Chapter Nine

Great Cumberland Place had been awfully like that street she'd visited with her brother Charles a few months after her accident.

The carriage had drawn up in front of a huge Georgian terraced house and she looked at it curiously. Charles slipped out the door and held it open for her.

‘This is rather nice,' she said. ‘It's a shame we weren't here for the Season this year — damned broken leg. I missed being in London. I missed the parties.'

‘Cat!' Charles was shocked. ‘You've been spending too long with that blacksmith. You can't walk into a place like this and use language like that.'

‘I'm having difficulty walking anywhere,' she moaned, easing herself out of the carriage into Charles's arms. He set her down gently onto the pavement and steadied her, then took her arm and guided her slowly across the pavement. ‘I swear I'm still limping.' They'd had to abandon the Bath chair today, as it didn't fit into the carriage. She was starting to get annoyed with it anyway and would have been quite happy if it had rolled away down a hill and ended up in the Thames.

‘You are still limping,' said Charles. ‘Any fool can see that. But it takes time. You were lucky it's healing as well as it is. Now here we go — this is my friend Edward Mountfort's house. You remember him, of course—'

* * *

Kate snapped her eyes open and she was sitting in the champagne lounge, back with her historian brother who had reached Bolton Castle, in Yorkshire, on his reported journey.

‘I see,' she said. ‘Fascinating.'

‘Isn't it?' he replied, oblivious. ‘Do you know, they had to borrow tapestries, rugs and furniture from other families to make the castle fit for a Queen?' There was another full glass of champagne before her and someone had brought another bottle over as well. God, she was going to be merry tonight.

‘Astonishing. Look, excuse me for a moment, would you. I need to find the bathroom.'

‘Sure, sure,' said Tom, expansively. ‘I'll tell you more when you come back.'

‘Super.' She gritted her teeth in a smile. She sidled out of the booth and fought her way through the curtain which was doing this awful clingy thing to her, and then staggered somewhat towards the ladies' room.

Feeling much better after her ablutions, Kate headed back to the booth, and stopped short. The whole place had changed. She was standing in a large reception room and there was a huge aspidistra blocking her way. Two gilt-framed mirrors hung on the wall, bouncing light into one another and there were bright white lace curtains at the window.

Two men were standing in the room. One was her brother — the one who'd lifted her out of the carriage a little earlier, not Tom. She would have known him anywhere, in any timeframe.

‘Charles?' she ventured, her voice coming out as no more than a croak. She clutched instinctively at her skirts, feeling the heavy weight of a bustle and a train behind her. The blue and grey striped dress set off with a cream watered silk sash was, of course, her favourite day gown. It wasn't doing her much good lurking behind a pot plant though. ‘Charles!' she said, more loudly.

Her brother looked quite dapper. He was wearing a three-piece suit, with a waistcoat and a jacket, the collar of his stiff, white shirt folded over and pressed into neat little wings. He had obviously taken some time with his grooming as his moustache was trimmed and his hair brushed until it shone a lustrous reddish gold. He was deep in conversation with the other man.

Kate touched her own red hair and twirled a ringlet around her finger. The curl was hanging down the back of her neck and was annoying her intensely. She hated having her hair half up and half down, but that was what suited her best, apparently.

She coughed, quite loudly. Both men turned to face her and her heart lurched. She recognised the other man as well as she recognised him in her modern-day life. Still clean-shaven, his dark hair was parted at the side and he looked tall and confident, his hands thrust into the pockets of his frock coat. His shirt too was pressed and very white; but he sported a tie of some sort. He walked towards her, removing his hands from his pockets and stretching them out to her in welcome. She should have been very, very attracted to him; but instead, she looked at him dispassionately, noting the slightly arrogant look around his mouth, and the hardness in his eyes which wasn't alleviated by his smile.

This man was Edward — Edward Mountfort, who she and Charles had come to visit. He just happened to be almost the double of Chris.

‘Catriona! You've changed.'

‘I know you,' she blurted out, ridiculously. ‘You've changed too.'

Edward laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, it's been too long — we've both changed. For the better, I hope. You, on the other hand, are still as beautiful as ever.'

Too long? What planet was the man on? She'd seen him a few weeks ago. Oh — no, she hadn't. She'd seen her version of Chris three weeks ago; which, granted, was a little longer apart than usual. But this version of Chris — Edward Mountfort — had clearly not seen Cat for years. This was too confusing and that champagne certainly wouldn't be helping. God, how was she going to wing it with this one? She had half-expected this — weirdness — to happen again in the cottages. She had never expected to have it happen in London. It was frightening to think her delusions or daydreams or whatever they were could interfere with real life whenever and wherever they decided.

Thrown into a bit of a panic, Kate longed for the easy time she'd had meeting Blacksmith Will, and a little pang touched her heart. She had really missed Will. Whatever incarnation he appeared in.

‘What — what are you doing now?' Kate asked Chris — sorry, Edward . If this was real, if she didn't wake up quickly, she would have to separate the two men in her head somehow. She technically didn't know this man from Adam and even her scalp was prickling with foreboding.

‘I've taken over my father's business,' he said. ‘Wine importing and exporting. We've got the estate ready in Suffolk and I shall be moving there soon. It's easier to be closer to the vineyards, you know?'

‘Er . . . have you got any vineyards abroad?' she asked, for want of anything else to say. Importing and exporting wine at least sounded more interesting than Management Consulting.

‘One or two.' He looked amused. Okay, maybe she was supposed to know that but if, indeed, she was talking to someone from eighteen hundred and something, she had literally just dropped in here and what the hell was she supposed to know? Panic streaked through her again. This was impossible. It couldn't be happening. But it was. Damn!

‘I mean, of course, have you expanded any further,' Kate blagged, feeling her cheeks flush as she wondered if she was supposed to know that as well.

‘Well, I still have the ones in France and Italy, of course, but we are looking towards Spain and Portugal as well. Come, sit down. Charles told me about your accident. Would you like a footstool?'

‘No, just a seat would be enough, thank you.' He took her hand and guided her to a wide sofa. Kate was annoyed to discover that she — or Cat — was indeed limping, and whatever she did, however she walked over to that sofa, she couldn't seem to mobilise herself properly. Her movements were slow and awkward, and Edward's hand was cool in hers, and there was none of that spark she'd experienced with Will. She ought to be feeling something really, shouldn't she?

‘I'm sorry.' She threw herself onto the mercy of the cushions. ‘I'm not usually so ungraceful.' It was true. Kate had done ballet for most of her life. She'd only stopped when she got the job at Hartsford. She kept meaning to go back to it, but Hartsford didn't exactly have a ballet school and to be honest she didn't really have the time. Chris hadn't encouraged her to continue either and had moaned every time she'd suggested going to see The Royal Ballet when she'd been in London. The fact remained, though, that Kate was quite a graceful person — in her own timeline, anyway.

‘It will take time. You'll still be healing. I heard you had quite a bad time of it.'

‘I think if Will hadn't found me, it would have been much worse.' That sounded like quite a reasonable assumption.

‘Yes, from what I hear, you are correct.'

Charles decided to chip in at that point. Kate couldn't stop looking at Charles's moustache; she was ready to swear it was waxed.

‘I was there when they reset it,' Charles said, conversationally. ‘It was utterly ghastly.'

Kate frowned at him. ‘I do know. I was there, after all.' Well, she must have been. ‘Will told me the tale as well. I don't think I want to hear it again.'

Charles raised his eyebrows at her, a classic ‘Tom' movement, whichever decade he happened to be strutting around in, clearly. ‘Oh, but I like to tell it. I like to talk about how the bones cracked and—'

‘Stop it!' she snapped. ‘You're horrible!'

Charles laughed. ‘Maybe.'

‘Now, now,' said Edward. ‘Behave, my friend. It's been far too long since Catriona and I had time to talk properly. I think I am counting in years, rather than months, so I want to find out what she's been doing in the meantime — apart from crippling herself, that is.'

What had she been doing during the forgotten years with Edward? She must have done something. What did young ladies do, apart from have balls and visit people?

‘This and that,' she bluffed. ‘The usual. I've enjoyed a few balls over the years and I've realised I'm not very good at ice-skating,' There were a few memories of her dancing, now she came to think about it — vague images of swirling around a ballroom while the champagne flowed and the music played and the stars twinkled outside.

Edward nodded. ‘I understand that your friends at Hartsford Hall are arranging a ball. And as I believe you'll be staying there again, I'm sure you'll be invited.'

‘Oh, Edward!' said Charles in mock horror. ‘It was supposed to be a surprise. She doesn't know we're going back there.'

‘Back to the Hall?' Her heart leapt, remembering those Bath chair tracks that led to Will's cottage.

‘Yes, indeed,' said Charles with a grin. ‘The air up there is better for your recovery, so they say. I think the honest answer is our parents have decided to travel to Venice and don't trust us in the town house alone.'

Some things never changed. Their parents had always been swanning off places and leaving them with various friends and relatives. Kate weighed up Charles and considered him next to the brother she knew properly. She wondered whether the way their parents had been while they were growing up was why her Tom shied away from commitment — and maybe why she was anxious to maintain relationships.

Then her gaze drifted towards Edward. Chris had seemed a reasonably safe option when she got together with him — a good job; a nice house which she moved into after six months; a simple, uncomplicated relationship that meant they both had their space. But over time, she'd noticed things changing. Chris was reluctant to commit properly; he had practically shoved her out of the door to Suffolk with the promise he'd come and visit her. Then it had been three weeks before she saw him, as he needed to close a deal first. Then there was, as he always said, another client, another promotion to chase, another crisis in the office to contend with that interrupted their time together.

She wondered, fleetingly, if safe wasn't quite enough anymore?

But after just over three years and two very busy careers — maybe a shift in attitude was to be expected. Kate sighed, nostalgic for the old days.

A clock on the mantelpiece in the Victorian lounge began to chime.

‘Would you like a drink?'

The voice came from her left. She blinked and looked up.

* * *

She was back in the champagne lounge in her own life. The guests were chattering and laughing, the champagne flowing more freely as the night went on. ‘Her' Chris was standing there, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else than The Arch. ‘Sorry — the Skype thing went on longer than I'd anticipated. I'm horribly late. I don't know if I want to eat now. Shall we just get some olives or something?'

Kate looked at her watch. It was almost ten o'clock and her tummy told her she was probably beyond hungry. Plus, she hated olives and he should know that. To be honest, she wanted to be back in her flat above the museum, trowelling cheese on toast with a dollop of Worcestershire sauce on it. And truly, what right did Chris have to dictate they wouldn't eat, just because he wasn't hungry, when she'd driven over two hundred miles to see him? Her tummy may have concurred, but really ?

‘It would have been nice if you'd called me,' Kate said coldly. She cast a surreptitious glance at Tom who was strategically pouring the last of the champagne into her glass. They must have been too polite to start eating without Chris.

‘Didn't have time,' he replied shortly. ‘I told you, Babes, I was busy.'

Babes? Really ?

‘Okay. Fine.'

But she wasn't sure it if was "fine". And that thought concerned her a little.

* * *

They hadn't eaten. Tom and Kate drank another bottle of champagne between them and Chris had ordered olives and, just for some variety, peanuts.

Kate detested peanuts even more than she detested olives so she wasn't the happiest bunny when the taxi poured them out at Chris's house. They'd left Tom at the hotel and he'd given her a huge bear-hug, his bristly face rubbing against her cheek.

‘Cheer up, Katie. You can go back home tomorrow.' Which was exactly the sort of flippant comment she loved him for.

Despite the fact her evening had turned into a food-less farce, Kate sniggered. ‘I think I might still be drunk tomorrow. Don't really want to drive far.'

‘Me too. I'm pleased I'm going by train.' They both found that inordinately funny and giggled like a pair of children. In fact, Tom was heading to France on the Eurostar, and it was probably a very sensible thing to do whether you were drunk or sober.

By the time she and Chris had arrived back in Chiswick, though, the levity of the situation had left Kate somewhat.

‘Chris, I'm actually quite hungry,' she said as she waited for him to unlock the door.

He looked at her, genuinely confused. ‘But there were snacks. You didn't touch any of them.' The door clicked open and he stood back to let her in first.

Automatically, she kicked off her shoes before heading into the lounge where she sat on a very upright designer chair she'd always hated, while he locked up and kicked his own shoes off.

‘I don't like olives and I don't like peanuts even more.' Kate knew the syntax was all wrong and the words were slightly slurred, but she was trying to speak reasonably.

‘Oh no! I forgot!' Chris threw himself onto the sofa and shook his head. ‘I'm so sorry. I just couldn't face any more food. You see, we had a big catered event thing after the Skype call and—'

‘You didn't mention a catered thing!' Kate interrupted, her voice rising dangerously. ‘You just said Skype! When you came in late. At the place. The hotel place.' She waved her arm around angrily. She couldn't recall the name of it.

‘Ah, yes, I forgot it was on, the catered thing. I finished the call and then they had this meeting. I was only supposed to stay for a little while, but it was a really good networking opportunity, and Saffy had organised it so—'

Kate stopped listening. She tried to slouch in the chair to make herself comfortable, but it was impossible — she knew Chris would tell her all about the networking opportunity for quite some time. He absolutely loved his work. But he was supposed to love her as well.