Читать книгу Christmas at Rosewood - Sophie Pembroke, Sophie Pembroke - Страница 9

Chapter Three

The whole group moved through to the drawing room, with the exception of Tony, who headed for the kitchen muttering something about checking on the dinner. I caught up with Mum as we made our way down a long hallway, whispering so as not to be overheard.

‘You doing okay?’

Mum’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise. ‘Of course! Everyone has been lovely. Really, though, Freya. You should have brought some of your decorations. Max would have liked a piece of home here this week.’

I winced, guilt welling up. ‘Bad memories,’ I lied. It sounded better than No sentimental attachment to any remains of my marriage. Even if I didn’t, Max did – it was his family, his whole existence we were dissolving. I had to find a way to make this Christmas special for Max. I peered through a window as we passed. Still snowing. Good. Making a mental note to ask Tony if he had the makings of hot chocolate in the kitchen, I tried to reassure myself that Max was fine. ‘Max seems to be having a good time, though. He’s certainly made friends with Caroline fast enough.’

Up ahead, Caro and Max snuck off down a side passage, proving my point. I felt the pressure of the guilt in my chest ease ever so slightly.

‘Where are you two going?’ Edward called after them.

‘The middle room,’ Caro yelled back over her shoulder. ‘Max wants to see that Spontaneous Human Combustion documentary I TiVo-ed.’

Of course he did. Max had an unholy interest in the paranormal and horror stories – both reading and writing them. Which probably explained why he was so fascinated by the forbidden lure of Aiden’s dark and violent crime novels. Max’s lovely, sweet English teacher, Miss Yates, would be thrilled, I was sure, when Max went back to school after Christmas with a short story all about spontaneous human combustion to show her.

Mum gave me a black look, and I knew that Max’s sudden interest in human burnings was entirely the fault of my failed marriage, as far as she was concerned.

I was pretty sure Mum didn’t actually blame me for Darren’s affair and subsequent desertion. But I knew she believed I was the only person who could possibly have stopped it.

And I hadn’t. In fact, I’d done the exact opposite. Although, if she asked, I’d given it everything I could, of course.

‘Right, now who wants to try a Mistletoe Mojito and who would rather a Santa On The Beach?’ Isabelle asked, as Therese opened the drinks cabinet.

‘Does the mojito have actual mistletoe in it?’ Saskia asked, frowning. ‘Only it’s kind of poisonous…’

Therese rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a name darling, that’s all. Seasonal, you know.’

‘So, what do you make of them?’ Aiden’s voice, detached and emotionless behind me, made me flinch. He spoke as though we were observing characters in a play, not real people.

‘Why?’ I asked, turning to face him. ‘Are you planning on writing a crime novel set at Rosewood?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I meant, are they as you expected from the book?’

Oh. Right. ‘They’re all lovely,’ I said, evenly. ‘And I didn’t have any expectations.’

‘Of course you did,’ Aiden replied. ‘Everyone does. It’s part of what makes them so extraordinary.’

‘You seem to have settled in here very well,’ I pointed out. ‘You’ve been here, what, six months, you said? So you’ve had far more time to observe them. What do you make of them?’

Aiden gave me a strange half-smile. ‘Time isn’t everything.’

‘And that isn’t an answer,’ I snapped back, not wanting to hear what he meant by that comment. My brain was already supplying its own explanations. Answers that had to do with how two weeks of one Christmas holiday could still be confusing my life fourteen years later.

‘Ask me again after a couple of Santas on the Beach,’ he said. ‘Which one are you going to try?’

‘Um, neither?’ I’d stopped being a fan of interesting cocktails after a very unfortunate hen party about a decade earlier. ‘Think I can ask for a G&T?’

‘Leave it with me. I already promised I’d fetch Caro and Max soft drinks, anyway.’

‘You’ve been talking to Max?’ The words were out before I could stop them.

Aiden paused, looking at me with wary, waiting eyes. ‘Are you about to give me a warning to stay away from your son?’ I could just make out the restrained anger in his voice.

Ever since I arrived, I’d known that Aiden was holding back, covering his frustration and anger with a veneer of civility for the sake of our hosts. I wondered how long he’d be able to keep it up.

‘No,’ I said, as evenly as I could manage. ‘It’s just… Max wants to be a writer one day. And he’s been nagging me about being old enough to read your books for months now.’

Aiden’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘He isn’t.’

‘That’s what I keep telling him.’

‘Right.’ There was something new in Aiden’s gaze now. Curiosity, mingling with the earlier emotions. ‘I’d better go get the drinks.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, wondering if that curiosity was a good thing or a bad thing. I was sure I’d find out before Boxing Day, either way.

He sloped off past the group clustered around the drinks cabinet, and disappeared out of a second door, into another hallway. I had no idea where it led, having missed the guided tour earlier, but Aiden obviously did. I hadn’t been kidding when I said he seemed at home at Rosewood.

Which made me wonder again: why had he been hiding out at Rosewood for six months?

His words from earlier that day came back to me – about how Rosewood was a place of secrets. What secrets – or truths – was he hiding from? And why did I care, after all this time?

The last I couldn’t answer. Except to say that I did.

‘Where did Aiden go?’ Saskia looked around me as if I might be hiding him somewhere, then gestured to the cocktail glass in her hand. ‘I have his Mistletoe Mojito here.’

‘I think he went to find me something less… festive to drink. Sorry.’

Saskia’s expression slipped into an easy smile. ‘Totally understood. Although, actually, the Santas on the Beach aren’t too bad. As long as you ignore the rather disturbing connotation.’

I winced. ‘I’d been trying hard to do that, thanks.’

Saskia eyed me, and I waited for the inevitable question, already formulating my answer in my mind. ‘So, you and Aiden knew each other at uni?’

I shrugged casually. ‘We met in my last year.’ We spent two glorious weeks together. ‘We were both stuck there alone over Christmas, so Edward suggested he look me up.’

‘And?’ Saskia asked. ‘What, you spent Christmas with him then never saw him again?’ That was a leading question if ever I’d heard one. I studied Saskia a little closer, looking for a sign that Aiden had told her about our fling, but her expression was open and guileless.

I hedged my bets. ‘Basically.’ Even if she knew, I really didn’t want to talk about it in a room full of our combined families.

Saskia frowned. ‘Why? I mean, Aiden’s a nice guy, and a good friend to have. You didn’t stay in touch, even though you were both at the same university? Didn’t you both even study the same subject?’

‘He was my little brother’s friend. I was working on my dissertation, spending time with my boyfriend. He, I imagine, was out seducing freshers. We really didn’t have very much in common.’

It was true, as far as it went. It just wasn’t the whole story.

‘I suppose,’ Saskia said, but she still sounded doubtful. ‘Still, it’s been lovely having him stay here. Caro adores him, of course, and so does Therese, come to that. We kind of needed a breath of fresh air here, lately. But…’ she trailed off, and I frowned. What was I missing here?

‘But?’ I prompted.

‘I think… and so does Edward, actually, that it’s time for Aiden to move on. Not because we don’t want him here, but because… well, honestly, I think he’s hiding here.’

Hiding from what? I wanted to ask. But instead, I said, ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because Rosewood is a great place to hide from your troubles, and I’m not saying we haven’t all taken refuge here from time to time. But Aiden has too much else to be doing to wallow too long.’

Which didn’t answer the question I was asking at all. ‘No, I meant, why are you telling me?’ Because if she knew our history, she had to know I was the last person he’d talk to about his feelings, right? Unless she knew something I didn’t.

Saskia gave me a small half-smile. ‘Because I saw the way he looked at you when you walked in this morning. And I know that look. If anyone could tempt him out of hiding, I think it might be you.’

And with that, she handed me Aiden’s Mistletoe Mojito and left, crossing the room to where Edward and Ellie were chatting. Leaving me wondering exactly what Aiden had been saying about me since he arrived at Rosewood – or if he’d said anything at all. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe our secret was still a secret after all.

I observed Saskia and Edward from across the room, watching as she joined the conversation easily, wrapping an arm around my brother’s waist and resting her head against his shoulder.

Something inside my heart twinged. I missed that easy connection with another person. I hadn’t felt it with Darren in years. In fact, I could barely remember having it with him at all. But part of me couldn’t help but remember another time I’d experienced it. That feeling of just needing to touch another person, the way someone’s arm around my shoulders felt natural and right, and his hand in mine… just the way things were meant to be.