Later, when she had time to think clearly, she would have to consider whether that had been a factor in him leaving her cabin so precipitously. Maybe even why he’d left? she needed to think hard about that. But Winsome was looking at her hopefully.
What was she thinking? Winsome was all alone. ‘I’m sorry. You poor thing. I’d love you to join me. I was feeling quite sad that I might not see you again,’ Kelsie said with a smile.
Winsome settled down opposite Kelsie in the big plush seat and they both gazed at the silver ‘1927’ plate above the doorway.
‘You haven’t got rid of me yet.’ It was said quietly and Kelsie wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to have heard, and she chewed her lip as she tried not to laugh.
‘I love these carriages,’ Winsome said in a louder voice. ‘The way they’ve created scenery in the wood. Look at that castle there. All made out of slivers of different-coloured wood.’
Kelsie pointed. ‘You’ve got an island and palm trees above your head, there. Just under the luggage rack.’ Winsome craned her neck and Kelsie hoped she didn’t strain her back as the older lady bounced around in the seat to look at all the murals made of wood.
A tall, ridiculously handsome waiter in formal white tails trimmed with gold braid bowed, imparted his name as Samuel, and offered them a glass of champagne.
Surprisingly, even Winsome declined more bubbly, but nodded vigorously when he suggested tea.
Along came the silver teapots, sandwiches, caviar and quail eggs, pikelets and the inevitable scones and clotted cream. When the trolley with pastries and cakes was offered, Kelsie could see that nearly everyone shook their heads and declined. She didn’t blame them.
She was learning to taste the array of food only. Neither of them had spoken for the last five minutes and Kelsie felt obliged to open conversation. ‘Connor missed another lovely meal.’
The quail-egg wafer stopped halfway to Winsome’s mouth and landed back down on her plate as if she’d been waiting for just such an opportunity. ‘I want to talk to you about Connor. Do you mind?
Kelsie bit back a laugh. As if I could stop you, she thought, but it was a poor choice of topic, Kelsie admonished herself. ‘Why should I mind?’
‘How much do you know about Connor’s childhood?’
Actually, he’d always been more interested in her childhood but she knew a little. ‘That he lost his mother at a young age and he didn’t get on well with his stepmother.’
Winsome was nodding. ‘Both true. You know he was there when his mother died. Did he tell you that?’
Kelsie felt cold all over. ‘No. Just that she’d drowned when he was twelve.’
Winsome looked sadly surprised. ‘I thought he might have told you more. He changed from a happy-go-lucky boy to a serious young man that day.’ She sighed. ‘All of us changed.’
Winsome shook her head with regret. ‘He told me once it was his fault. That he should have told her to come back. Shouted it out. It’s funny how youngsters can blame themselves for something they have no control over.’
Winsome gazed into the distant past. ‘I always blamed his father but really it was my daughter’s fault. She was headstrong. Impulsive. She was always losing things. Took after me in the way she’d misplace things like her handbag, her purse, keys—it used to drive Connor’s father mad but she’d just sail on serenely.
‘The day she died she’d lost her engagement ring in a rock pool, and she left Connor on the beach, even though the tide was coming in.’
Winsome sighed. ‘A freak wave came, she hit her head badly, and it didn’t end well.’
Kelsie remembered the serious young man who’d been the Connor she’d known. How good she’d always felt when she’d made him laugh. How good he’d said he felt when he cared for her. ‘He was always going to be a doctor.’
Winsome sighed again and looked at Kelsie. ‘I think he felt at some deep level it was his life’s work to care for the people he loved from that day on.’ She smiled softly. ‘Caring for people. He has been there every inch of the way since my husband died. I was ready to curl up and die then but Connor made me sit up and believe I still had a life to live. That’s not a bad trait to have.’
‘So the loss of his mother is what made him so controlling.’
‘Controlling?’ Winsome’s head came up. ‘He’s not controlling, not in a negative way.’ She laughed. ‘He cares. Worries. Gives in all the time to me, but he worries all the same, and, yes, sometimes I humour that and allow him to boss me around a little. But that’s not controlling. He doesn’t do it for his own gratification.’