It started to snow again as they were having breakfast, but when Kay said she wanted Emily to wait another day before she went outside to build the snowman the twins didn’t object too much, content to play with all their new toys. Hence the morning was a lazy one of sitting by the roaring fire watching the children play while they listened to carols on the radio, the four adults talking of this and that as the smell of roasting turkey began to permeate the air.
After Henry served particularly wicked elevenses of coffee laced with Tia Maria and spices and topped with whipped cream, along with a plateful of his delicious home-made shortbread, Kay settled back on the sofa next to Mitchell in a haze of festive well being. She awoke some time later with the embarrassing realisation that she must have dozed off, her head now lodged comfortably on his chest and his arm holding her close as she curled into him.
She stiffened, raising her head cautiously only to stare into a pair of bright blue eyes. ‘You don’t snore when you’re asleep,’ he said conversationally, ‘but you do make the most enchanting little sniffles now and again, like a small animal making itself more cosy.’
Kay could feel heat flooding her cheeks and now Mitchell laughed softly, straightening as he said, ‘You’re not the only one who had a nap. Look over there.’ She looked and saw her mother was dead to the world too, stretched out on another sofa with a blanket over her lower half. ‘It’ll do you both good; you still look peaky.’
Peaky? What did tha
t mean? A mess? Something the cat wouldn’t deign to drag in? ‘Where are the girls?’ she asked, more to change the subject than anything else.
‘Helping Henry make a batch of muffins for tea. Apparently he was brought up with muffins for tea on Christmas Day afternoon, and as this Christmas seems to have turned into a family affair…’ He shrugged.
Did he mind? There had been an inflexion in his voice Kay couldn’t quite fathom. He must have had other plans for Christmas after all. A man like Mitchell Grey didn’t sit at home twiddling his thumbs.
He had bent to nuzzle her curls with his chin, murmuring almost to himself, ‘You smell wonderful. What is it you’re wearing?’
‘Baby powder.’
‘Baby powder?’ He leaned back to stare at her. ‘You’re joking.’
She shook her head. ‘When you carried me off I wasn’t in a fit state to think of perfume or cosmetics,’ she reminded him. ‘The twins had some baby lotion and powder in their toiletries so I’m using that.’
He shook his head, his eyes bright with laughter. ‘Do you mean to tell me that I’ve spent a fortune over the years on expensive perfume as gifts, and all the time I could have got away with baby powder?’
She stared at him. It was unintentional—probably—but suddenly she was reminded yet again that he was a ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ type. She breathed deeply. ‘I don’t think the sort of women you date would appreciate baby powder, Mitchell,’ she said evenly. ‘Do you? I’m a mother; that smell has been second nature to me for years.’
He wasn’t smiling any longer. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning nothing,’ she said carefully, ‘except that they’re used to Chanel and Gucci, and I’m used to baby powder and off the peg, that’s all. They could be ready to fly off round the world or attend an elegant function at the drop of the hat; I have to make sure my mother can babysit and even then half my mind is on the girls if one of them is poorly or upset about something. Two very different worlds.’
They both knew what she was saying. ‘Unbridgeable?’ he asked softly.
No, not unbridgeable. In fact if there was even the prospect he could offer something beyond a brief affair, she would build the bridge herself, brick by brick. She gave a brittle smile. ‘I think so. It’s a case of butterflies and moths, I suppose.’
‘You’re not a moth,’ he said roughly, a hardness entering his tone. ‘Not unless you choose to be.’
‘My option to choose ended four years ago.’ She eyed him bravely, inwardly shaking and outwardly composed. ‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way. All the Chanel and Gucci in the world couldn’t begin to compare with my children’s smiles. Cartier diamonds are nothing compared to a gaudy plastic ring and bracelet I have at home, things they got from some crackers that they think are wonderful but which they gave to me.’
He nodded. ‘I can buy that.’
‘But you can’t buy it, don’t you see? They give me their unconditional love and trust and I have to do everything I can to make sure their world is not shaken or disturbed,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding his words. ‘They’re little children, Mitchell. They don’t understand about moving on, and temporary liaisons, and being replaced, and I don’t want them to, not yet. Time enough for all that when they’re grown up and making their own way in the world. They’ll probably experience rejection and loss then. For now stability and a solid foundation is what is important. They’ll make lots of mistakes of their own; they’re bound to. That’s life. But I don’t ever want them to suffer through a mistake I make, no more than they have already by not having a father.’
There was a vibrating silence for a moment. She hadn’t meant to say that last bit, Kay thought distractedly; in fact she hadn’t even been aware it was there, buried deep in her subconscious. But she had made a mistake in marrying a rat like Perry, and her babies were paying for it in not having a father figure.
‘You can’t blame yourself because Perry turned out like he did, Kay,’ Mitchell said at last. ‘Nothing in life comes with a cast-iron guarantee.’
Her mother was beginning to stir, and now Kay said quickly and dismissively, ‘I know that.’
‘Do you? I don’t think so.’
She couldn’t do this. She really couldn’t do this. In a small voice she said, ‘Can we talk about this some other time?’
He nodded, lifting her chin, which had drooped, before he murmured, ‘It strikes me we’ve got a lot of talking to do. That wall you built to repel intruders is still steel-clad, isn’t it?’
The wall she had built? What about the one he’d constructed? She stared at him. ‘You were the one who said we’re two of a kind,’ she reminded him quietly. ‘You’ve done some building work of your own, Mitchell.’
There was no time to say anything more before the twins returned, flushed and proud from their cooking efforts, and woke Leonora fully. But all through Henry’s delicious Christmas lunch and the afternoon that followed Kay found herself going over what she’d said time and time again until her head was spinning. Had she said too much? Probably. Very probably, she admitted. But it was too late now.