Winter's End (5 page)

Mrs. Kinnaird still
nerved her slightly. Although she was grateful that she had been concerned of
her safety, she didn’t want to trespass anyone’s boundaries and she certainly
didn’t want Mrs. Kinnaird to feel that she was taking advantage of her
goodwill.

A knock rapped at her
window, shocking her back to reality. She clutched at her chest, trying to
breathe out an air of relief as she saw that it was only Lisa. She was waving wildly
through the large windows, her mouth in an open, wide smile.

She rose to open the door.

“Hi there,” said
Lisa. “I got something for you.” She pushed her way past Emma and into the warm
sun-lit room.

Emma rolled her eyes
and managed to prevent a sigh from escaping her lips. If there was one thing
she would need to get used to since moving to
Breakish
,
it was the ability of its locals to successfully annoy her. She did not know
whether it was a silent cultural aspect but they sure was subtly butting into
her private space each time she met one of them. Or in this case, forcefully
meeting her!

“Oh, my god!” Lisa exclaimed.
“Look at this conservatory! It’s beautiful! Did you put this up? It wasn’t here
before.”

Emma strolled up to
her slowly. “Yes, I did. Before moving in.”

Lisa roamed her eyes
delightfully over the white tiled floor and the wooden framed pitched roof. A
chandelier hung from the centre of its pitch. Pots of palm trees ornamented the
corners of the room while magenta sofas decked the centre.

“Oh, I got this for
you,” she said handing over a basket of fruit absent-mindedly, her eyes still
pre-occupied with the pretty down lights that lined the beams in the roof.
 

“Thanks,” said Emma,
admiring the assortment of fruit containing half of a water melon a ripened
papaya, mangoes and even a punnet of strawberries. “This is quite an…unusual
collection.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,”
said Lisa, blushing slightly. “Mr. Craig, the man who owns the store at which I
work, sometimes orders in the rarest fruit, just as a treat for his customers.
I was welcome to take home some, you know, being loyal staff and all. I had
more than enough, so I thought to bring you along some,”

“That’s um… really
kind of you, Lisa,” said Emma. She placed the basket on the little round table
by one of the many windows in the cosy conservatory.

“As a matter of fact,”
Lisa continued. “I saw builders five months ago drop into the property. Round
about the time the Fletchers sold the house. Didn’t know they were putting up
this gorgeous conservatory. I simply thought they were doing some maintenance
to the house.”

“Would you like some
tea, Lisa?” Emma asked, trying to
stray
away from the
subject of her house. “This is the first time you’ve come to visit. Maybe you
want to stay awhile?” She bit her tongue as she let the words slip out of her
mouth. She crossed her fingers behind her.

“No, that’s awfully kind
of you,” Lisa said, rushing towards the door. “I just came to drop those fruit
for you. Big Jim is going for a football practise in an hour.”

“Big Jim?”

“My thirteen year old
boy,” Lisa replied, proudly. “He plays right-back. And a very good one at that
if I can say so.”

“I’m sure he is,”
Emma said giving a small smile.

“Emma,” Lisa’s voice
took a sudden surprising serious turn. “Have you met Mrs. Kinnaird?”

Emma rose an eyebrow.
“Yes. A couple of days ago.”

“Well,” said Lisa,
looking anxiously at the door. “I should go now before I get any more late.”

Emma stepped into her
way before she could make an exit. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason in
particular,” Lisa answered somewhat unsurely. “Seeing that she’s your closest
neighbour that’s all.”

“Lisa, do you think
I’m stupid?” Emma said sternly.

“No, of course not,”
Lisa said, flustering. “I merely asked because…”

“Because, she’s my
closest neighbour?” Emma asked with a hint of sarcasm. “Oh come on, Lisa. Give
me the decency to not play me the fool.

“I’m sorry, Emma,”
she answered, licking her lips nervously. “But really, it’s just that Mrs.
Kinnaird is… um… rather strange.”

“What do you mean
‘strange’?”

“Strange. She’s
different,” Lisa replied. “Listen, I wish I could tell you more. And I will, I
promise you. But I really need to go now. Big Jim’s practise, remember?”

“Oh, of course,” Emma
said, stepping out of her way. As much as she would have liked to have shaken
the story out of the woman, she knew she couldn’t.

Lisa bade her
farewell as she stepped out of the doors of the conservatory.

Emma watched the
woman disappear down her driveway, her curiosity further increased about the
neighbour everyone refused to talk about- Mrs. Kinnaird.

*****

“How is the weather
outside, Theodore?” said Mrs. Kinnaird. She put down her newspaper to look at
her butler
 
standing before the long
floor length windows.

“The usual January
closing
 
winter, Mrs. Kinnaird,” he
answered, refilling her cup with tea. “A little cold but tolerant enough to
take a walk.” He gave a small glance at the older woman.

Mrs. Kinnaird let out
a thoughtful grunt. She accepted the cup and took a slight sip. “Has the young
lady taken a walk yet through the land?”

“I can’t say that I
have seen her, my lady,” said Theodore, stepping back from the table.

“Mrs. Kinnaird
drummed her small,
frailed
fingers on the table. “Why
do you think that is, Theodore?”

“I’m sure she will in
her own good time.”

She didn’t like it.
She didn’t want her young neighbour to take up her offer “in her own good
time”. She was too old to wait for her to take a walk through her property “in
her own good time”. She wanted ‘now’. She needed ‘now’.

Her eyes fell on the vintage
vase in the centre of her small round table. She trailed the exquisitely
detailed golden rimmed base of the vase with her eyes. She remembered the
numerable times she had silently counted the small hand-painted pink blossoms
that sat against its peachy background. Today Nancy had created a beautiful
ensemble of yellow freesias that stood in perfect array within it. She always
wondered where Nancy ordered her flowers from because they always did come
regardless of the seasons. She never did ask though. Sometimes these questions
were better left to those who knew how best to answer them. But not those of
young Mrs. Winston. She needed to know more about her.

She picked out a
yellow blossom out of the vase. Weren’t freesias autumn and spring flowers?
These looked too pretty and cheerful for Skye’s winter.

“We might need to pay
her another visit, Theodore,” she sighed.
 
She rose and strolled thoughtfully to the
beautiful carved white sideboard cabinet displaying an assortment of family
photographs. It stood against a wall dedicated to another large collection of
family memories. She traced her fingers along the dainty, silver frame of an
old, dull black and white photograph. The man in the picture staring back at
her with his dark eyes, had even darker hair sleeked back and parted in the
middle. He was young, in his twenties, Mrs. Kinnaird remembered. His smile was
so affectionate that she had to return it with her own.

“Arthur wouldn’t
agree,” she said. “ ‘Wait a moment, Ethel. You’re far too impulsive;
impatient’, my Arthur would have said.”

She sighed again
tiredly. Turning to face her loyal and faithful butler, she asked, “Have I
changed that much Theodore?”

Theodore attempted to
look away, pre-occupying his mind with the details of the Persian carpet gracing
the floor of the family living room. “It’s not my place to say, my lady.”

Mrs. Kinnaird grunted
and hobbled back to her chair. “Oh, come off it, Theodore. You’ve been in the
family far too long that you’ve almost become one. I would trade you any day
for that prying, nosy, meddlesome cousin of mine, Deanna Boyd.”

She picked up her
newspaper, trying to continue with it from where she left off but instead
slammed it back onto the table with a thud. “Tell me, Theodore, how is that old
twerp’s been doing?”

“Mrs. Boyd’s been
well, Madam,” Theodore replied. Despite his love for his mistress, he hated
being caught in the Kinnaird family dispute. As much as he’d like, he would
prefer to stay as far from it as possible. The
Kinnairds
could get nasty and dirty if they wanted to. He was a living testament to that.

He adjusted the ends
of his jacket and continued, “In fact, she called up this morning to ask for
your health. I reported you were doing excellently in spite of the small cold
you suffered earlier on in the winter. I naturally didn’t put her through to
you as you had advised. I said that you were still asleep and did not wish to
be disturbed.”

“Asking for my
health, indeed!” she spat out. “The woman is concerned with nothing but the
date on my funeral headstone!
Argh
!” She reclined
into her chair, quiet and thinking.
 
“Do
you remember, Theodore, how once these rooms were filled with laughter and
people. Beautiful people. Arthur, the children, George, Mary, Anne.”

She looked at the red
decorative wall paper and its green and gold trimmings, the memories of their
debate entwined within it.

“Blue, mother,”
George had said. “That red is just horrendous.” He let out a disgusting sound.

“Oh, stop
exaggerating, George,” Ethel Kinnaird said. “I think it’s really pretty.”

“You only say that,
mother, because Anne chose it,” Mary replied, poking out her tongue in a tease and
moving to sit on her father’s arm chair. She put her arm around her father’s
neck endearingly “What do you think, Pa?”

Her father looked up
from the book he was reading. “This is where a man should learn to keep his
opinion to himself. Unfortunately, George doesn’t seem he will learn it soon
enough. Not until he gets his own
 
bevy
of beauties he would want to keep happy.”

George scowled. He
was after all only fifteen years old and the youngest in the family.

“I am not going to
have us host my fiancé’s family in that officious
 
blue, mother!” Anne argued.

“Mother!” George
protested.

Ethel gave him a
disapproving glance. “You do protest too much, George. And it’s not a horrendous
shade at all. I think it is warm, friendly and quite elegant.”

Arthur lifted a questioning
eyebrow. Mary rolled up her eyes and George huffed.

The only one that did
look pleased was the bride-to-be, Anne Felicity Kinnaird.

Mrs. Kinnaird
smiled.
 
The wallpaper was horrendous.

The light had begun
to fade outside, accompanied by a drizzle of light snow that sparkled its
crystals as it showered gently all around her house. The children were occupied
with their favourite television program. From the sounds of their laughter,
Emma could tell they were far too engrossed to spend the afternoon with her in
her conservatory.

She lay back on her
settee, watching the snow patter against her glass roof. She almost fell
hypnotised by its rhythmic shower when she heard a tap against her
conservatory. She peered over the top of her settee and managed to spot Lisa
through her windows again. She hunched back and winced.

Reluctantly, she rose
and opened the door.

“Hi there,” said
Lisa, pushing past her yet again, inviting herself into Emma’s house. “Damn
it’s cold out there.” She vigorously rubbed her palms together. “I’ll take that
tea,” she said, smiling. “God, this place looks even greater in the evening. I
should get Bill to see this. I would so love one of my own.”

Emma stared at her
blankly. The invitation of tea had expired long ago that morning and which she
distinctly remembered Lisa had turned down. Despite that, she found herself
walking over to the little kitchen cabinet and making themselves a small pot of
tea. She shook her head in disbelief. Six months ago, she would never have
tolerated such insolence in her London mansion. She must be growing soft and
tolerant to the impertinent cultures of her neighbours.

“How did Big Jim do
at his practice?” she asked trying to decipher why Lisa was back again, twice
in a day at her house. She prayed silently that this was not an inkling of a
habit she might have to endure in the near future.

“Oh, he did well. It
was just a friendly match the boys had set up amongst themselves. Gives an
excuse to make most of a good and sunny day in the winter,” she rambled. “It
was good too with the sudden change in weather.”

Emma smiled. “Skye
weather is quite unpredictable.” And so are its residents, she added silently.
“Did you drive here? I didn’t see your car.”