and pressed her nose to the glass. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

‘A walk?’ he echoed. ‘Natalie, in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s two foot of snow out there.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘but Colm’s cleared the drive.’

Rhys leant next to her and peered out. Sure enough, the groundskeeper had cleared the snow from the length of the drive, as far as he could see – a not inconsiderable amount of work, even with the help of a snow plough.

‘He must’ve been up since the early hours,’ Rhys observed, impressed. ‘All right, then – let’s go. I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air and a leg stretch.’

‘Where are you off to?’ Caitlin enquired as she wandered in, coffee mug in hand and Jeremy trailing in her wake.

‘We’re going outside for a walk,’ Natalie answered. ‘Would you two like to come along?’

‘I’ve a better idea. Let’s go sledding!’ Caitlin exclaimed as she set her cup aside. ‘There’s a huge hill on one side of the castle; Tark and I slid down it all winter long when we were kids. I’m sure our old sleds are still around here somewhere. I’ll have Cook pack us up a lovely picnic feast.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Wren enthused as she and Tarquin joined them in the drawing room. ‘Don’t you think so, Gemma?’

Gemma, her face set in concentration as her fingers flew over her mobile phone, was far too busy with social media status updates to do more than give them a cursory shake of her head. ‘I’m planning my wedding,’ she said grimly, ‘and you wouldn’t believe what a nightmare of frustration and dashed hopes it is!’

‘“A nightmare of frustration and dashed hopes”?’ Dominic echoed as he entered the drawing room. ‘Sounds like my first marriage.’

‘This is serious, Dom!’ Gemma snapped. ‘I can’t get our wedding favour bags made up in tartan, only in primary colours! Have you ever heard of anything so bloody ridiculous? I can’t bear it if the favour bags clash with the bridesmaids’ gowns. Yellow netting and red plaid just do not go together! It’s doing my head in.’

‘Not as much as it’s doing mine in,’ Dominic muttered.

‘And the cake,’ she went on, outraged. ‘That’s the third baker who’s told me a wedding cake shaped like a giant Louboutin shoe can’t be done.’

‘I should think it entirely possible,’ Wren observed, and clucked in sympathy. ‘Why can’t they do it?’

‘Because they’re unreasonable bastards! And because it needs to feed 250 people,’ Gemma added with a scowl, ‘and it needs to be gluten free. And vegan.’

‘Oh, my,’ Wren murmured. ‘There’s your problem, dear. Perhaps your expectations are just a wee bit unreasonable—’

‘Unreasonable?’ Gemma shrilled. ‘Not giving a bride-to-be what she asks for, that’s unreasonable!’

‘Where’re you lot headed off to?’ Dominic asked Natalie in a low voice, a look of panic blooming on his face. ‘Mind if I come along?’

‘We’re going sledding, Dominic,’ Natalie answered as she moved past him to follow Rhys, Caitlin, and Jeremy out the door. ‘Since you’re not the outdoorsy type, you probably wouldn’t like it.’

He grabbed her arm and hissed, ‘I’ll like anything that gets me away from that wedding-obsessed harpy! Please, Nat ‒ I can’t listen to another word about Prada gowns or monogrammed silver bottle-openers or custom-dyed shoes!’

She nodded in sympathy, having been through the very same thing with her sister, Caro, not so long ago. ‘All right, Dom. You’re welcome to come along.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But you’re going sledding, mind, you’re not standing round texting Max on your mobile the entire time.’

‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled, having planned to do just that. ‘But you’d better hope I don’t break my bloody arm. I need it to play guitar, you know.’

‘In that case,’ Rhys said dourly, ‘I hope you break both your arms.’