Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada. Katie Oliver

Penelope Campbell called out as she spotted them, and gave a little wiggle of her gloved fingers. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ She cast a curious glance at Tom. ‘And who is this?’ she enquired as they arrived at the booth.

      Before Helen could respond, Archie thrust out his hand. ‘Archie Campbell. Pleased to meet you.’

      Tom, momentarily nonplussed, regained his equilibrium and shook hands with Campbell and Pen in turn. ‘Tom Bennett. Pleasure.’ He added, ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to run, it’s been a long day. I’m off to check into my hotel. It was great seeing you again, Helen.’ He gave her a meaningful glance. ‘We’ll talk soon.’

      ‘Bye, Tom.’ She lifted her hand and watched as he beat a hasty retreat out the door.

      ‘Well!’ Pen said brightly as she unwound her scarf. ‘Is Mr Bennett a particular friend of yours?’

      ‘No. He...we used to work together. In London.’ Eager to change the subject, Helen said, ‘Why don’t you take our booth? We’re just leaving, and the place is heaving.’

      It was true. In the hour or so that she and Tom had spent talking in the back corner, the Draemar Arms had gotten busy, crowded now with locals anxious to escape for an evening of drink and darts and conversation.

      ‘Won’t you join us?’ Archie invited her as he shrugged off his coat. ‘You’re more than welcome.’

      ‘Thank you, no. I need to go and buy a tin of shortbread to take to Colm’s tomorrow.’ Instantly she regretted the words. Why in hell had she said that?

      ‘Oh?’ Pen arched her brow. ‘Are you invited to the gatehouse for tea, Miss Thomas?’

      Helen managed a polite smile. ‘No. Colm’s invited me to Sunday dinner, actually. Nothing fancy. But I do hate to show up empty-handed,’ she added. ‘So if you’ll excuse me, I really should be going.’

      Her mobile rang just then. With a glance down at the screen – it was Tom’s number – she hurriedly said her goodbyes, and left.

      ‘What is it, Tom?’ Helen said into the phone as she walked back to her rental car. ‘Didn’t you just leave?’

      ‘Thank God he didn’t remember me.’

      She scrabbled in her purse for the key and unlocked the door. ‘Who? What are you talking about?’

      ‘I’m talking about Archie Campbell.’

      ‘Oh...had you two met before?’

      ‘You could say that. Although we never actually met.’

      ‘Tom,’ Helen said impatiently as she slid behind the wheel, ‘stop being so bloody cryptic and tell me what the hell you’re on about.’

      ‘He’s the one, Helen. He’s the bloke who called me all those years ago and tipped me off about Longworth.’

      She blinked. ‘Archie? No, you must be mistaken.’

      ‘I never forget a voice,’ Tom said firmly. ‘And it was definitely him I spoke to on the phone.’ He paused. ‘It was Archibald Campbell who put paid to Graeme Longworth’s career. And you can take that to the bank.’

       Chapter 34

      Caitlin remained in her room all day Saturday.

      Fear of her father’s volatile temper kept her out of the dining room, as well. She’d never seen him so furious, not even when she accidentally broke one of the mullioned glass windows in the library with a croquet ball.

      She asked Mrs Neeson to have the cook send up a tray, and although the housekeeper grumbled, she agreed.

      As Caitlin looked down at her luncheon tray of cream of mushroom soup and toast points, she felt a wave of nausea overtake her, and barely set the tray aside in time to rush to the bathroom sink.

      A few minutes later, she pushed her hair back from her forehead and laid her face down against the cool marble countertop. She hated Niall for doing this to her.

      Gradually she realized her mobile was ringing, and she stumbled to her bedside table and picked it up.

      ‘Hello, Cait. How’s my favourite girl?’

      ‘Puking my guts up,’ she answered crossly. ‘It was the mushroom soup that did it this time. Everything makes me ill lately, no thanks to you.’

      ‘I’m sorry, darling. Truly. If you were here with me right now, I’d pamper you, and give you sponge baths, and spoil you outrageously. I miss you.’

      ‘I miss you, too.’

      He paused. ‘Have you spoken with your father yet? Have you told him about us...about the baby?’

      ‘Yes, on both counts. Oh, Niall – I’ve never seen him so furious! It’s a good thing you weren’t here, or he’d have torn you limb from limb and fed you to the lions.’

      ‘I should’ve been there to support you.’ His words were bitter. ‘I feel like a complete coward, leaving you to deal with the fallout on your own.’

      ‘Oh, Dad will calm down eventually. Mum will bring him round.’ She chewed on her lower lip and added, ‘I’m sorry about Jeremy. I hope he’ll come round eventually, too.’

      ‘He will. And if he doesn’t...’ Niall paused ‘too bad. He’ll have to accept you, Caitlin, and our marriage, too.’

      ‘I just hope it doesn’t cause a permanent rift between you. I don’t want to be the cause of,’ she let out a shaky breath, ‘of breaking up your family, Niall...but that’s exactly what I’ve done, isn’t it? My father’s right.’

      ‘My marriage to Miriam was over years ago,’ he told her firmly. ‘She’s been seeing someone else for some time now. In any event, it doesn’t matter; we grew apart long ago. You made me see that there was nothing left to salvage from our marriage, and so I finally did something about it.’

      ‘I hope you don’t end up regretting it, someday,’ Caitlin said with a sniffle. ‘I hope you don’t end up regretting...us.’

      ‘The only thing I regret,’ Niall said, his words leaving no doubt, ‘is the time I’ve wasted without you.’

      Helen returned to the gatehouse just before eight that evening, her arms laden with bags. ‘I’ve brought lamb shanks, tomatoes and wine,’ she said as Colm swung the door open and reached out to take a couple of bags from her ‘and I bought a tin of shortbread for afters. You Scots do like your shortbread, don’t you?’

      ‘We do,’ he agreed, amused. ‘But you needn’t have bothered. I’ve made us a lemon tart.’

      Helen followed him into the kitchen and dropped the groceries onto the table. She turned to face him in mock astonishment. ‘What? You can bake, Mr MacKenzie, in addition to your many other talents?’

      His arms came round her waist and he nuzzled her neck. ‘What talents would you be speaking of, Miss Thomas?’ he murmured against her skin. ‘My cooking? My conversational skills? Or...’ he took her earlobe gently between his teeth ‘something else, perhaps?’

      ‘Something else,’ she breathed, just before his mouth took hers and made conversation impossible. For several minutes she gave in to the bliss of snogging him like a lust-ridden teenager, then reluctantly, she broke away.

      ‘There’s cream in those bags, and eggs. I should put the perishables away.’

      ‘Put ’em away later,’ Colm told her, and pulled her against him. ‘They’ll keep for a bit longer...but I might not.’ He covered her mouth once again with his, and his tongue found hers, and they made their way upstairs to Colm’s bed, leaving the groceries forgotten on the table.

      Later, as they clung