Christmas With Her Ex (4 page)

Kelsie looked back at the menu in her hand. ‘The broiled lobster and potato and chive whirls, thank you. And the Christmas pudding.’ He nodded and lifted a brow at Connor. ‘Sir?’

Kelsie glanced to her left out the window and counted to ten, told herself to relax, breathe, as Connor gave his order, and almost envied the freedom of the tumbling stream that ran along beside the railway line. It looked freezing outside and every now and then they passed another house with a decorated Christmas tree in their window. The cold outside would almost be preferable to the stifling atmosphere inside.

Connor had ordered, the silence lengthened, and his leg seemed to be sending off waves of heat from beside hers, until finally she turned to his grandmother with a forced smile. ‘The countryside is lovely.’

Connor was at a loss. Damn his grandmother’s meddling. He felt unexpectedly blown away by the pulsing awareness he could feel just sitting next to Kelsie and that awareness was consuming him.

But as he watched her struggle for conversation, despite his own turmoil he could feel himself soften as she tried to carry the conversation by herself. She’d always been more of an enthusiastic listener. He’d probably bored her silly over the years. He should lighten up and help her out, if only for Gran.

‘So tell us about Venice.’

He said it at the same time as she turned to him and blurted out, ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you, Connor.’

Good grief. He hadn’t expected her to go straight for the jugular. He felt his face heat, something it hadn’t done for years, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He resisted the urge to turn his head and see if anyone else had heard.

All the frustration and anger he’d damped down at the station an hour ago rose again. The last place he needed it was right here in front of everyone, and now she’d apologised he’d have to be all amenable and say that it was fine.

Well, it wasn’t! She’d gutted him. But he didn’t want to say that either, so he wasn’t going there, and hopefully, with a hint, she would just drop it.

‘Perhaps we could leave that for a less public place.’

He heard the sting in the words as soon as they were out, and regretted it. The sudden blankness of her expression almost hid her shock—but he knew it was there. A part of him even mourned the Kelsie who would have shown every emotion, but this new woman was made of sterner stuff, it seemed, and for the first time he wondered if she would give as good as she got if he really let go.

But she said, ‘Of course,’ and he watched her long fingers play with her scarf, his senses ignoring his cold logic of disliking her, and marvelled that the material was the exact colour of her eyes.

Then she smiled with apparently unruffled composure at his grandmother. ‘Venice was gorgeous with
the decorations and fairy lights, wasn’t it? Where did you stay?’

They carried on the conversation without him.

C
ONNOR WISHED NOW
he had sat opposite Kelsie so he could see her face because while her profile, he had to admit, was achingly familiar, he wanted expressions and he wasn’t getting any.

Not that he deserved what He wanted after such a harsh come-back to her apology. Not at all like him to speak before he thought and be unkind. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d let his mouth get away from him. Consideration was in his life blood.

He was known for his unflustered take on the most emotive issues and that was why he did so well with infertility issues. Someone had to offer a clear mind. And keep it that way.

His grandmother was expounding on the virtues of the Hotel Cipriani, across the Grand Canal from the Doge’s Palace, and he listened with half an ear as his libido poked him and suggested that even if he didn’t want to talk about it maybe it would be a good idea to work out just why Ms Summers had left him high and dry all those years ago.

It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind once or twice since he’d last seen her.

The one time he’d tracked her down, after a mutual acquaintance had mentioned her on one of his visits back to Australia, he’d phoned and spoken to a fellow named Steve, her fiancé apparently, and that had been that.

He glanced at her bare fingers and wondered dryly who’d run away this time? Him… or her again?

Maybe she was one of those serial bride-to-bes who made a habit of leaving at the last moment.

He remembered a movie his grandmother had made him watch and steeled himself towards Kelsie again. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the past or in response to the definite attraction he could feel pounding between them, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else except the woman sitting so close to him.

He didn’t like that either.

‘So you spent the whole time on your own?’ The voice was his but the tone belonged to a different person. Not what he’d intended and he saw his grandmother lift her brows in reproof.

Kelsie coped admirably. ‘I joined tour groups and made friends at the hotel.’ She raised her own finely arched brows at him. ‘I’m a good mixer.’

And let him think what he likes about that, Kelsie fumed, with some acerbity. Connor Black had obviously turned into a self-important boor.

She’d learnt it was always good to keep people guessing what went on in her head, especially men, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that her unlikely dream of being friends with Connor had slipped out
the carriage window and was lost somewhere in the snow on top of the Dolomites.

Winsome looked crushed by her grandson’s attitude. And it was her pseudo-birthday.

One of them had to make an effort to give the birthday girl a good time. ‘Your grandmother says you deal with infertility?’

‘Not personally.’ He said it so dryly that she had to laugh.

Well, at least he had a sense of humour and despite the hard going at the table she was genuinely interested in his work. Winsome looked slightly relieved that Kelsie had started a conversational ball rolling that Connor might want to play with.

Funny, when what she really wanted to do was eat her lunch—or not—and get back to her cabin, but that wasn’t going to happen for at least an hour. The time would pass more quickly if they chatted and she could do chat. A skill she’d learnt through her work.

She felt Connor ease his chair to the side, turning to face her a little more, and she kept her expression interested while she fiddled with her scarf below the level of the tabletop. The silk had better do its verbal soothing with her part of the conversation because she could feel words drying in her throat at the thought of carrying the whole conversation.

But it seemed Connor had finally decided to help out. ‘I’m involved in research. Occasionally I work for short periods in participating hospitals and I have a few private patients.’

His voice had softened and she saw him glance at
his grandmother in apology. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. ‘Did you become a nurse? I seem to remember you fancied that.’

A wee fancy for the little woman? Patronising pig. ‘Hmm. Yes. And later a midwife—which is the area I work in now. So we do have a little in common.’

Thank goodness. She could talk about her work. Underwater, if needed, she loved it so much.

‘I run a programme that caseloads pregnant women from their homes. Each midwife takes thirty women through the year, sees them through their pregnancies and into labour and then visits them at home for six weeks after their baby is born.’

She saw an odd expression pass across his face. ‘Do they deliver in the hospitals?’

‘Most
give birth
there.’ She made the distinction with a little emphasis and Connor grimaced wryly at her terminology. ‘A majority of the time they do, but if they want a home birth, I support them in that too.’

His eyes narrowed on hers and she could feel the current as if from another conversation simultaneously running on another level. ‘Is that challenging?’

‘I find it rewarding.’

‘You find the challenge rewarding?’

Did he expect her to back down? ‘That too.’ She smiled coolly and this time he smiled back at her. Right into her eyes, and she felt herself falter.

Damn if he didn’t still have it. Her stomach kicked and she looked away as the sensations swirled through her bloodstream like the stuff in her glass.

His grandmother was watching them with a speculative
gleam in her eyes. No distress there. Well, at least one of them was happy with the way the meal was progressing.

She focused on the question, not on the grey eyes that were assessing her response. ‘But mostly the privilege of seeing a woman in control, in her home environment, is the ultimate reward. Women need to make the choices and wield the power in their own labours.’

And then the train whooshed past Verona station without pausing, lunch arrived, and she was saved. Eventually her pulse rate settled.

By the time they’d eaten lobster, and Christmas pudding, and finished off the bottle of bubbles, it was all okay. Even though the conversation hadn’t flowed quite as smoothly as the wine it had proved less of a chore than she’d feared.

Connor had even made her laugh once or twice more and Winsome looked quietly pleased with herself.

Well, don’t be thinking I’m coming to dinner, Kelsie thought to herself, and she felt Connor shoot her a glance. Good grief. Had she said that out loud?

Judging by the spark of ironic humour in those grey eyes, she just may have. It was time to go before she said something even less discreet.

She stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head back to my cabin and just soak in the fabulous countryside. Thank you for the wine.’

She’d seen the price on the menu, practically the price of a small car, and was quite happy that she’d earned her keep. Connor could pay for it with her blessing.

Connor watched her go. Assured, elegant, no shy young woman, this, calling to something inside him that he flatly denied, worlds away from the Kelsie he’d known.

Lord, they’d been young. She’d been the first girl he’d ever kissed! It had taken him all day to work up the courage.

His grandmother tapped the table and he snapped out of the past, stood up quickly, and eased around behind her to pull out her plush velvet chair.

They had to pause at frequent intervals to allow other people to pass on their way from the restaurant car.

One of those people was the elderly lady he’d seen on the station. Her head turned in surprise as Winsome took another look. She wore a red jacket over a white silk shirt. The russet tones sat quite well with her flaming hair, he thought, but still it was startling.

‘Lady Geraldine? Jendi?’ Connor stopped and waited for the inevitable exclamations.

‘Oh, my goodness. Winsome Black. What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing! What an astonishing coincidence!’

Lady Geraldine’s headshake was incredulous. Her red hair shone as she shook it. ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

She waved a ring-encrusted hand at the young woman accompanying her and Connor remembered seeing her at the station too.

‘Winsome’s an old friend that I haven’t seen for
years. We worked together once on a huge fundraiser for that children’s charity.’

‘One Last Wish.’ Winsome nodded at Charlotte. ‘Such a worthy cause. They made wishes come true for terminally ill children.’

‘This is my granddaughter, Charlotte,’ Lady Geraldine said.

‘And this is my grandson, Connor.’ Connor shook hands with the young woman and they both smiled at each other in mutual indulgence of people they cared about.

‘She and her… fiancé are keeping me company… ’ Lady Geraldine’s smile was poignant. ‘This trip is my last wish… ’

‘Oh, surely not… ’ Winsome smiled. ‘I seem to remember you telling me that age is only an attitude.’

Lady Geraldine opened her mouth but then noticed that they were creating a human traffic jam in the narrow corridor. ‘We’d better get a move on,’ she said. ‘But we must get together, Winsome, and have a proper chat.’

He heard his grandmother say, ‘That would be lovely.’ No doubt it would be excruciating but he was in for the lot.

‘How about afternoon tea? We could meet in the bar at, say, four o’clock?’ So he wasn’t invited.

Connor bit back his smile as he heard his gran’s, ‘See you then.’ And both elderly ladies continued on their way. No doubt he could find something to amuse himself with. Or just sit in peace.

Back in her own cabin, Kelsie curled her legs up on the seat and leaned on the window to stare out. She
was exhausted and yet felt strangely alive after such a fraught lunch.

Twitchy even, when wine usually made her feel sleepy.

She needed to walk but there was nowhere to go except towards a whole row of little compartments that just might contain the Blacks, and she wasn’t ready to know which cabin was theirs.

Lulled by the passing countryside, the time passed in fuzzy daydreams of long walks holding hands, stolen kisses and the protectiveness of Connor’s arm around her shoulders when she’d been a heck of a lot younger than she was now. She didn’t want to remember and she finally stirred herself to distract her mind.

Thankfully, afternoon tea, tiny fruit custard tarts and Earl Grey tea, plus scones and cream, arrived via Wolfgang and a silver tray. She’d be ten kilos heavier by the time she finished this trip, she thought as she poured herself a long aromatic stream of tea from the silver jug he offered. She waved to a magazine on the table.

‘There’s a brochure with signature items for sale. So is there a shop on the train, Wolfgang?’ Window shopping. Always a sure-fire way to divert her thoughts.

He smiled. ‘Of course, madam. A boutique,’ he corrected gently. ‘In the foremost car. The boutique manager will be happy to help you.’

‘Excellent. Then as soon as I finish this I might go for a wander.’

‘Certainly. In a few moments the train will change direction and the bend in the track is very famous. If you watch as we navigate the curve, at one point you
will be able to capture the whole train in one photograph at the correct time.’

It seemed that was a compulsory achievement as a passenger so Kelsie nodded and patted her camera until Wolfgang nodded approvingly.

‘Then in one hour we stop in Innsbruck for thirty minutes to change engines. You will be able to walk around the station for a short while as well, before you dress for dinner.’

Obviously her attire wasn’t suitable for the evening meal, Kelsie thought with a spurt of amusement. She wondered if she should reassure him that she would pay the proper respect to the dress codes but no doubt he would already have seen the hanging dress.

Meanwhile, afternoon tea in the bar car was even more civilised than in the carriages, and the two older ladies settled down for a lovely gossip.

‘There’s nothing like a
proper
afternoon tea, is there?’ Lady Geraldine sighed happily as she stirred sugar into her second cup and they both listened appreciatively to the sound of silverware tapping against real bone china. ‘Did you know you can buy these lovely cups and saucers from the gift shop?’

Winsome didn’t like to say she’d been on this trip so many times she knew every corner of the boutique. ‘I’ll have to have a look. I’m planning to go there after this.’

Winsome hoped Lady Geraldine couldn’t notice her nervousness. Now that she’d shaken off Connor, after their tea she was finally going to the boutique to see Max.

But in the meantime this was lovely. Meeting an old friend in the bar carriage, with the pianist now in residence playing some soft, classical music and the occasional Christmas carol thrown in.

Geraldine said, ‘Maybe a set of these would make a lovely engagement gift for my Charlotte and her Nico.’

Winsome shook her head. ‘You said they’d only met yesterday? In Venice? When they both saved that man’s life.’

‘Yes… ’

She wondered if that was a tiny niggle of doubt in Lady Geraldine’s voice.

‘But they’d met before,’ Geraldine said. ‘Years ago, at Charlotte’s hospital. Fate has just thrown them back together and… ’ She sighed again. ‘It’s obviously meant to be. Like your Connor and… what was her name again?’

The conversation paused for a moment as the steward removed the plates that had contained tiny sandwiches and replaced it with a platter of warm scones, adding small silver pots of jam and clotted cream.

‘Mmm… ’ Lady Geraldine eyed the cream. ‘Proper Cornish clotted cream, by the look of that.’

‘Kelsie,’ Winsome said, as she followed her example and picked up one of the scones. ‘Kelsie Summers. But I don’t think she and Connor are about to fall into each other’s arms, like your Charlotte and Nico. She jilted him, in fact, fifteen years ago and I have the feeling he hasn’t forgiven her.’

‘Really?’
Lady Geraldine spread the jam and clotted cream onto her scone and was just about to take her first bite but the conversation became more enticing
than the calorie-laden treat. ‘They must have been very young. Oh,
do
tell… ’