And the Bride Wore Prada (19 page)

And she’d looked a hell of a lot more fetching in that terrycloth robe than he ever had...

He flung a dish towel over his shoulder and stared, unseeing, out the window at the snow-covered tree branches. Sex with Helen had been amazing. Oh, he’d been with his share of women over the years; but none of them had meant anything. He’d forgotten them by the next day.

Helen was different.

She was the first woman – the only woman – he’d felt something for since losing his beloved Alanna.

And that fact, more than anything else, scared the hell out of him.

Chapter 33

‘I’m here.’

Helen looked up from her beer to see Tom sliding into the booth across from her. ‘I got you a pint.’ She nudged his glass over.

‘Thanks.’ He shrugged off his jacket and laid it aside. ‘No one knows you’re here, I take it?’

‘No. Archie and Pen went out for dinner and a film,’ she said. ‘And the rest of us…well, let’s just say we’re all going a bit bonkers, stuck in that castle for the last few weeks. Everyone’s escaped for the evening.’ She leant forward. ‘So tell me what this is all about.’

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a photo and laid it on the table, then slid it across to her. ‘Have a look.’

Helen picked it up. The photograph showed Pen Park and Graeme Longworth coming out of a mansion flat in Marylebone. Judging from Pen’s crocheted mini-dress and Longworth’s sideburns, it was taken around the same time as the snap at Annabel’s, in the mid-seventies.

The pair shared an umbrella, and they both looked straight into the camera, their expressions startled, and more than a little guilty.

‘So I was right,’ Helen said softly. ‘They were having an affair.’ She lowered the photo and gazed at him. ‘Why wasn’t this picture published?’

‘I’m getting to that,’ Tom grumbled as he took the photograph back and tucked it in his pocket once again. ‘When I took that snap, I was young, barely twenty. I was desperate for a big, splashy story to make my name. One day, I got a tipoff over the phone about Longworth and his dolly bird, and I got my story, all right – with bells on.’

‘So it seems,’ Helen murmured.

‘This man – he said he was connected to a senior member of the coalition – wanted a story, with photos, that would implicate Longworth in an affair with a certain up-and-coming British model.’

‘Longworth was married, I take it?’

‘Yes. So the next day, I staked out the front of the mansion flat in Marylebone where Miss Park lived, and I waited. I waited outside ‒ in the rain ‒ for fucking
hours
. But I got the goods. I messengered the photos to this bloke, as agreed. He called to say he’d got ’em and asked me not to file the story for twenty-four hours.

‘So I waited. The next day, he sent the pictures back and told me to kill the story.’ Tom scowled. ‘I was furious! Longworth’s affair would’ve been the making of me. But he offered me plenty of dosh to keep it out of the paper, so I did, and I took the money. I locked the photos away in my safe, where they’ve been ever since.’

‘But if the story never ran,’ Helen asked, puzzled, ‘then why did Longworth withdraw from the election?’

Tom shrugged. ‘Someone showed him the photographs, I reckon. He was made to understand that if he didn’t withdraw, the photo – and the story of the affair ‒ would run in the next day’s papers.’

‘So that’s how you came by the infamous Aston Martin,’ Helen remarked, and quirked her brow. ‘I always wondered.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘How’d you know about that? I sold the Aston years ago.’

‘Are you kidding? That car is a newsroom legend! We all thought you must’ve been shagging the owner’s wife.’

He nearly spit out his lager. ‘I’ve never been that desperate for a car,’ he retorted. ‘Or a shag.’

‘So who was he?’ Helen asked as she leant forward, her eyes intent on his. ‘Who tipped you off about Pen and Longworth and paid you to keep the story quiet?’

He shrugged. ‘I never knew the bloke’s name. I saved Pen Park from a world of trouble, though, and no mistake. If that story had run...’ his words trailed off.

Helen traced a finger around the rim of her glass. ‘Someone obviously wanted to force Longworth to stand down.’

‘It happens all the time, love. Politics is a dirty business. That fling with Pen ruined Longworth’s career. Hope she was worth it. It put paid to her career, too.’

‘It did? How so?’ Helen asked curiously.

‘She gave up modelling, didn’t she? At the top of her game, she was, and then she just...disappeared.’

‘Poor Pen. She had to give up Graeme Longworth...
and
her modelling career.’

‘Oh, don’t feel too sorry for Miss Park. She married into the Campbell family a year or two later, after all. Filthy rich, the Campbells, as you’ve no doubt seen for yourself, with a castle, and that distillery fortune of theirs. She didn’t need to model any more.’

‘No,’ Helen said, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘No, I suppose she didn’t.’

They were just sliding out of the booth to leave when Archie Campbell and his wife entered the pub.

‘Shit,’ Helen muttered. ‘Speak of the devil…the Campbells just walked in. Put your happy face on, Tom.’

‘I don’t have a bloody happy face,’ he grumbled as he reached for his wallet.

‘Helen!’ 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 together in a sweaty tangle in his bed, Colm kissed the top of her head. ‘I missed you, lass,’ he said simply.

‘I missed you, too.’ And it was true. She’d thought of little else but him since they’d first slept together.

‘You were gone for quite a while,’ he remarked as he reached over and stroked the hair back from her face.

Shit
. Nothing escaped Colm, including her lengthy absence. ‘The shop in the village was closed,’ Helen improvised, ‘so I had to go all the way into Northton Grange. I should’ve called to let you know,’ she apologized. ‘Sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s no matter. I was a wee bit worried, that’s all.’

‘How sweet! But you needn’t worry about me.” She hesitated. “Colm,’ she ventured as she nestled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, ‘can I ask you a question?’

‘Aye, I reckon so. I can’t say as I’ll answer it, though.’ He glanced down at her with a smile.

She hesitated. ‘Tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers? Sisters? Do they live hereabouts? I know so little about you.’

His smile faded. ‘I have no family to speak of. No brothers, no sisters.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ Helen rested her head back on his chest, hardly daring to look at him. ‘So your mother and father are dead?’

There was a lengthy silence, and she feared she’d pushed him too far. He was so damned prickly when it came to any mention of his past...

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was adopted. The McRoberts were good, decent people, and they gave me a roof and fed me. But when my adoptive mother died suddenly, Mr McRoberts was shattered, and so was I. I acted out, got in with a bad lot, and he couldn’t cope with me. I was placed in a series of foster homes, each one worst than the last, until I ran away at fifteen.’

Helen clasped him tightly. ‘Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry you went through all that. But at least your adoptive parents were kind. At least you had that.’