Catherine O'Connor - Mandate For Marriage

Fiona accepted the glass of water gratefully, sipping it slowly. She hadn’t wanted this, a show of weakness. She had wanted to be strong, to prove to him that she didn’t care about him, but she couldn’t. It was all too much. She hoped the water would steady her frayed nerves as she tried to understand why Grant had changed his mind. She hadn’t wanted to lose control of the family company, but in the face of losses Grant had become her only option. What had gone wrong back home? She sensed it was something more personal than the distillery. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, aware that its coldness matched the chilling atmosphere in the room.

‘What’s going on, Fiona?’ Grant demanded heavily in an attempt to control his patience and control.

‘I knew things weren’t good. Our bank has been getting very twitchy lately,’ she admitted, quietly keeping her eyes firmly on her water to avoid his penetrating gaze. ‘I tried to raise more money from elsewhere, but with no luck. In the end, I was relying on you—no one else has shown interest,’ she confessed, almost ashamed. ‘But I didn’t realise I was bankrupt ! Andrew…’ She faltered. She hated being this dependent upon Grant, like some damsel in distress waiting for her knight to save her. She felt the growing rebellion inside her, yet he was her only chance of survival and she was willing to do anything in order to keep the bank from foreclosing now. A puzzled look darted across Grant’s face but he quickly masked it.

‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. There was a knowing gleam in his eyes as he watched the startled rise of Fiona’s head.

‘Do you?’ asked Fiona. In spite of her effort to reply calmly, her voice sounded expectant, her mind still muddled but grateful for any ray of hope. ‘You said yourself it isn’t viable; why should anyone want to buy it?’ she said mournfully, as she saw her dreams being torn apart.

‘I thought you wanted to keep it as a family concern, concentrate on producing a single malt?’ he asked. Fiona nodded her head in silence; she was too choked to speak. That had always been her dream—to produce one of the finest single malts, to mature it for many years till it became as smooth as a French cognac.

‘Well?’ demanded Grant, as if he were irritated by her silence and her hopeless attitude of defeat. Her head shot up again, this time with a sudden show of defiance.

‘It was a dream, a little girl’s dream, but the adult world just wasn’t interested. It just wasn’t a viable proposition.’ She threw his words back at him, unable to keep the pain and bitterness from her voice.

‘It was more than a dream, Fee. It was a damn good idea. What the hell has been going on?’

‘You’re a little late with your concern, aren’t you?’ she flared back at him, remembering how he had left her alone after all his promises. She fought hard to rid her mind of the empty pain she had felt then! The vivid blue irises of Grant’s eyes darkened to navy at her accusation.

‘Still looking for someone to blame, and it’s always me, isn’t it?’ he ground out. His remonstration made Fiona avert her head. She knew there was a grain of truth in what he said, yet he had made such promises and, like a stupid child, she had believed him.

‘It’s not a case of blame; it’s no one’s fault,’ she admitted grudgingly.

But Grant snapped back immediately, ‘Where’s Andy?’

‘Andy! Andy! I suppose he is to blame, is he?’ she retorted, aware of Grant’s anger, and it fuelled her own, her expression freezing as she remembered the arguments that they’d had about Andrew Farr. She knew Grant was jealous of Andrew; his whole attitude was dangerous towards him. And it had been Andy who had warned her about Grant, and she had foolishly ignored his advice.

‘What do you think?’ he asked quietly, controlling the possibility that the issue would build into a shouting match.

Fiona frowned and sighed. She watched him warily; his very presence seemed to dominate the room. She didn’t want to argue, she wanted this settled, but he seemed determined to force it.

‘I don’t know what you have against Andy—’ she began, but Grant interrupted immediately.

‘Don’t you?’ His tone was low and grim, and heavy with sarcasm.

Fiona ignored his interruption, but a telltale flare of pink flushed across her cheeks as she recalled with a sudden flash of memory the difficult situation she had been caught in. If only Grant had listened, let her explain, but he was so quick to condemn, to see Andrew’s faults so clearly mirrored in her.

‘He has been very loyal, taking care of the firm, taking on new staff—’

‘Taking care of the firm!’ Grant interjected forcefully. ‘If he’s taken care of the firm, why is it in the mess it’s in now?’

‘He’s tried hard to help steer the distillery through hard times,’ countered Fiona. Why did Grant never listen? Andy had worked so hard. She had relied on him totally during the first few months following Grandad’s stroke, and he had been the rock she had so desperately needed. ‘It doesn’t appear to have worked,’ acknowledged Grant smoothly. Her eyes fastened on him and she felt a stab of hostility at his cool arrogance.

‘But he tried his best! He stayed here, remained faithful and loyal, which was more than you did!’ Fiona shouted, her eyes wide with anger. There was a fleeting sense of danger, as if she had foolishly run to the edge of a high cliff and now tottered at its very edges. She saw him change, his face becoming hardened, his features cold as if chiselled in marble. Instinctively Fiona drew away, her mind barely registering anything other than a wish to take back what she had just said. She flinched as his powerful hands fell on to her slim shoulders.

‘I’ve been faithful and more loyal than perhaps you deserve,’ he growled at her, his white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. He was about to say more, but instead he turned away in disgust. Fiona stared, aware of the still volatile feelings that he was barely controlling. She wanted to say something but any words just died on her lips.

‘I’ll try to sort something out with the bank to give us more time,’ Grant said, his voice heavy with emotion.

Fiona tried to smile her thanks but the immense gratitude she felt upset her; the last thing she wanted was to become dependent on his help. Their relationship was complicated enough without adding to it. She remained silent, trapped in an inner struggle; she had wanted to tell him how much she needed his assistance immediately, but now the moment had passed. She wondered how he would have reacted—with anger or relief, she thought, staring into his broad back till he turned suddenly and faced her. There was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

‘Look, you go home, make us some dinner. We can have a proper talk then,’ he ordered, as he pulled her to her feet. Fiona stiffened.

‘Home?’ she echoed in a small voice, watching him warily; surely he couldn’t be serious? A cold chill ran down her spine.

‘Yes, home,’ he nodded, ignoring her obvious reluctance, and pushed her gently towards the door with a smile.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked anxiously. She had to know, but was already certain that he was about to confirm her worst fear.

‘Where do you think?’ he replied with irritation.

‘You can’t…’ Fiona began, but the grim look on Grant’s face silenced her.

‘Is there something I’ve missed?’ he asked, his tone heavy with sarcasm. ‘We are still married, aren’t we?’ he continued, his voice low and tightly controlled.

‘Yes, we are,’ she answered, unable to keep the bitterness from colouring her reply. ‘But that can soon be remedied.’ She faltered as his gaze narrowed sharply at her words, adding a sudden watchfulness to his expression.