Chapter Two #3
Jillian clearly didn’t appreciate Cat’s humor as she stomped out of the room and up the stairs.
Rhys called after her. “Say thank you and goodbye to Mrs. Johnson, Jillian.”
Jillian paused on the stairs, turned toward the entry and shouted, “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson,” before marching the rest of the way up.
For a moment all was silent and then Rhys turned to Mrs. Johnson and apologized for his daughter’s behavior. “I am sorry. It’s been difficult—”
“Not a word, Dr. Harmon. I was a mother too. This is a hard age for all.” The cook removed her apron, folding it up and putting it in her handbag. She glanced around the kitchen once more. “I think I’ve left everything in good shape for you.”
“You absolutely have,” he answered. “Thank you again and let me drive you back.”
“I can walk.”
“I was going to head that way to work. Mrs. Booth has found a corner at the house for me to spread my papers out.”
“Very good then.”
Rhys turned in the doorway. “Catriona, I won’t be back until dinner tonight. Can you manage here?”
“I can,” Cat said cheerfully, because she would be fine.
It might not be fun, but she’d come to work not play.
They were out the door quickly leaving Cat and Olivia together in the hall.
Olivia looked at Cat warily. “You’re American,” she said after a long silence.
“I am,” Cat agreed. “You’re English.”
Olivia cracked a small smile. “You’re funny.”
“Sometimes.”
Olivia giggled, then quickly glanced toward the stairs in case her sister was listening, and low and behold, Jillian was there, sitting on the staircase listening.
Cat pretended she didn’t see her. “Do you think the biscuits are cool enough that we could spread the jam now?” she asked Olivia. “They look delicious.”
Olivia darted another glance toward her sister. “Should we ask Jillian to join us? She made them too.”
“Oh, I don’t think she’s interested,” Cat said airily.
“You don’t? Why not?”
“Well, if she was interested in being with us, she would have come down and said something nice to smooth things over and then we all would have felt much better.” Cat beamed at the girl and then headed into the kitchen. “What jam are you using for the middle? Strawberry?”
“Raspberry,” Olivia said, trailing after Cat. “Mrs. Johnson made it last summer when she made all her jams and preserves.”
Everything was already laid out on the counter to complete this final step of spreading a bit of jam on the bottom biscuit before topping it with the biscuit that had a cut out, or window.
Cat went to the sink, washed her hands and then found a clean dishtowel in a drawer to dry her hands on. “Were you here over the summer when she was making her jams?”
Olivia shook her head as she dutifully washed her hands. “No. This is my first time being here. Jilly was here as a baby, but she doesn’t remember.”
“So, you don’t come here for Christmas every year?”
Olivia’s head lifted and her startled gaze met Cat’s. “Oh, no, we always have Christmas in London. At Mummy’s house. Which used to be our house until they di—”
“That’s enough, Olivia,” Jillian said sharply, silencing her sister. “Miss … Catriona … doesn’t need to know our family history. She won’t be here long.”
Olivia looked from Cat to her sister and back. “I thought Daddy said she’d be here through the holidays.”
“Until Mum comes home,” Jillian said flatly. “That’s it.”
Cat smiled brightly. “That’s right. Until January fifth or so, when you return to school.”
Jillian lifted a disdainful brow. “Or Mum takes us.”
Cat shrugged. “All I know is that the cookies—”
“Biscuits,” Jillian corrected.
Cat ignored her, focusing on Olivia. “Won’t wait until the new year. So, shall we spread the jam so your father can have a jammie dodger when he returns?”
That silenced conversation for a bit, and they were all industriously at work when Rhys returned five minutes later, bursting through the front door with all of Cat’s luggage. Cat hadn’t expected him for hours and she wondered what she’d done, or what might have happened to bring him back already.
Quickly, she rinsed the sticky jam off her hands before going to the hall. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“I forgot I still had your luggage,” he said, stacking her luggage inside the front door.
“Oh, I wish you hadn’t come back because of that,” she said, going to steady the smaller bag resting on the largest case. “I don’t need anything until later.”
“I might have waited but I realized I forgot my computer,” he said, looking at his daughters from the kitchen doorway. “Are you two behaving?”
“Like angels,” Cat teased, flashing a smile.
He arched a brow, dubious, still taking in his daughter’s faces. Jillian’s defiant expression didn’t help. Olivia looked uncertain.
Rhys turned to Cat and said under his breath, “Jilly has an attitude.”
Cat shrugged, unbothered. “We’re good. I promise.”
His expression held the faintest glimmer of apology in his eyes. “I did try to warn you.”
“And I did say I could handle it.”
“You did,” he said, and something almost like admiration flickered across his face before it was gone. “My things are on the dining room table. I’ll just grab them and go. Unless you want me to take your luggage up first?”
“No, I can manage, thank you.”
“The girls will show you your room.” He glanced at them, a black eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. “You will be helpful, yes?”
“Yes,” Olivia said loudly.
Jillian gave a halfhearted nod, but it was something, and something was progress.
Rhys disappeared into the dining room and emerged with a sturdy case and an armful of books.
“If the girls get hungry, don’t wait for me.
Mrs. Johnson brought us shepherd’s pie this morning.
You just need to put it in the oven. She left instructions taped on the foil.
” And then he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him.
When Cat turned back to the girls, Jillian was gone. Seeing Cat’s confusion, Olivia pointed up, indicating upstairs. So much for progress.
“Want me to show you your room?” Olivia asked. “I can help you carry your things up.”
“That is very nice of you, Olivia, but I have a better idea. What if we have one of those delicious jammie dodgers and see if there’s a show we can watch together?”
“I’d love a jammie dodger but we don’t have a TV here. It’s like the olden days where you had to make your own entertainment.” Olivia made a face. “I’m tired of making our own entertainment.”
“Maybe I can think of something. But first I need a cook—biscuit.”
Olivia giggled. “It’s okay if you say cookie. I don’t mind.”