She gave a rueful smile. ‘You don’t have to stay too long,’ she assured sympathetically. ‘In fact, if you would rather not go in at all I shall perfectly understand.’ Although strangely, after previously wishing Jed didn’t have to meet any of her family, now that they were here she was reluctant to see him go. His bluntness was preferable by far to the cold lack of welcome she knew she would find within.
‘Are you kidding?’ he came back scathingly as he switched off the ignition. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for anything.’
Meg wasn’t quite sure she trusted that glint of challenge she could detect in those deep blue eyes, but, to be honest, she was too grateful not to be entering the lion’s den on her own after all to question his motives.
‘Is this Granma and Grandad’s house, Mummy?’ Scott had predictably woken up at the soothing throb of the engine being switched off.
She turned to give him a reassuring smile. ‘It certainly is, darling.’
His eyes were wide as he looked up at the imposing house. ‘It’s big, Mummy,’ he said uncertainly.
‘It won’t look half as big once you’re inside,’ she said with more hope than conviction.
Perhaps she should have tried to prepare Scott more for this meeting with her family, but how did you even start to explain to a three-year-old that his grandmother could be a cold autocrat, that his grandfather was too mild to stop her, and that his aunt Sonia—Meg didn’t even know how to begin to tell him about his aunt Sonia.
She would just have to hope that the subtle nuances of any adult conversation would go way over his innocent head.
As it was she approached the wide oak front door with all the enthusiasm of the condemned man approaching the block.
‘Cheer up, Meg,’ Jed encouraged teasingly, obviously feeling no such trepidation as he moved lightly up the steps beside her. ‘It may never happen.’
He had no idea.
‘You ring the doorbell of your own parents’ home?’ he questioned incredulously as she did exactly that.
‘Well…yes.’ She grimaced, sure things were much more relaxed on his parents’ farm.
He really didn’t have any idea.
She could hear the click of heels on the hall tiles now, her hand tightening involuntarily about Scott’s as she prepared herself to face her mother.
‘Sonia, I didn’t expect you back just yet—’ Her mother’s voice dried to a halt as, having opened the door fully, she realized her mistake. ‘Margaret.’ She frowned at Meg. ‘I thought you were going to ring me and let me know when you were arriving?’ She looked down her patrician nose.
‘I was. I should have.’ But she had totally forgotten that promised telephone call in the rush of leaving the cottage.
Not that her mother had needed the warning to correct any defects in her appearance. As usual her mother looked perfect, her dark hair styled, her make-up and lipstick applied, the cream cashmere sweater she wore with a black skirt perfectly tailored to her slim figure.
Meg glanced awkwardly at Jed, shaking her head slightly as he mouthed ‘Margaret?’ at her, a name she had detested since childhood, deciding at eight, after reading Little Women, that she wanted to be called Meg instead; only her mother refused to use it.
‘There wasn’t time,’ she apologized awkwardly as she turned back to her mother. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘The oversight was my fault, I’m afraid, Mrs Hamilton,’ Jed cut in smoothly as he moved forward slightly to make his presence known.
If he was expecting that to change her mother’s demeanour he was in for a disappointment, Meg thought with a wince as her mother’s gaze moved past her to Jed Cole, those eyes only becoming more coldly blue, her expression more frosty, if that were possible.
God, this was awful. Worse than she could possibly have imagined. She should never have come. Wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
Instead, as if programmed, she made the introductions. ‘Jed, this is my mother, Lydia Hamilton. Mother, this is—’
‘Jerrod, Jerrod Cole,’ he cut in harshly as he took the limpness of her mother’s hand in his much larger one. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lydia,’ he added derisively.
And no wonder, Meg frowned, a transformation having come over her mother’s face, the coldness fading from her eyes to be replaced with incredulity, a slight paleness to her perfectly defined cheekbones.
‘I…’ her mother swallowed, looking at Jed uncertainly now, as if she weren’t quite sure of herself. ‘Do you mean the Jerrod Cole who wrote The Puzzle?’
‘Of course no—’
‘I’m flattered that you’ve heard of me, Lydia,’ Jed cut smoothly across Meg’s denial.
Meg stared at him disbelievingly.
Jerrod Cole.
Jed was Jerrod Cole?
Well, of course her mother had heard of Jerrod Cole; probably the whole of the western world had heard of him. His book, The Puzzle, had been at the top of the best-seller lists for the last nine months, a film of the book was already in production.
But Jed couldn’t be that Jerrod Cole.
Could he?
He really hadn’t meant to just dump the truth on Meg like that. Margaret? She didn’t look anything like a Margaret. He hadn’t intended telling her he was Jerrod Cole at all. But Lydia Hamilton’s attitude towards her youngest daughter had infuriated him so much he had just wanted to wipe that self-satisfied coldness from her unwelcoming face. And telling her exactly who he was had seemed the best way to do that.
He had never actually disliked anyone on sight before; usually it took him at least ten minutes or so. But Lydia Hamilton’s behaviour towards Meg, the way she hadn’t even looked at Scott, her own grandson, just made him want to shake the woman. And telling her his identity had certainly done that.
Although a quick glance at Meg showed him that she was as stunned by who he was as her mother, also that she wasn’t at all happy with this development, staring at him now as if she had never seen him before.
Which, in fact, she hadn’t. Not as Jerrod Cole, anyway.
But, damn it, Meg hadn’t recognized him when she’d come to the cottage, and, considering anonymity was the reason he was staying at the cottage in the first place, he wasn’t going to go around advertising the fact he was the author Jerrod Cole, now was he?
Although somehow, as a glitter of anger started to show in Meg’s eyes, he didn’t think she was going to be too impressed with that explanation.
He abruptly released Lydia Hamilton’s hand. ‘Although I would really rather you just thought of me as a friend of Meg’s,’ he added smoothly.
‘A friend of…yes, of course,’ Lydia looked completely flustered at this stage.
‘Perhaps you would like to invite us inside, Lydia?’ He spoke hardly now. ‘It’s getting a little wet out here.’ He looked pointedly at the snow that had just started to fall again, landing on their bare heads before melting.
‘Of course.’ She stepped back so that they could enter.
Which, after another frowning glance in his direction, Meg did, Scott’s hand still tightly clenched in hers.
Jed’s anger towards Lydia Hamilton turned to cold fury as he looked at the slightly bewildered little boy.
How could she remain so indifferent to such a cute kid? He knew he hadn’t been able to earlier this morning when Scott had begged to go outside and make a snowman. Scott looked so exactly like his mother, and surely, somewhere behind that cold mask, Lydia Hamilton loved her youngest daughter.
Maybe not, he decided after another hard glance at the older woman.
Aged in her early sixties, Lydia Hamilton was one of those women who looked as perfect first thing in the morning as she did last thing at night, never a hair out of place, her make-up applied expertly so as to smooth out any lines, the skirt and sweater she wore ultra-smart. Jed somehow couldn’t imagine this woman ever getting down on the floor to play with her children the way that Meg did with Scott.
Although she was fast recovering from her surprise, her smile once again cool. ‘Please come through to the sitting-room, Mr Cole, and meet my husband, David.’
‘Hey, look, Scott, a Christmas tree.’ Jed, having detected a slight trembling to the little boy’s bottom lip, moved quickly forward to pick him up in his arms and carry him across the cavernous hallway to look at the decorated tree, the urge inside him to actually strangle Lydia for her insensitivity to her grandson firmly held in check. He didn’t think Meg would appreciate it if he were to murder her mother in front of her eyes.
Scott cheered up at the sight of the nine-feet-high decorated tree, his eyes soon shining bright with wonder as he gazed at all the meticulously applied decorations and lights.
Relieved that his distraction had worked, Jed was nevertheless aware of the conversation taking place across the hallway between the two women.
‘I think you might have told me, Margaret,’ Lydia Hamilton snapped softly. ‘I felt ridiculous not knowing who the man was.’
Jed would take a bet on Meg feeling something a little stronger than ridicule.
But he didn’t regret what he had done for a moment. It had been worth it just to see the cold arrogance wiped off Lydia Hamilton’s face.
Meg took her time answering her mother, seeming to choose her words carefully when she did speak, ‘Jed likes to keep his anonymity for the main part,’ she finally responded huskily.