Chapter 9
NINE
‘How are you, Aunt Chrissie?’ her great-aunt had felt a little under the weather the night before, and Heather had been worried about her.
She sat on the end of her aunt’s bed; it was so soft that she felt she’d sunk into it.
As well as probably being an ancient mattress, Chrissie’s bed was topped with two thick feather eiderdowns and a vintage embroidered quilt.
Heather had always loved the quilts on the beds at the castle; it was a tradition that every Lady Balhennie made at least one, and there were quilts that dated back at least a couple of hundred years.
The variety of embroidery was amazing; some were candlewick bedspreads, made of white linen with white floral patterns; some featured American-style quilting, with geometric patterns depicting fruits and flowers; some used the colours of the Balhennie tartan as inspiration, or strips of the tartan itself.
Some – Heather’s favourites, completed by her grandmother Balhennie who had passed away when Heather was very young – featured elaborate pink and yellow roses, meticulously hand-embroidered in circular patterns on large cream velvet and linen quilts.
‘Oh, not so bad, dearie. Not so bad.’ Chrissie reached for her glasses at the side of her bed.
‘You’re sweet to come and see me. I just felt a little unsteady after the drinks yesterday…
when that happens, I just get into bed. I was up and about later but I still feel rather unsteady, hence I came back to bed.
I’m not the lithe young thing that I was.
’ She gave a wry chuckle. ‘I feel so decadent, being in bed in the daytime.’
Heather had always been close to her great-aunt, and she didn’t like the thought of Chrissie getting frail.
However, of the two aunts, Chrissie had always been the one who was sensitive and gentle.
Aunt Joan was tougher, though her thick skin and sharp tongue hid a similarly sensitive soul.
Heather had often thought that Joan and Chrissie were a little like her and Violet.
‘Not at all. You enjoy it, Auntie,’ Heather sighed.
‘I could do with going to bed myself, but I’ve got to go back and rescue Sorrel from Elizabeth Campbell in a minute.
’ She made a face. It was a huge strain trying not to mention the elephant in the room: that her husband-to-be, the Campbells’ own son, was absent from proceedings.
Heather had called Matty again as she’d made her way from the study up to her aunt’s room. She wanted to check in on Chrissie.
He still hadn’t picked up; it had gone straight to voicemail. Heather felt sick.
‘They’re not what you thought, are they?’ Chrissie asked; she might have been a little frail sometimes, but she was still a keen observer of other people, and Heather had inherited her talent for empathy.
‘Not really, no.’ Heather let out a slightly panicked laugh. ‘I didn’t expect to be marrying into the Scottish Kardashians. That’s what the press calls them.’
‘And Matty never said anything? About them being so rich and famous?’
‘No. He was very quiet about his family.’ Heather rubbed her temples: she felt a headache lurking. ‘I wish he would’ve said something. It just makes me feel… anxious… that he could have kept something that important from me. I wonder what else he’s not telling me.’
‘Yes, dear. I can understand that. But he obviously had his reasons. Have you talked to him yet?’ Chrissie reached for an open box of chocolates beside her bed, removed the lid and dug around with her forefinger for a moment before popping one into her mouth.
She offered the box to Heather, who shook her head.
‘No thank you, Auntie.’ Heather didn’t want to explain that she actually couldn’t find Matty, and that he’d disappeared, but her aunt looked keenly at her.
‘He’s disappeared on you, hasn’t he?’ she asked. ‘He wasn’t there at the welcome drinks, and you looked so uncomfortable. There was some sort of excuse – he’d had to go to work unexpectedly. But who goes to work in the middle of a meet-the-parents party? You can tell me, my lovely one.’
‘Oh, Auntie!’ Heather let out a sob. She’d been trying to keep it together, but now she couldn’t do it any longer. ‘What if the wedding’s over? We had a row, and now he’s just gone! Who does that? It’s twelve days until the wedding!’
‘Oh, no!’ Aunt Chrissie looked appalled. ‘Have you known him do this kind of thing before? Where would he go, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. But he was being really secretive with his phone in the past couple of weeks.
I was starting to worry about it, and then he explained it was his family…
he hadn’t told them, and then I think they arrived pretty much as soon as they found out about the wedding.
But now, I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s not just that?
What if he’s found someone else?’ The old doubts raised their heads in Heather’s imagination again, like the sea serpents in the loch that Sorrel and Bluebell used to write their stories about.
‘And, no, he hasn’t disappeared before, but… ’ she trailed off.
‘But you’ve only known him a year, dear,’ Aunt Chrissie finished for her.
‘There’s that saying, isn’t there… You don’t know someone unless you’ve seen them through every season.
Technically, you have, but I still don’t think you can know someone even if you’ve seen them through multiple seasons.
But that’s probably age speaking.’ She tutted.
‘I don’t love being so antique. I wish I had more of the joie de vivre I had as a girl.
It’s nice to believe in love and all those things. ’
‘It just feels so right, Auntie.’ Heather sighed. ‘Well… it felt so right. Until recently, I’d never felt this loved. Now… I just don’t know.’
‘Who are the Kardashians?’ Chrissie asked, peering at Heather through her thick glasses and chewing slowly; the glasses magnified her eyes, making her look slightly manic. ‘You said that, just now. I was trying to be polite and act like I knew what you were talking about, but I don’t.’
‘Oh, an American celebrity family. They had a TV show and now they all have various celebrity careers. They’re always in the magazines.’
‘Oh, I see. Like the Fondas.’
‘Hmm. Kind of. More like a real-life Dallas or Dynasty, but without the oil.’ It was the best comparison Heather could come up with that she thought Aunt Chrissie would know.
‘Oh, my.’ Chrissie raised an eyebrow. ‘I did love Joan Collins in Dynasty. She was marvellous. Such outfits. She was always my inspiration when I was a model. That was a long time ago, though.’
‘Hmm.’ Heather looked up, realising what Chrissie had just said. ‘Wait. What? I didn’t know you were a model.’
‘Oh. Yes. I was, for a while,’ Chrissie said evasively. She reached into the chocolate box again and took out another sweet. ‘I’m not supposed to have more than a couple of these per day, you know. Because of my diabetes. But I do love them.’
‘What kind of model? Fashion? Catwalks?’ Heather leaned forward, curious to know more.
‘Hm. More or less.’ Chrissie picked at the quilt. ‘You know, Evelinda made this quilt. Rather nicer than some of her other questionable taste in interiors.’
Heather got the distinct feeling that Aunt Chrissie was trying to change the subject.
‘Auntie, tell me about your modelling. I want to know! I could do with the distraction,’ Heather insisted.
Chrissie sighed. ‘Oh, really? It’s not very interesting. You just stand how someone tells you to stand, look how someone tells you to look, and wear things. That’s all it is.’
‘Well, I don’t think that is all it is. For one thing, I take a horrible picture; I can’t arrange myself in pictures like some people seem to be able to do. And for another, I want to hear about what you did! It’s exciting! I had no idea. I don’t think anyone knows, do they?’
‘None of you girls. Joan remembers.’ Chrissie pulled a face. ‘Joan remembers everything, unfortunately. I’m waiting for her to lose her marbles so that she won’t constantly keep reminding us all of things we want to forget.’
‘You want to forget being a model? Why?’
‘Oh, it’s not interesting enough to remember,’ Aunt Chrissie said, airily. ‘More to the point, we should talk more about how to deal with the in-laws from hell.’
‘Oh, I don’t know what to do, if I’m honest, Auntie.’ Heather took her great-aunt’s hand with its paper-thin skin and held it carefully. ‘Matty’s left and he won’t talk to me. Elizabeth is awful. Everything just feels as though it’s going wrong.’
‘Oh, my lovely girl.’ Chrissie kissed her great-niece’s hand.
‘We’ll get the better of them, you mark my words.
And this wedding is yours, not theirs. If time has taught me anything, Heather, it’s that this is your one beautiful life, and it’s up to you to make the decisions that will make you happy.
No one else will do it for you. That said, this is your beautiful wedding, and I’m not going to let anyone spoil it for you.
And if I can’t stop them, then Joan certainly can. ’ She winked.
‘Oh, Aunt Joan definitely has the measure of Elizabeth Campbell,’ Heather said, thinking of their exchange the previous day.
‘Ah, Joan was always a tiger,’ Chrissie laughed.
‘I’m more of a pampered housecat. But we both have claws when we need to.
’ She took Heather’s hand. ‘Listen to me. If Matty’s not home by tomorrow, then you have to go and find him and ask him, face to face, what the hell he’s up to.
He can’t leave you in the lurch, so soon before your wedding.
It’s cruel. If needs be, I’ll go and find him myself. ’
‘Auntie, don’t be daft.’
‘Oh, I will. But you need to be strong in all of this. Women need to be strong.’ Aunt Chrissie paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
‘All my life, people have told me that I was soft and pretty and pliable. And perhaps I am those things. Or I was. But I was, and I am, resilient. Heather, you have to know that you have the backbone to cope with whatever these Campbells throw your way. And what I used to do, when I was modelling and at all different times in my life, was that I’d imagine myself as a vast angel with wings and a cape.
And sometimes I had a flaming sword, like St Michael, if I was really cross and wanted revenge, or I wanted to protect myself.
And I’d imagine being much taller and bigger than the person who was being mean to me, and glowing with a righteous light, and that would help me feel strong.
Maybe you should do something like that. ’
‘Pretend I’m an angel?’
‘You are an angel. Like, a superhero, in your modern parlance, I suppose.’ Aunt Chrissie pulled the covers around her. ‘Glorious and powerful, anyway.’
‘Well, it’s a thought. I’ll give it a try.’ Heather kissed her aunt on the cheek. ‘Get some rest now, Auntie. And thanks for the chat. It helped.’
‘I’m not daft, and neither are you, Heather Balhennie.’ Aunt Chrissie wagged her finger at her great-niece. ‘Remember that.’
As if I could forget my heritage of strong women, Heather thought. It was a good thing: a thing to be proud of, but sometimes, when all you wanted to do was lie down, pull the covers over your head and weep, the expectation of being a Balhennie felt like a measure she could never live up to.
Heather vastly preferred not being fierce: she didn’t want to have to go and chase Matty down and make him explain himself. She didn’t want to make him come back and marry her. She didn’t want to have to imagine herself as a righteous angel or a superhero to be able to get through life.
She wanted Matty to be beside himself with joy that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her, and do everything in his power to make that happen.
Heather left her aunt to rest and softly closed the door behind her.
Though it had helped to talk to Aunt Chrissie, she still didn’t know where Matty was, and whether her wedding was going to happen at all.
Her stomach clenched in fear: a terrible spectre of failure and loss seemed to hang around her.
Why was this happening? Why was Matty torturing her like this? Was it, in some way, her fault?