‘Only if it’s no trouble.’ The elderly woman sank gratefully into a chair.
‘Not at all,’ and Callie escaped into the kitchen.
She had no idea why Cicely Carrington had come here today, but if, as she suspected, it was on Logan’s behalf, then she didn’t want to know. She liked the woman, but even so, Logan was a subject she didn’t want to discuss with anyone.
But Mrs Carrington was in no hurry to get to the point of her visit, and accepted her cup of tea with one of her sweet smiles. ‘This is a lovely flat,’ she said warmly. ‘Jeffrey was always very artistic—did he help decorate the flat?’
Callie smiled, remembering the fun they had had. Jeffrey might have been artistic, but when it came to practical things like wallpapering he was completely hopeless. She and her mother had been in hysterics by the time it was finished. Jeff had shut himself away in his studio for a week, to do ‘some real work,’ he said. It had been a standing joke in the family for months afterwards.
‘Yes, he helped,’ she told the other woman. ‘Under protest. I’m afraid sculpture was his real art.’
‘Yes, Logan told me how clever he was. Logan knows about these things,’ she added without conceit for her son.
Callie remembered the way he had instantly recognised the work in the studio as being Thornton. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged softly.
‘I’m so sorry I haven’t called earlier,’ Mrs Carrington apologised as she accepted her cup of tea. ‘It was so silly of me to fall over as I did.’
‘I had no idea you’d hurt your ankle,’ said Callie.
‘Just a sprain, dear,’ she confided. ‘I bruised my ego more than myself. I’m always telling Logan how independent I am, then I go and do something like this!’
Callie had stiffened at the mention of Logan. ‘It could have happened to anyone—even him,’ she added hardly.
Mrs Carrington smiled. ‘No, never Logan.’
She was probably right, things like falling over in the snow didn’t happen to people like Logan. But she wished Mrs Carrington would get down to the purpose of this visit; it couldn’t just be a social call.
‘You’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you?’ the elderly lady smiled kindly.
‘Well—yes.’
‘Well, as I said earlier, I would have come before, but I haven’t been out much since my fall. But something Logan told me when he got home yesterday compelled me to come and talk to you.’
‘Really?’ Callie said tightly.
‘Yes. I was so pleased to know that Jeffrey finally married the woman he loved. When Logan introduced you to me on Christmas Day I thought you looked familiar, but it was the name that fooled me. It never used to be Day, you see. And I’m not very good on faces,’ she gave Callie a vague look.
Callie was totally bemused by this incomprehensible speech. If she didn’t know better she would have said Cicely Carrington had been drinking. Maybe she was high on pain-killers for her ankle? Whatever the reason, she wasn’t making much sense.
‘I see,’ she humoured her.
‘Yes.’ The other woman obviously thought she knew exactly what she was talking about. ‘After all, Callie Day is nothing like Caroline Addy, is it?’
‘No.’ Callie’s interest sharpened at the mention of her mother’s maiden name. Maybe Mrs Carrington wasn’t talking nonsense after all.
The faded grey eyes were smiling kindly. ‘The first time I saw you it was like going back twenty-five years.’
‘It was?’ she frowned.
‘You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?’ Cicely Carrington realised.
‘Er—no,’ Callie admitted.
‘Didn’t your mother and Jeff ever tell you?’
She licked her lips nervously. ‘Tell me what?’
‘Oh dear,’ the other woman sighed. ‘I thought—Oh well, it’s just one more black mark against the family. And g