Not Just for Christmas Ch. 14-16

"These," he said, gesturing to those of Ingrid, "were taken in Brighton last week."

Claire's face lost its angry look, to be replaced by one of puzzlement and indecision.

Ingrid spoke for the first time. "I'm new to Mike's firm. My grandmother was taken seriously ill in Brighton and Mike was already going, and you know how generous he is to people in trouble. He paid for my train journey and the hotel; our house is small and it was full.

"This one is of us arriving at the hotel and Mike checking me in. This one, Mike bought me dinner. This one, my grandmother had died and I was upset, he was hugging me in the foyer of the hotel. This one he was helping me to my room; this one of us entering my room where he stayed and listened while I talked about her. This one must be him leaving the room, I kept him for at least an hour. He was very patient.

And by the way, I've not got a birthmark, and I'll show you my bum if you want proof. Those top photo's are not of me."

"Neither Ingrid nor Bryony are or have ever been engaged," stated Tom, "and since Bryony could not have been in Brighton that note is a fake as well. I'll add a few more details as to who might have set you up."

At this point there was a silence. Claire had her back to Mike, intent on what Tom was saying and watching the two blonde beauties in front of her as she tried to make sense of the new information, so much at odds with that of which she had been so certain. So Mike was able to slip out quietly and drive away.

He drove north towards the family home. He was going to take another week's holiday. He had phoned his mother and told her the whole story. She tut-tutted, and promised to tell Claire he would be there but to leave him alone and that he would phone her at the end of the week.

He wondered what his mother would actually say to her. She wasn't known for reticence but she was always kind.

It was very late when he got to the ancestral home, and he was whacked. His mother took one look and hugged him. Just what he needed. She said nothing about the situation but offered tea and supper which he enjoyed. His dad came in, patted his shoulder and left. That meant a lot to Mike, his dad was a man of few words.

Eventually, Mike capitulated. "Has-"

"Yes," Mam said, "she has. The poor bairn was very upset, keening awa' while I gave your message. She knows exactly what she's done, she told me in great detail. Silly girl! She's desperate to know if she's lost you."

"What did you tell her?" he asked, worried. "You didn't say I was going back?"

"Aren't you?"

"I don't know. She said and implied some pretty terrible things."

"I said that since you hadn't arrived yet, I didn't know what you thought. Was that right?"

"Yes, Mam, that was right."

He smiled at this woman who had always been his rock and his pillow, if the two can be compatible.

His parents were very good, keeping off the topic of Claire, though it was a real presence between them. Word got round the family and he was treated to advice, ranging from divorce to returning to her. He suffered it but it did not clarify his state of mind.

Catherine, always the older sister, in a long transatlantic phone call simply told him to take his time. "You'll know what to do in time, don't commit yourself until that moment arrives."

It was by far the best advice he'd been given and he told her she was a very wise woman, much to her discomfort and embarrassment.

Mike kept in touch with Rosemary each morning and evening and worked on the emails she sent him, even phoning some existing clients while Rosemary fielded the after effects of the exhibition which were greater than he had expected.

Claire had been good enough to wait without trying to contact him further. After three days, he decided to visit Callum O'Shaughnessy. Callum was an old friend from university days, now a lawyer and advocate in Edinburgh. They had somewhat lost touch over the years but he thought Callum might be able to clarify his position and offer some really impartial advice. Callum was delighted to hear from him and invited him to stay with him and his wife.

Before Mike left, his dad made his only comment about the situation. It was brief. "Stewarts keep their word, Michael. You said 'for better or worse'. She's a bonny lass, and spirited." Then he patted Mike's shoulder,

Callum's wife, Bridie, was a star. She made him feel at home, kept out of the way while Callum and he were talking but made one contribution just before Mike left.

Over the first day of his two day stay, he told Callum the story of his life with Claire and Callum listened without comment, nodding and encouraging him. Then that evening, over a number of different malt whiskies he began to ask questions. Mike couldn't see where the questions were going. To his surprise, Callum didn't centre on Claire's accusations but on the time she was in hospital and afterwards.

"What upset you most was her refusal to talk about it and then her silence?"

"I tried and tried to get her to respond but she wouldn't."

"Later, you said, she told you that it was to stop her giving in and allowing you back. She did it according to her lights in your own interest, Yes?"

"Yes but at the time I was in the dark and felt frustrated that she wouldn't discuss things."

"People told you things about her that made you suspect something was going on - she was seeing someone else?"

"That's right! That's when I assumed she was having sex with that tow-rag Bob."

"You believed what you were told because she didn't talk to you?"

"Yes. If she'd just answered one of my emails, told me what was really going on."

"You saw them at a club?"

"I lost it and called her things that were untrue and hurtful. I was so angry, I didn't realise I should talk to her until later, when I'd calmed down, but the next day she had her breakdown."

"So, she didn't tell you what was happening. You listened to other people. You misunderstood the situation. You lost your temper and were very angry, saying things you later regretted. Right?"

"Yes, that's it."

Silence. He poured Mike another dram, who added a dash of water. Mike wondered where this was going.

Then Callum dropped him in it. "When you phoned home from Brighton, did you tell Claire about Ingrid?"

"Well, no, I was so busy and it didn't seem important."

Callum simply sat back and let the silence speak.

Then it hit Mike.

"Oh God!" he mouthed.

"Aye," Callum said.

Mike was not stupid. He could see the parallel; the hurtful and ill advised comments he had made because she did not talk. The fact that he never mentioned Ingrid must have cemented his 'infidelity' in her mind, and so she made her own hurtful and ill-advised comments.

Callum smiled, and changed the subject to his collection of malts. Mission accomplished.

The next day, Saturday, as he was leaving, Bridie made her only comment as she hugged him goodbye, "Talk is cheap, Mike, but silence is golden, very expensive!"

He was flabbergasted: insight, the reversal of the usual meaning of the aphorism, and total economy.

"Thanks Bridie," he said humbly, "I need to remember that."

-

When Mike arrived at the ancestral home quite late on, his mother came out to meet him.

"Don't be angry Son," she said with a worried frown. "Claire's here with the bairns."

"That's OK Mam," he said soothingly.

"She went to the lounge when she saw your car," she volunteered. The lounge was the room for formal events. It was the largest room among large rooms, where they had big parties.

"Fine," he said.

As soon as he was inside the door he was assaulted by three young folk hugging him enthusiastically. He could not remember who said what but the gist of it all was they were pleased to see him and they had missed him, Mum was sorry, please come home. He felt overcome. He'd missed them so much - so much that it surprised him; it was a comfortable feeling to have them all in his arms again.

"Mum's in the lounge," said Siobhán as they disengaged themselves. "She's so sorry Dad."

He said nothing but left her with a smile and entered the lounge.

Claire was standing by the fireplace. She looked very apprehensive, almost scared. He stood inside the door and closed it behind him.

"Mike, I..." and she stopped as if lost for words. He waited his face impassive.

"I don't know how..." she began and then stopped again.

"Let's sit down," he said gently and was rewarded with a puzzled glance.

She sat in an armchair and he sat on the large sofa next to it and next to her and turned towards her.

"OK," he said. "Start again."

"I'm so sorry," she began again and the tears came. She took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

"Yes. So you should be. I told you that you would come back begging. I told you what would happen when you did. You said some terrible things, but the worst was accusing me of being a paedophile."

"What?" she gasped, "I never-"

"'Keep away from the children,' you said. How can you make amends for that?"

"Oh, Mike," she pleaded. "I was so angry, you know I'd never think you were like that."

"It was said. How can you unsay it?"

"Please, forgive me?" she became frantic. "That evidence was so compelling. I never thought it was malicious. You must see that!"

"Yes, of course I see that! But you wouldn't give me half a chance to explain; let's face it, you didn't even show me the evidence. You have no real faith in me, no real trust. Did I ever give you cause to doubt me?"

"No," she said quietly, "Never."

"So that puts your lack of trust in me in perspective doesn't it? I can't live with someone who has so little trust that they won't talk to me before condemning me."

Now there was silence. He let it grow, and mature. He had made his complaint and told her how badly he had been hurt. Now it was time to go forward.

He spoke again.

"I went to see two old friends of mine in Edinburgh, Callum and Bridie - you might remember them from the wedding. If it hadn't been for them there's a small chance I might have divorced you after I got back home. They spoke some sense to me, but really all Callum did was to ask questions."

Claire looked at him, puzzled, then with dawning hope in her eyes.

"You remember when I found you with Bob at that club?" he asked. It was almost a rhetorical question; she would hardly be able to forget it.

She nodded, "But we've been through that-"

"Listen," he cut in. "Humour me. You remember some of the things I said to you and about you? How vicious they were?"

She nodded again and a look of uncertainty began to form on her face.

"Why did I react like that?" he asked.

"Because you were in love with me; you wouldn't have felt so hurt otherwise."

"Yes, but why else?"

"Well, someone told you I'd been sleeping with him, but I hadn't, Mike!"

"Exactly. I thought you had lied to me and cheated because of what I'd heard. Because you weren't talking to me. I was livid with rage, and I accused you in most insulting terms of lying and cheating, of stringing me along."

"Well, yes-" She was struggling along with this trying to make sense of where he was going.

"Yes," he interrupted. "Don't you see? Can't you see the parallel with what you did to me?"

Light dawned in her eyes, "Someone told me that you'd slept with another woman. And I thought you had lied and cheated. And I lost my temper like you did."

"Why did you react like that, so strongly?" he asked.

She smiled and didn't hesitate, "Because I am so in love with you, I couldn't bear it."

"But more because I didn't mention Ingrid when I phoned you?"

"Well, yes. the photos came by post on Wednesday and you'd said nothing."

So," he asked. "Don't we really need to work on communication?"

She nodded. "We were both so angry because we love each other so much."

"Well?"

"Well what?" she asked, her eyes shining.

"Well, it's easy to forgive someone's love!"

He got up and pulled her to her feet and they fell into a clinch. They pressed against each other as if to get inside each other. She cried and he blinked back some tears as well.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Then they fell apart and looked at each other, laughing. He got out his handkerchief and he wiped her face. Then arm in arm they walked out into the rest of the house.

Outside the door of the room was a small crowd, Mike's parents and the children. They looked anxious until they saw the two of them with arms round each other and then their relief was palpable. Dad smiled and turned away. Mam did what she did best and hugged them breathless, while the two girls danced around them and Siobhán began to cry, grinning through her tears at her own emotional outburst. Ryan grabbed Mike's leg, and he lifted the boy up. Then it was the turn of the children have a group hug. All was restored.

That night they stood by the bed and faced each other.

"We're so stupid!" she said smiling and gazing into his eyes.

"We're learning to live together," he replied, loving her loving look. "Bridie said very little but at the end she said something I liked, something I thought very wise. She said 'Talk is cheap but silence is golden, often too expensive'."

"I promise I'll talk before jumping to conclusions," she said.

"You promised never to lock me out of our bedroom," he reproached her.

She had the grace to look embarrassed but then smiled wickedly. "I might have moved all your stuff out but I never locked the door!"

He had to admire her pedantry and said so. She giggled. It was wonderful to hear after all the angst. He realised it had only been a week since he got back from Brighton; it seemed like months and he wanted her. As she slowly lifted the hem of her tee shirt and as her hips swayed, it was clear she wanted him as well.

He undressed rapidly, but she continued slowly to become naked. She fell back on the bed, her legs wide-spread inviting his gaze on her readiness, until she pulled him into her. Her eyes were wild and she was panting; there were no words but it was clear what she wanted. He wanted it too.

They rutted. It was hard and violent but not in an angry way. It was slaking a thirst. He felt the gathering, but could not hold back and with a grunt he squirted his semen into her, and was relieved she then lost control and orgasmed hard and silently.

"Make love to me?" she asked once they had recovered and again were lying back. She reached for his cock and stroked it gently until it grew to fullness. Once again she spread her legs wide, showing her sex, wet with their emissions before leading him into her again.

He did what she asked, stroking slowly and gently, as she rose and fell to meet his thrusts. "You're forgiven!" he whispered as he continued to love her.

She nodded, but still looked troubled. Her reaction had an effect and he softened inside her. She touched his cheek and looked wonderingly at him, and he lay gently on her for a while, before rolling off. It did not matter that neither of them came; the unspoken words that their gentle love-making shared were enough for now.

They held each other entwined and fell asleep. As he fell into the abyss, he wondered at her troubled expression, and he realised there was unfinished business. It would wait.

Chapter Fifteen

They returned home the next day in convoy, and once again Siobhán travelled in the quieter car, this time with Mike. They went in the morning to avoid the worst of the Sunday traffic, and to avoid the traffic jams of the next day, the bank holiday Monday, so their departure was hectic. No time to talk further.

Once arrived they unpacked, ate and packed the youngsters off to bed. Siobhán went to her room to finish her homework ready for the next school day, so she could spend the Bank Holiday revising.

Mike and Claire were tired and went to bed, and after a hurried cuddle and kiss fell asleep. Monday was taken up with household preparations for school the next day, and after the children were bedded down, Mike began to sort his papers out ready for his return to work, while Claire tidied up and went to bed early, saying she was tired.

So from Tuesday normal life returned to its daily grind.

For Mike in particular a week from hell began. He realised that his absence the previous week was self-indulgent and fool-hardy at the worst possible time. He berated himself for neglecting his work. Doing a token amount in Troon was not enough.

Rosemary had been inundated with enquiries arising from the week in Brighton. Companies wanted to discuss orders, have meetings to discuss contracts in addition to the mixed general enquiries. Rosemary had fielded them, had been able to make tentative arrangements for meetings and to explain to some other companies whether bespoke products were feasible.

There were meetings already arranged for him, email and Skype discussions to be held, and meetings with his sales and research departments. Two orders had already been placed. It meant that his followup paperwork, piles of which arrived on his desk, had to be done each evening at home.

He tended to be abstracted at the evening meal, and then had to disappear for the evening, pausing only to read stories and put children to bed. Claire would come to the office and kiss him goodnight before going off to bed. He fell into bed very late, usually finding that Claire was already asleep.

He had explained the situation to Claire, who had shrugged her shoulders and replied that since she was largely to blame for the situation she could hardly complain.

By Friday he was once again on top of everything, and was congratulated by a relieved Rosemary who had worked every bit as hard as he had.

So on Friday night he was exhausted, and when Claire and he went to bed together, they only kissed and cuddled before he felt asleep in the middle of some intimate stroking.

On Saturday morning he strove to rectify matters, and they made love at some length. It was then that he again felt something was not quite right. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something about her responses, her smile. Did she avoid looking into his eyes as he stroked in and out of her, and brought her to her climax. No, she did look, there was love there, but something else, a reticence.

She came to his arms as they come down from their orgasms, and they kissed as usual, but again, did her kisses end a fraction before he was ready to stop? He wondered about it all day.

That night she came naked to bed as usual, as he waited for her, admiring her firm body and gentle curves. She climbed in and after a perfunctory kiss, she picked up her book and began to read.

He began to run fingers over her body and legs, over her breasts, and down into the hollow between her thighs, which were together. Usually, when he did that, her legs would fall open to allow access, but not this night. He pushed a little.

"Give me a few minutes," she said, "I'm nearly at the end of this."

He pulled away and turned over away from her, annoyed that after so long apart and after the crisis of the previous week she was rejecting him.

"Suit yourself," he grunted.

She did not react and he fell asleep before she finished her book.

He was in a bad mood when he awoke, and rolled out of bed before anyone was awake. He put on his running kit and went for a run, returning an hour later to find Claire up and dressed. She turned her head and look at him, then continued to prepare a hot breakfast. She said nothing and neither did he.

Again this was strange. If he left the bed to go for a run, she would usually still be in her dressing gown, ready to return to bed with him after his shower. Now he was worried.

He showered and dressed, by which time, the two younger children were downstairs ready for breakfast. He sat at the table and ate, saying nothing, except to answer if either of the children spoke to him. Claire chatted with the them but said nothing to him.