Page 25 of Watch For Me By Candlelight

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Kate snapped her eyes open and she was sitting in the champagne lounge, back with her historian brother who had reached Bolton Castle, in Yorkshire, on his reported journey.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Fascinating.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he replied, oblivious. ‘Do you know, they had to borrow tapestries, rugs and furniture from other families to make the castle fit for a Queen?’ There was another full glass of champagne before her and someone had brought another bottle over as well. God, she was going to be merry tonight.

‘Astonishing. Look, excuse me for a moment, would you. I need to find the bathroom.’

‘Sure, sure,’ said Tom, expansively. ‘I’ll tell you more when you come back.’

‘Super.’ She gritted her teeth in a smile. She sidled out of the booth and fought her way through the curtain which was doing this awful clingy thing to her, and then staggered somewhat towards the ladies’ room.

Feeling much better after her ablutions, Kate headed back to the booth, and stopped short. The whole place had changed. She was standing in a large reception room and there was a huge aspidistra blocking her way. Two gilt-framed mirrors hung on the wall, bouncing light into one another and there were bright white lace curtains at the window.

Two men were standing in the room. One was her brother — the one who’d lifted her out of the carriage a little earlier, not Tom. She would have known him anywhere, in any timeframe.

‘Charles?’ she ventured, her voice coming out as no more than a croak. She clutched instinctively at her skirts, feeling the heavy weight of a bustle and a train behind her. The blue and grey striped dress set off with a cream watered silk sash was, of course, her favourite day gown. It wasn’t doing her much good lurking behind a pot plant though. ‘Charles!’ she said, more loudly.

Her brother looked quite dapper. He was wearing a three-piece suit, with a waistcoat and a jacket, the collar of his stiff, white shirt folded over and pressed into neat little wings. He had obviously taken some time with his grooming as his moustache was trimmed and his hair brushed until it shone a lustrous reddish gold. He was deep in conversation with the other man.

Kate touched her own red hair and twirled a ringlet around her finger. The curl was hanging down the back of her neck and was annoying her intensely. She hated having her hair half up and half down, but that was what suited her best, apparently.

She coughed, quite loudly. Both men turned to face her and her heart lurched. She recognised the other man as well as she recognised him in her modern-day life. Still clean-shaven, his dark hair was parted at the side and he looked tall and confident, his hands thrust into the pockets of his frock coat. His shirt too was pressed and very white; but he sported a tie of some sort. He walked towards her, removing his hands from his pockets and stretching them out to her in welcome. She should have been very, very attracted to him; but instead, she looked at him dispassionately, noting the slightly arrogant look around his mouth, and the hardness in his eyes which wasn’t alleviated by his smile.

This man was Edward — Edward Mountfort, who she and Charles had come to visit. He just happened to be almost the double of Chris.

‘Catriona! You’ve changed.’

‘I know you,’ she blurted out, ridiculously. ‘You’ve changed too.’

Edward laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, it’s been too long — we’ve both changed. For the better, I hope. You, on the other hand, are still as beautiful as ever.’

Too long? What planet was the man on? She’d seen him a few weeks ago. Oh — no, she hadn’t. She’d seen her version of Chris three weeks ago; which, granted, was a little longer apart than usual. But this version of Chris — Edward Mountfort — had clearly not seen Cat for years. This was too confusing and that champagne certainly wouldn’t be helping. God, how was she going to wing it with this one? She had half-expected this — weirdness — to happen again in the cottages. She had never expected to have it happen in London. It was frightening to think her delusions or daydreams or whatever they were could interfere with real life whenever and wherever they decided.

Thrown into a bit of a panic, Kate longed for the easy time she’d had meeting Blacksmith Will, and a little pang touched her heart. She had really missed Will. Whatever incarnation he appeared in.

‘What — what are you doing now?’ Kate asked Chris — sorry, Edward. If this was real, if she didn’t wake up quickly, she would have to separate the two men in her head somehow. She technically didn’t know this man from Adam and even her scalp was prickling with foreboding.

‘I’ve taken over my father’s business,’ he said. ‘Wine importing and exporting. We’ve got the estate ready in Suffolk and I shall be moving there soon. It’s easier to be closer to the vineyards, you know?’

‘Er . . . have you got any vineyards abroad?’ she asked, for want of anything else to say. Importing and exporting wine at least sounded more interesting than Management Consulting.

‘One or two.’ He looked amused. Okay, maybe she was supposed to know that but if, indeed, she was talking to someone from eighteen hundred and something, she had literally just dropped in here and what the hell was she supposed to know? Panic streaked through her again. This was impossible. It couldn’t be happening. But it was. Damn!

‘I mean, of course, have you expanded any further,’ Kate blagged, feeling her cheeks flush as she wondered if she was supposed to know that as well.

‘Well, I still have the ones in France and Italy, of course, but we are looking towards Spain and Portugal as well. Come, sit down. Charles told me about your accident. Would you like a footstool?’

‘No, just a seat would be enough, thank you.’ He took her hand and guided her to a wide sofa. Kate was annoyed to discover that she — or Cat — was indeed limping, and whatever she did, however she walked over to that sofa, she couldn’t seem to mobilise herself properly. Her movements were slow and awkward, and Edward’s hand was cool in hers, and there was none of that spark she’d experienced with Will. She ought to be feeling something really, shouldn’t she?

‘I’m sorry.’ She threw herself onto the mercy of the cushions. ‘I’m not usually so ungraceful.’ It was true. Kate had done ballet for most of her life. She’d only stopped when she got the job at Hartsford. She kept meaning to go back to it, but Hartsford didn’t exactly have a ballet school and to be honest she didn’t really have the time. Chris hadn’t encouraged her to continue either and had moaned every time she’d suggested going to see The Royal Ballet when she’d been in London. The fact remained, though, that Kate was quite a graceful person — in her own timeline, anyway.

‘It will take time. You’ll still be healing. I heard you had quite a bad time of it.’

‘I think if Will hadn’t found me, it would have been much worse.’ That sounded like quite a reasonable assumption.

‘Yes, from what I hear, you are correct.’