Christmas With The Duke. Katrina Cudmore

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СКАЧАТЬ straightened. Glanced in Tom’s direction and then went to leave with Stephen.

      Tom gritted his teeth. ‘Stay and have tea here.’

      Stephen did a poor job at hiding his surprise at Tom’s words but, gathering up Tom’s overcoat, simply asked, ‘Would you like me to take your dog away, sir?’

      ‘He’s called Storm—and, no, he can stay here with me.’

      After Stephen had left, Ciara motioned towards the door. ‘I should go.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Staff don’t have tea with the Duke.’

      ‘I’m not my parents. I don’t give a fig about what’s the done thing or protocol. Now, have some tea and stop arguing with me.’

      She looked as though she was going to argue with him, but then with a resigned shrug she went to the side table and poured tea into two cups, adding milk to one. Turning, she brought one of the jade-rimmed cups, with the family crest printed inside, to him.

      Black tea—just as he had always drunk it. Was she even conscious that she’d remembered?

      He gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa facing the fire, and took a seat himself on an occasional chair facing the bay window overlooking the lake.

      Ciara watched as Storm settled on his feet, his belly lying as usual on Tom’s shoes.

      ‘Why did you call him Storm?’

      ‘I didn’t. He belonged to my ex-girlfriend. When she decided to return home to Japan I adopted him.’

      Ciara said nothing in response. Instead she sipped her tea quickly.

      Tom watched her, still thrown by seeing her after so many years.

      They had once been so close. Ciara had been the first person ever to ask what his dreams were, who had seen beyond his title and the expected path that had been mapped out for him from the moment he was born. It was Ciara who had encouraged him to follow his passion for cooking—who had challenged him to write to some of London’s top restaurants seeking an apprenticeship. She had been the first person to believe in him. The first person who had helped him see who he was rather than who he was supposed to be.

      But she was also the first person to have broken his heart; in truth the only ever person to do so. After Ciara he had been more circumspect in his relationships.

      He could not go on reliving the painful memories of that time. It was time for closure.

      Placing his teacup on a small walnut console table, he said, ‘I understand your grandparents have retired?’

      His question elicited a smile from her. ‘Yes, they’ve moved back to County Galway. They bought a house in Renvyle—close to the beach. They love it there, but they miss Loughmore. Grandad especially misses the horses, and both miss the other staff. After working here for over fifty years leaving wasn’t an easy decision for them.’

      Years ago Tom would have understood why her grandparents missed Loughmore. He had once loved it more than any other place on this earth. But what had happened between him and Ciara had ruined his love affair with the castle. Now it represented guilt and shame and pain.

      But did the fact that Ciara was working here mean that she had been able to bury the past? Was she unaffected by those memories?

      ‘Is that why you’re working here now—did you miss it?’

      Ciara gave a non-committal shrug. ‘I trained as a conservation and heritage horticulturist. Knowing how many rare Irish plant species there are at Loughmore, I applied for the gardening role that was advertised here during the spring of this year. You remember Sean? The head gardener?’ When Tom nodded she continued. ‘In the interview I told Sean about my interest in identifying and conserving the rare and threatened plants that are here. Thankfully he was interested in the project, and he also asked me to lead a programme to reintroduce heritage plants back onto the estate.’

      ‘All those days in the woods...’ Too late he realised his words.

      Ciara flinched and looked into the fire, shifting her feet, clad in heavy boots, further beneath the sofa, as though she was trying to hide them.

      In their last summer together, when they were both eighteen, their relationship had become much more than just friendship and flirting. It had started with a kiss in Loughmore Wood, as they had lain staring at the stars one July night. That summer had been wild and intoxicating. And special. They had made love several times. The first time for them both.

      As the summer had drawn to an end, and he’d had to leave for his apprenticeship at one of London’s Michelin-starred restaurants, Ciara for her horticultural course in Dublin, they had promised to stay in touch. See each other over term-breaks. It had been much too early to talk about a future together, but Tom had silently envisaged a time when they would be together for ever.

      And then one day in late September, as he’d dashed from his apartment into the rain, late for work, he had crashed into Ciara as he’d rounded the corner of his street. Delighted, but thrown at seeing her standing on Kentish Town Road as the bus he needed to catch sailed by, he had simply stared at her when she’d told him she was pregnant.

      He hadn’t been able to take it in. He had muttered something about them working it out and that he had to get to work—that his head chef took pleasure in firing apprentices for being late. He’d given her the keys to his apartment. Promised to call her during his break.

      Only hours later had he come to his senses. He had ignored the head chef’s threats to fire him for leaving early and, despite the cost, had taken a taxi home. His father had refused to support him in his bid to become a chef, telling him it was ‘beneath a Benson.’ He had even threatened disinheritance. Tom hadn’t known how he was going to support Ciara and a baby. But he’d known he would find a way.

      His father’s stance on Tom’s career had summed up their relationship—he had never trusted Tom to make his own decisions, and dug his heels in when Tom went against his wishes. He’d pushed him further and further away, his disappointment and anger at Tom clear—so much so that since Tom had commenced his training they had rarely spoken to one another.

      When he’d got to his apartment it had been empty. His frantic calls to Ciara had gone unanswered, so he had called a friend who’d got him to Heathrow within the hour. Just in time to catch the last flight to Dublin.

      He’d gone to her mum’s address. But the house had been empty. He’d waited on the doorstep and at one in the morning a taxi had pulled up. Ciara, pale and drawn, had emerged first, followed by her stony-faced mum. Ciara had refused to speak to him and both women had gone into the house, the front door slamming behind them.

      An hour later the door had swung open again and her mother had whispered furiously, ‘She’ll talk to you for five minutes. No longer. This is to be the last time you ever see her. My daughter deserves someone better than you.’

      He had tried to hold Ciara. To say he was sorry. But she had quietly told him she had miscarried and then asked him to leave.

      When he had refused to go her expression had turned to one of contempt. And icily she had told him of her regret at sleeping with him. That she СКАЧАТЬ