Catherine O'Connor - Mandate For Marriage

‘Who’s there?’ she called hesitantly, her throat dry with fear. She had never grown accustomed to being alone and she was still afraid of the slightest sound.

‘Only me!’ called a grey-haired old lady, straining her tiny frame to look up at Fiona.

‘Gran!’ she sighed in exasperation. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ She breathed with relief at the smiling face.

‘Oh, don’t exaggerate! I’ve made some bread and brought you some fresh eggs across.’ She grinned wickedly, before adding, ‘No doubt you’ll be having company for breakfast.’

Fiona frowned. ‘You’ve heard,’ she said stiffly, feeling uncomfortable at the way her grandparents could not understand her decision.

‘Of course, the moment Mrs Gaygill saw his car from the post office window, she was on the phone, and a good job too, because you weren’t going to tell me,’ Gran said in a slightly hurt tone.

‘There’s nothing to tell, Gran,’ Fiona replied resignedly. ‘He doesn’t want to buy the company——’ she began.

‘Good, that’s one problem solved.’

‘It isn’t good, Gran——’ Fiona tried to explain, but was instantly silenced.

‘Of course it is! Wasn’t all this nonsense about him leaving and going to America because you thought he wanted the company?’ she demanded.

‘There’s more to it than that, Gran. It just wouldn’t work. You can’t just marry people you hardly know and expect it to work,’ she said patiently, not wishing to hurt her dear Gran’s feelings. She had been a mother to Fiona since her own parents had died when she was just ten years old. She loved and respected her dearly, even if she did seem out of touch with the harsh realities of life.

‘You can, if you love each other,’ her grandmother countered briskly, smiling at Fiona’s doubtful expression. ‘Where is he now?’ she asked, suddenly looking around as if she expected him to materialise.

‘I left him at the offices. He’s going to try and sort something out, then we’re going out to dinner,’ Fiona admitted reluctantly, knowing exactly how Gran would translate this behaviour.

‘There!’ Gran said, smiling triumphantly. ‘I know you two can work things out. Just give him a chance, Fiona; you can be a little unforgiving at times,’ she reminded her softly, and Fiona felt a stab of pain. She remembered how she had blamed her parents for dying, blamed her grandparents for still being alive, and ultimately blamed herself for surviving the terrible crash.

‘I’ll see, Gran,’ she lied, determined not to change her mind.

‘And wear something pretty. That navy suit you wore today, Mrs Gaygill said it made you look like a nun!’ Gran informed her in a friendly but crisp voice, before disappearing again.

Fiona sighed. Much as she loved living in a small community, it did have its drawbacks, and Mrs Gaygill was certainly one of them. Fiona went back into the bedroom and stopped. She stared at the double bed as if seeing it for the first time, and then hastily diverted her attention to what she was going to wear. She sighed as she opened her wardrobe doors looking for something suitable for such an occasion, but somehow nothing sprang to mind. She changed her clothes several times; a dress looked too formal, her skirts were all too short and she was frightened of giving Grant the wrong impression. Finally she settled for a pair of black stretch ski-pants with a soft lambswool jumper in a cool off-white. She pulled a pair of high-heeled ankle boots on her tiny feet and decided she looked fine—casual but chic. She brushed her hair without enthusiasm, letting it fall heavily against her pale oval face. She frowned; she certainly didn’t look too good: her eyes lacked any sparkle, dark lines drooped under her eyes. Half-heartedly she applied a little blusher and flicked a bright red lipstick across her mouth. She would have to do, she thought, as she picked up her bag and went downstairs to wait for him.

She tried sitting still, flicking through a magazine but no story seemed to interest her. The television, too, seemed garish and uninteresting. She turned it off and began to pace the room. This is ridiculous! she chastised herself. You’re behaving like a schoolgirl on her first date. She could hear her heart pounding and it increased still further as the sound of a car horn beeped outside. Fiona walked stiffly to the door; she was determined to stay calm, to remain immune to Grant’s potent brand of sexuality.

He was standing leaning casually against the car door. Even in the shadows, it was pointless to deny that he was a formidable man.

‘Hi, Fee,’ he said huskily, allowing his eyes to caress her body with an intimacy that unnerved her. She was going to answer, but suddenly her mouth seemed painfully dry, and she merely smiled by way of reply. He looked magnificent, even taller in the black dinner suit he was wearing. The pristine whiteness of his shirt emphasised his deep golden tan, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with an electric blueness that excited her. She refused to invite him in, so slipped out immediately, closing the door behind her. He strode over to the other side of the car, his feet beating out a tattoo on the flat frosty path, and Fiona followed reluctantly. He opened the car door with a flourish and Fiona slipped past him, keen to avoid any personal contact. Grant’s eyebrows rose in amusement as he closed the door with a faint click. He got into the car on the driver’s side.

‘Not forgotten anything?’ he asked warmly and seductively and already playing havoc with her emotions. Fiona hugged her bag tightly across her waist, as close to her as she could. It was her only defence against him, like a shield to protect her.

‘No, nothing,’ she answered, aware of the tremor in the voice, and she wondered if it had been a wise decision to go out to dinner with him after all. He leant over and Fiona caught the scent of pine in her nostrils. She wanted to draw back and turned her head to look out into the blackness of the night. Her face flushed as a torrent of feelings leapt within her.

‘Fee,’ Grant whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck and sending shivers of delight through her body. He pulled her chin gently towards him and pressed his hot lips against her own till they melted together. Her mouth opened in welcome and her lips clung to his, hungry for his touch. Her arms crept around his neck and, for a moment, she kissed him back with a desire and longing she had not thought possible. But, inevitably, she pulled away suddenly and tried hard not to see the look of rejection in his eyes. She turned swiftly, aware of the hot pinheads that pricked against the back of her eyes. This was going to be far harder than she thought, she decided as she gazed miserably out of the car, staring aimlessly at the raindrops that had started falling silently down the pane.

THE drive to Jeanie’s was taken in silence. Fiona could no longer trust herself to speak. She knew her voice would betray the turmoil that swirled increasingly inside her.

A gentle bell tinkled as they opened the door of the intimate little bistro. It was simply designed, furnished with bentwood furniture and decorated with cooking vessels which adorned the tartan-covered walls. The warmth of the open fire heated Fiona’s cheeks, brightening her face a little as Grant gallantly drew back her chair. She nodded her thanks and slid into her chair, picking up the hand-written menu that was on the table and burying her head in it. Jeanie’s was a small, intimate restaurant specialising in ‘a taste of Scotland’, and the menu was full of excellent local produce. There was always an abundance of fresh seafood and this was reflected in the many fish courses available, but tonight, Fiona decided, she needed fortifying, and there was a comfort in traditional haggis.