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Cara smothered a yawn. She was tired, too, and more than ready for bed, but Alec, after gathering the takeout cartons, and putting some in the refrigerator, and others in the garbage, turned his attention to the trays of flutes on the counter by the sink.
“Leave them to me,” she said to Alec. “I’ll wash them in the morning. I’m sure you are tired, and would like some time to yourself.”
“I should do them tonight—”
“Why?” she interrupted. “Are they going to get into mischief tonight? Start to dance? Possibly go to the disco?”
“You are ridiculous,” he answered, smiling. “Sherbourne flutes do not go to the disco.”
“Oh, I see. They’re more likely to be seen at the symphony or the opera?” she teased.
“You laugh, but yes.”
But despite his smile he began to fill the sink with hot water, and then added a squirt of dish soap. He was going to wash the glasses tonight anyway.
She smashed a sigh. The man was so stubborn, but she was every bit as determined and there was no way she’d go to bed and leave him alone in the kitchen after he’d spent most of the day driving her around, showing her the beautiful Peak District, taking her to Haddon Hall. If she was tired, he had to be exhausted.
“What if I wash and you dry?” she suggested, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“I know.” She stepped next to him, and gave him a push with her hip. “I hate drying so you get to do that.”
“I don’t mind drying, so that’s fine with me.”
For the first few minutes they just washed and dried without much conversation. Lady was snoring in front of the fireplace and Cara glanced at her twice, trying not to laugh.
Alec noticed though. “It’s the only unladylike thing about her,” he said. “In every other way she is a perfect lady.”
“No doubt in my mind,” she said, rinsing bubbles off a glass before placing it upside down on the towel.
Alec picked up the glass, having no problem keeping up with her. “Today was the first time I said Madeleine’s name aloud in over a year.” He focused on the glass in his hand, buffing it to aspotless shine. “It felt good to say her name. And tell you about her.”
Cara rinsed another glass and set it in the tray to drain. “I’m glad you did. I’d love to hear more, if you want to talk about her.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“Why would I? She was your wife, and you loved her.”
He nodded but didn’t immediately speak. It wasn’t until he picked up a new glass he said, “We met in London, in the financial district. She worked in finance as well. She had a better head for numbers than I did. She could ski better than me. She could pretty much do everything better than me. And she had such style. Her mom was French, her dad British, and I fell for her hard. I hadn’t meant to settle down at a young age. I hadn’t any desire to get married, and then I met her, and it was so easy. It just worked.”
“The best kind of relationship,” Cara said. “Where were you married?”
“Here. Married at All Saints in Bakewell, and then the reception was here. We’d put up big tents on the lawn for the reception—it was summer, a July wedding—but we had horrendous rain and for a little bit the party moved inside, but then the rain stopped and everyone returned to the tent and danced for most of the night.”
“You dance?” Cara asked, eyebrow arching because he didn’t look like one to tear up the dance floor for hours.
“No. But our guests did, and Madeleine and I just enjoyed talking to everyone. It was such a party. A celebration.”
“And now it’s almost Christmas and the anniversary you must dread every year. She must be on your mind, with it being almost Christmas again.”
He nodded. “I do dread it. The first few years after her death were incredibly difficult, almost impossible, but last year, my father’s health was failing, and I had to make the decision tofind him a safer place. I think worrying about my father, and the guilt from putting him in a new care facility, took up most of my thoughts. And then this year—” He broke off, looked at Cara. “Having you here has helped. You’ve been a good distraction.”
“But does me being here, distracting you, seem disloyal to her?”
“No. Madeleine wasn’t precious, certainly not about things beyond one’s control, and she wouldn’t want me to spend my life mourning her. Just as I wouldn’t have ever wanted her to go through her life single or alone. I think that’s what made our relationship successful. We both wanted the same thing for the other. We were exceptional friends, and there was a lot of mutual respect. So, no, Madeleine wouldn’t have wanted me to dread Christmas, or the anniversary of her death, which is why I started seeing Elizabeth.”
“But the relationship wasn’t as easy as you hoped,” she said, reaching for another glass. They were a good team and nearly halfway through all the flutes.
