Katie Oliver - Christmas At Pemberley - And the Bride Wore Prada

Was it best to buy this famous one she’d seen advertised on TV? Or the one that claimed to be ‘easy to use’? Or this one over here, that screamed ‘doctor recommended’ in large blue letters?

In the end she went with the famous one. It cost the most...so that meant it was the best, surely?

Just before lunch they piled into the Range Rover and returned to Draemar.

‘It looks like I’ll be depending on the kindness of strangers for another week,’ Helen remarked as Colm turned up the drive that led to the castle.

‘What? Your car won’t be ready until then?’ Natalie asked.

She shook her head. ‘The mechanic says they have to send to Inverness for the parts. I really hate to impose on Tarquin and Wren any more than I already have.’

‘Oh, they don’t mind,’ Natalie assured her. ‘They love the company. But it’s a bit inconvenient for you, I imagine.’

‘A bit,’ Helen agreed, although secretly she was glad of the delay. It gave her time to wrangle an invitation to Northton Grange from Dominic and Gemma, and hopefully, to get the scoop – and photos – of their soon-to-be, not-so-secret wedding.

And while she remained at Draemar castle, she mused, she could do a bit more research into Andrew Campbell’s death, as well.

Natalie eyed her quizzically. ‘What brings you to Scotland, if you don’t mind my asking? Are you here visiting family?’

Colm slanted a glance at Helen in the rear-view mirror, but he made no comment.

‘No,’ Helen answered, ‘I’m a writer. Freelance. I write pieces on spec for women’s magazines.’

‘But that’s fabulous!’ Nat exclaimed. ‘I’d no idea you were a writer.’

Helen smiled briefly but was spared a further reply as they approached the castle. A salt-encrusted Jeep was parked before the entrance as Colm drew the Range Rover to a stop.

‘I wonder who that belongs to?’ Nat mused as she opened her door. ‘It looks as if it’s been through a war.’

‘It belongs to Archibald Campbell,’ Colm replied. ‘Tarquin’s father.’

‘But I thought Tark’s parents were in Corfu,’ Helen said in puzzlement.

He shrugged. ‘They must’ve cut their holiday short.’

‘How odd. I wonder why they’ve come back?’ she mused as she stepped out of the car.

‘Not really your business, is it?’ Colm said.

Before she could form a suitable response, he put the Range Rover in gear and drove away.

Low but charged voices reached Helen and Natalie’s ears as Dominic opened the front door and let them in.

‘What’s going on?’ Nat asked. She glanced across the entrance hall and was surprised to see that the drawing room doors were firmly shut.

‘Tark’s parents are back, that’s what’s going on,’ Dominic hissed. ‘I came down to see what the cook had on the menu for lunch – no haggis, thank God ‒ and I was headed back upstairs when all hell broke loose.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’ Helen asked.

‘I don’t know, exactly,’ Dom confided, ‘but it’s something to do with Tark’s sister Caitlin. I heard raised voices and shouting, then Tark came down the hall and herded everyone into the drawing room and shut the doors.’

Natalie frowned. ‘Why are they all shouting , if the Campbells have only just got home?’

Her question was answered when the drawing room doors flew open and Caitlin, her face red and her eyes swollen with tears, burst into the entrance hall and launched herself towards the stairs.

‘Caitlin Morag Campbell, don’t you dare walk out on this conversation!’ an equally red-faced man called out after her. ‘I’m your father, damn you, and I won’t bloody have it!’

With his ginger hair and beard bristling with anger, Tarquin’s father was an imposing figure.

‘Archie, please.’ A tall, attractive woman laid a hand on his sleeve as she glanced over at Natalie, Helen, and Dominic hovering uncertainly by the front door. ‘We have company.’

‘I’m sorry, Pen, but Caitlin and I didn’t finish this conversation.’ He shook off his wife’s hand and levelled a glare on his daughter.

‘It’s not a conver sation ,’ Caitlin hurled back as she whirled around to face him, ‘it’s an inquisition! I planned to tell you both everything...but Wren went and spoiled it, like she always does.’ She shot a venomous glance at Tarquin’s wife, who stood in the hallway next to her husband. ‘She couldn’t wait to land me in trouble.’

‘I think you’ve done that well enough on your own.’ Tarquin scowled. ‘Wren had nothing to do with this, Caitlin. I did. I was the one who called to inform Mum and Dad, so kindly vent your spleen at me, not my wife.’ He put his arm around Wren’s shoulders in a protective gesture.

‘You?’ Caitlin regarded him in outrage. ‘Why? How could you, Tark? How could you do that to me?’

‘You’ve been thrown out of university,’ he said evenly. ‘What else was I to do? Mum and Dad have a right to know. They’re paying your tuition, after all.’

‘How did you find out?’ she demanded. ‘I never said a word to you!’

‘I found out purely by accident when I went on the university website looking for information for a friend. Imagine my dismay when I discovered that the Christmas holidays don’t start until the end of next week. I made a discreet enquiry and learned you’d been expelled.’

Caitlin glared at him, then turned and stormed away up the stairs. The sound of her door slamming echoed down to the hallway.

Tarquin’s father let out a sigh and stepped forward, his hand outstretched to the newcomers.

‘It’s a poor welcome to Draemar you’ve had, to be sure,’ he said gruffly. ‘I do apologize for the drama. We’re normally a fairly tranquil lot. Archibald Campbell,’ he added as he shook their hands in turn, ‘the owner of this great pile of stone. Now, let’s all go into the drawing room to get acquainted and have a wee dram, shall we?’

‘I’d love to join you,’ Natalie demurred as his hand engulfed hers, ‘but I need to run up to my room for a few moments. If you’ll excuse me?’

‘Of course! We’ll see you at lunch, then, I hope?’ Archibald asked.

‘Oh, yes. I’ll find my husband Rhys and bring him along, as well.’

‘Splendid! I’ll look forward to it.’

Natalie excused herself and made her way upstairs to the en suite bathroom she shared with Rhys. She was anxious to do the test before he returned.

She had to know if she were pregnant or not.

As she opened the test kit, she wondered where her husband had disappeared to. With a quick glance at the directions – how difficult was it to wee on a stick, after all? – Natalie did what needed to be done, then went into the bedroom to wait for the results.

She prowled the room. She checked her email. She sat and stared out the window at the snow.

It was the longest three minutes of her life.

When she returned to the bathroom and reached out with an unsteady hand for the stick, she scarcely dared to breathe. She was almost afraid to look. Could it be? Could it possibly be?

She turned it over; two thin blue lines met her gaze. Natalie stared at it, scarcely able to comprehend the enormity of what she saw. She was really pregnant, then. There could be no question.

She left the bathroom and sank down on the end of the bed. There was no need to go and see Dr MacTavish; no need to schedule an appointment. She’d arrange to see an obstetrician just as soon as they returned to London.

Natalie’s thoughts whirled. She’d need prenatal vitamins, and an examination, and she’d need to start shopping straight away for lots of adorable little baby things...

...but she’d have to tell Rhys, of course. He’d want to go along with her to see the doctor, she knew he would.