Kay Thorpe - The Wedding Deception

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s a regular paragon!’ Claire instantly regretted the tart remark. Whatever her opinion might turn out to be, Jill wasn’t going to be swayed. All the same, she couldn’t find it in herself to retract the words. ‘What time are you expecting him?’ she said instead.

Whatever her thoughts, Jill was keeping them to herself. ‘I told him around seven. He won’t have eaten, by the way. He’s still living at home, and they don’t have dinner till eight.’

Claire bit back the instinctive comment. It was gone half-past six now. She did a hasty mental review of their food stocks. There were half a dozen local rainbow trout in the freezer, presented to them by their neighbour, who owned fishing rights on the river. They could be cooked from frozen on the microwave’s sensor setting without losing too much flavour.

She had made a salad before leaving for the shop that morning, and had prepared a pan of new potatoes ready for the hob, intending to grill some steak to go with them. With apple pie and cream to follow, and cheese if required, there should be enough.

‘Then we’d better get moving,’ she said, putting everything else aside for the moment. ‘Perhaps you could start setting the table.’

‘OK.’ Jill got to her feet with an alacrity that brought a faint, ironic smile to her sister’s lips. ‘I’ll fetch a cloth.’

They normally ate most meals at the kitchen table, where a cloth wasn’t needed. Obviously it had to be the dining-room for Scott.

Claire left her to it, going through to the small but well-equipped kitchen to start on the meal. The trout would no doubt be a poor substitute for the kind of dinner served at the Laxton homestead, but she wasn’t going to allow that to concern her. Unexpected visitors took pot luck.

Unexpected was certainly the word. She could still hardly credit that this was really happening. A bare hour or so ago all she’d had to worry about was finance!

The trout weren’t all that large. She sprinkled all six with lemon juice and black pepper, added a few dots of butter, then covered the dish in cling film. The potatoes and fish should be ready about the same time; the apple pie they would eat cold. She briefly contemplated opening a bottle of wine, but decided that that might be overdoing things a little. This was hardly a celebration.

Jill had used the silver, she noted, when she went to check the small oak-beamed dining-room. She had also left off the cloth, laying the woven place-mats directly on the polished surface of the table and placing a vase of flowers from the sitting-room in the centre. It looked nice, Claire was bound to admit.

The sound of a car turning into the drive drew her eyes to the window. Long and silver, the Mercedes came to a stop behind her Panda, and the engine was switched off.

Claire felt her heart jerk painfully as the driver unfolded his length from the vehicle. Ross’s arrival could only mean that Scott wasn’t coming. Which left Jill where?

THE opening of the front passenger door and emergence of a younger man brought mingled emotions, with relief playing only a minor part. Judging from the resemblance between the two, this almost certainly was Scott.

The two men moved around opposite sides of the Panda to head for the door. Ross was the taller by a couple of inches, and the more substantial in build, his chest broad and solid beneath the thin white sweater. Clad in similar casual style, Scott looked distinctly boyish by comparison.

Claire stirred herself reluctantly to go out into the hall as the two of them passed the window. Whatever was to come had to be faced. The sound of the doorbell brought Jill out from the sitting-room.

‘He’s here!’ she exclaimed unnecessarily. ‘I’ll let him in.’

‘He’s not alone,’ Claire warned, and saw the light in her eyes fade a little. ‘He has his brother with him.’

Jill rallied with surprising speed. ‘Then we’ll just have to set another place.’

There was food enough for four, Claire supposed, although she didn’t see Ross Laxton sitting down quietly to dinner. There could only be one reason why he had elected to accompany his brother tonight instead of waiting until morning, and that was to see that he made no rash promises.

She stayed where she was in the hall as Jill went to open the door, preparing herself for the coming encounter. Marriage might or might not be the best solution, but if it really did turn out to be what both of them wanted then she would fight tooth and nail for their right to make that decision.

Jill’s invitation to enter sounded astonishingly composed. With features less forceful all round than his brother’s, though certainly no less eye-catching, Scott looked apologetic.

‘Not my idea,’ he disclaimed, with obvious meaning. ‘Any more than this afternoon was my idea.’

‘Mine entirely on both counts,’ Ross confirmed. ‘I saw no point in waiting till tomorrow.’

Claire ignored him, her attention focused on the younger man.

‘I can’t pretend to be happy about all this,’ she said, ‘but there’s no point in railing at you about it either. We can talk over dinner. It’s just about ready.’ She added, with the intention of changing the conversation, ‘Perhaps you’d prefer a sherry or something first?’

‘We didn’t anticipate anything,’ said Ross, before Scott could answer. ‘Certainly not a meal.’

‘We usually eat around this time,’ Claire responded shortly. ‘I saw no reason to alter our routine.’ She started to turn, adding over a shoulder, ‘I’ll need to lay another place at table. Take them through to the sitting-room, Jill.’

Safe in the dining-room, she took a moment to compose herself before going to the sideboard to get extra cutlery from the drawer. This wasn’t going to be an easy encounter.

The mats were in a cupboard beneath the old oak trolley which her mother had picked up for a song at one of the house sales she had used to frequent. None of the furniture in the house was worth a great deal in terms of antiquity, but each and every piece had been collected with discernment. With one or two exceptions, the delft plates on the shelf had mostly come from local markets, their faded colours taking on new life in the soft evening light.

Her mother had loved this house from the moment she had seen it, she had always said. Both she and her father had been loving people altogether. They would have known how best to deal with all this.

That way lay depression, Claire warned herself, shutting off the images. It was up to her to handle the situation—with Jill’s happiness the prime consideration. Let Ross Laxton beware!

The three of them were seated on opposite sides of the stone fireplace: Jill and Scott together on one two-seater sofa, holding hands with an air of defiance and Ross on the other, looking like a fish out of water. There were no drinks in evidence, and Claire wasn’t about to ask again. In any case, she didn’t want anything to spoil.

‘If you’d like to come through, we may as well get started,’ she said.

Ross was first on his feet, filling the room with his presence. ‘Lead on,’ he invited with a derisive glint in his eyes. ‘Something smells very good, I must say!’

He was mocking her efforts to act normally, Claire reflected. Well, two could play that game. She gave him a bland little smile.

‘I hope it tastes as good as it smells.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t dare do otherwise.’

Jill and Scott were on their feet now, both of them obviously aware of the cross-current running between their respective siblings.

‘This is really good of you, Claire,’ said Scott. ‘Especially considering the shock it must have been to have it sprung on you that way,’ he added, with a glowering glance at his brother.