Winter's End Part 9

"Oh, okay, I suppose," she replied with feigned disappointment.

"How long have you been living here?" he called out as she turned on the carafe.

"Five years. I had a couple other room-mates before Lauren. I guess they didn't find me too exciting to live with." She walked out with two cups of hot, steaming coffee. He could tell by its sweet aroma that was now diffusing into the air, she had made it from freshly ground coffee. "What about family? Do they live far away from here?"

She placed his coffee on the coffee table and walked to the opposite couch with the other in her hand. "No," she said simply. She took a sip from her cup without adding to her answer. Her sullenness told him that she didn't want to speak about it any further. Her eyes drooped as she looked away. For the first time since he had met her, he saw the sparkle of positivity that formed her essence, fade from her. Probably she would tell him one day. But today he would let it be. He wanted her to smile again.

CHAPTER 9.

Emma grabbed the box and rushed up to her room. Her hands s.h.i.+vered with excitement as she hastily unwrapped the box delivered to her by mail from London. It had been long since she had done any shopping for herself. She never found any good reason to. But with the upcoming dance at Dunvegan, she had scrolled two days on her computer looking for a dress to wear.

After a long while and skipping lunch for the second time in a row, she finally found one in a small boutique shop in London West. It was a beautiful light cyan chiffon, knee length dress. It's bodice accentuated her breast and waist. The skirt was gathered and fell elegantly into a ribboned hem.

She ran her hands over the soft fabric and then picked it up gently. Placing it against herself, she admired herself in the mirror. She wondered for an instance on how she should style her hair. She supposed she could think of it later. There was still two more days to the dance.

She blushed as she thought of whether Richard would like how she looked in it.

"Emma," she heard Richard call her from downstairs.

She hurriedly hung the dress in her wardrobe. She hadn't told Richard of it. She skipped down the stairs hoping he hadn't suspected anything from her short morning drive to the post office.

"What is it?" she asked as she appeared into the conservatory.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "You've been gone for an hour at least."

"In my room," she said.

"You okay?" he asked, slightly worried.

"I'm fine, Richard," she said, dismissively. "Just been fixing it up a bit. So what is it?"

"Right," he said, looking at her briefly with curiosity. "Have a look at this." He drew her attention to a large sheet of paper laid out on the table.

"It's a plan of the house," she said, recognising it.

"Yeah," he answered. "I tried to keep much of the original house as possible. You see that," he pointed to a part on the plan. "I thought we could extend the living room further slimming it into a corridor and then lead it to a study and my office. In that way we can keep much of the view of the bay all through the bottom floor of the house."

"How long have you been working on this?" she asked, her eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"A week now," he said, watching her closely.

"Is that why you've been missing for a while?"

He grinned. "I found the previous plan in a box in the attic. And I thought, why not? No harm when I had all I need to start it off with."

Her mouth broke into a beaming smile. "I had that box stashed up there after the construction of the conservatory. I didn't think I would ever need it again." She gave a brief glance at the plan and shook her head. "How did you know where to find it?"

"Emma," he whispered, drawing closer and bending so that he could meet her at eye level. "How long have I known you?" He flicked his pencil against the top of her head.

She slapped his chest fondly. "Alright. Let's have a look at it then."

"Yes, yes... I know, but..." she heard Richard on the phone. He gave her a brief, worried look as he continued the conversation up the stairs and into his bedroom.

She watched him for a while and wondered if anything could have happened for Richard to look at her so concernedly as he did. She sighed hoping that she was fidgeting over needless, unnecessary issues. She suspected it was business. It would be no surprise then that he would want to keep the matters of it private.

Emma walked out of the house and towards the garden shed. The air was getting warmer and day light was slowly extending over the days. With the new spring blooms filling the meadows, she was looking forward to seeing some of her own pretty flowers in her vegetable garden.

She remembered stacking up the garden fork amongst other garden tools in the right corner of the shed. Luckily she was obsessive over organisation and so it didn't take her too long to pull out the green handled garden fork.

It was well worn from her days in London. When she did move to Skye, she couldn't bear to part with it nor with all her other gardening equipment.

She ran her hands over the handle and re-checked the st.u.r.diness of the tines. They were firm and strong and they still had much years left in them.

Dragging the fork behind her, she worked her way towards a spot that didn't sit too far from her kitchen. Ensuring once more that it wasn't too exposed to the harsh high coastal winds of Skye but that it also received a fair amount of sunlight, she started digging into the soil.

It was virgin soil and so for the first half an hour she struggled to simply break into the solid earth. The previous owners did not seem to have had a garden at all which she felt was rather odd considering that they were sheep farmers. Didn't all farmers have at least a small garden? Maybe not, she said to herself, wiping her sweaty brow with the back of her long s.h.i.+rt sleeves.

"Hi," said Richard, popping out of the kitchen.

"Hi," she replied, squinting back at him as the bright sunlight that reflected against the gla.s.s windows of the kitchen door, pervaded her eyes.

He ambled towards her, his hands in the pocket of his jeans. He kept glancing at the bay and the horizon in the ocean. She felt he was trying to refrain from looking at her. A nervousness knotted in her stomach. She desperately wanted him to clear up the discomfort inside of her but she didn't want to push him to explain his sudden apprehension of her. She remained quiet, waiting for him to speak first instead.

"I see you've got your old fork," he said, giving her a small playful grin.

"Yeah, I couldn't part with it," she teased back. She scratched the soil beneath her feet with the colourful b.u.t.terfly covered garden boots she had on. "I thought I should get some seeds planted before the summer heat sets in."

"That's a long way from now."

"I know. But it's good if the plants are well-established by then. It helps them survive the heat."

"What are you going to plant?"

"A bit of tomato, lettuces and cabbages probably. Some broccoli would be good also."

Richard nodded, observing the now freshly dug dirt. He could see it was quite fertile, with a healthy infestation of earthworms wriggling through the lumps of damp soil. The smell of fresh earth filled the air and he quite liked the calming effect it seemingly had on him.

"I should get changed and help you out with that. It's seems a h.e.l.luva work," he said.

"There's a pair of extra garden gloves in the garden shed. But I don't have any garden boots that could fit you."

"You have no intention of graciously turning down my offer," he teased.

"No way," she chuckled. "Do you know how hard it is to dig through this tough earth? I'm not going to pa.s.s on a good offer such as that. Might as well make the best of it while you're here."

He gave her a mocking sigh. "I was only trying to be a gentleman. I guess I shot myself in the foot."

"I guess you did," she laughed.

He skipped back inside the house to change. In ten minutes, he was back outside and beside her, digging furiously into the earth.

She squatted below, breaking and softening the dirt with a small, hand shovel. She watched him, ploughing at her slow forming garden. She saw he had also helped himself to an akubra hat from the garden shed which provided a little shade to his face. Sweat broke over the furrows in his brow, dampening the sweatband of his hat. His plain, blue s.h.i.+rt clung tightly and stickily onto his back. In all the years she had known him, she had never seen him labour with his hands. There was something raw about him that it was almost like she was seeing him for the very first time. She felt a tingle inside her. Her body was irresistibly responding to his proximity and the sensuality he was evoking in her. She needed to break away from her thoughts of him.

"That's enough," she said. Her voice was more colder and demanding than she expected that it startled her as well. "Thank you," she tried again. "I think that should do for a small vegetable plot for now." She pretended to study its perimeters.

He plunged the fork deeply into the earth and pulled out his garden gloves, hanging them over the grip of the fork. He then walked tiredly a little away. He placed his hands on his hips as he continued to gaze at the ocean.

She paced slowly behind him. "You okay?" she said softly. "I hope that wasn't too hard. I didn't mean for you to dig up so much."

He looked down at her and sighed. He took off his hat and combed his sweaty, damp hair with his fingers. The ocean breeze blew over him and he savoured it, feeling it cool the dampness in his face.

"Not at all," he said. "I think a bit of occasional manual labour isn't so bad. If I had more time, I would gladly have dug up a dozen plots for you."

She laughed. "I don't need a dozen plots, Richard. It's a hobby. I don't mean to turn myself or you into a veggie farmer. Not that there is anything wrong with it. I just prefer the architectural you," she said, pulling out her gloves and tucking them into the pockets of her overalls.

He tilted his head at her and gave her a smile. She looked radiant in her denim overalls and tall garden boots. She had her long hair held back by a yellow bandana. There was a streak of dirt on the left side of her face. It was probably caused from her dirty sleeves grazing her cheek whenever she wiped off the sweat from her brow. He instinctively put his thumb onto it to gently brush it off. But she pulled away slightly and a little shyly.

She touched her face and felt the sun-dried smear of dirt. Her face burned from the delicate touch his fingers. She pulled the corners of her s.h.i.+rt collar to wipe away the dirt. The smear was gone but his heat was branded onto her skin.

"Emma," he said slowly. "I would have to leave earlier than expected."

A heaviness enveloped her heart but she tried to disguise it with a smile. "When do you need to go?"

"Tomorrow," he said. "It's a potential client with a very good contract to offer. The trouble is, he isn't willing to discuss it with anyone but me. I've tried to have Miles Ackerman, my a.s.sistant to step in but he will not have it. He says it's got to be me or he walks off."

She nodded, trying very hard to focus on his now dirty, expensive Adidas trainers, thanks to her.

"Emma," he continued. "I tried. I really did. But it is a huge contract and I can't just let it go. It's a good opportunity for the company."

"I know," she whispered. "I understand."

His eyes gazed upon her bent head as he touched her fingers gently, caressing the tips of it.

She withdrew her hands and placed them into the pockets of her overall. It was safer there, with her dirty gloves.

The house, Emma felt, was much quieter. Richard had made a difference, despite that the children were back at their usual squabbles for remotes and toys instead of the games they played with Richard in the yard or in the house and she, meanwhile, had returned to the recluse of her conservatory.

He left early in the morning, dropping the children off to school before rus.h.i.+ng off to catch his awaiting helicopter at Ashaig.

He had worn his pin-striped suit and a silvery striped necktie over a pale blue s.h.i.+rt. He looked immediately in his element, his hair combed and styled and his face, clean shaven. She could smell his musk as he entered the kitchen while she served the children their breakfast. It invigorated her senses almost drugging her with illicit desires. She wanted to snug her face into his neck and soak in the scent of his maleness.

"Morning," he said as he sat into a chair- his chair at the end of the table.

"Morning," she replied as she poured out his coffee. Instinctively she added precisely one levelled teaspoon of sugar. She then laid a plate of one plain toast and scrambled eggs on the side. The children preferred French toast instead unlike Richard who had a rather distaste for bread dipped in eggs and then fried.

He pulled out the local newspaper and started reading the front page simultaneously over a conversation with the children.

"When are you going, Uncle Richard?" asked Jai.

"Right after I drop you off to school," he answered without lifting an eye from the article he was reading.

"When you coming back?" Hannah asked. Her voice was low with a hint of sadness in it.

Richard looked up at her and frowned. "Come here," he said. She obeyed dutifully and sat on his lap. "I'll try to come back as soon as I can. But we can video call as often as we want. It will so much be like I was here that you won't even miss me."

"It's not the same," she replied.

"Yes, it will."

"No, it won't."

And it wasn't. She missed the sound of his baritone voice roar with laughter as the children would pester him with questions or debate with him the logics and the importance of sleeping late, soft drinks that increased intelligence, horror movies that should be watched at midnight and other pressing life issues.

The walls did not echo any longer with those cheery sounds. They remained barren staring at her, demanding that they were always the same as before he arrived. But she did not know any longer. It was difficult to remember any more how those walls sounded before Richard arrived two and a half weeks ago.

They had never lived together, Richard and she. Even after Robert died, Richard always had his lavish family home to which he would return to each night after visiting them. And when he did ever come around, there was always Meredith and Patty, the housekeeper and the maid to serve him with his tea and coffee and meals.

But these past weeks were different. She had attended to his needs personally. She knew when he awoke, how long he went for his morning runs and when he took his shower. She had learnt that he preferred his s.h.i.+rts sun-dried and crisp and then pressed with a crease in its sleeves.

When she entered his room after he had left, she still could smell his scent on his sheets. She laid her head on his pillow, imagining his arms around her. She pulled the covers over her and saw what he would have seen each time he had lain where she was now. She saw the door at which he had held her captive briefly and the bathroom from which he emerged with only towel wrapped loosely at his waist.

She drew a sharp breath and arose out of his bed. She couldn't bear changing the sheets just yet. Instead she straightened them out and then cleaned up his bathroom. She folded his used towel and hung it neatly over the towel rail. One more day, she said to herself. She would give it one more day.

She heard the door bell ring and not long after she heard Jai call out to her. "Mum, it's Gran."

She gave one final look at Richard's bedroom before das.h.i.+ng downstairs.

"Hi Ethel," she said.

"h.e.l.lo," Ethel answered. "Were you busy?"

"Not at all," Emma answered. "Would you like to sit in the conservatory?"

"No," she said. "It's quite a nice and warm afternoon. How about the rear veranda?" Ethel didn't wait for an answer but instead strolled slowly to the rear of the house through the kitchen.

She settled herself into a white sun-dance chair. A small breeze blew past her, flicking her snow white hair lightly over her shoulders.