Clinton Priest

Chapter Seven

"Was that Priest?" Mother asks, her arms folded beneath her breasts. She is standing next to the fireplace, Isabelle's picture next to her.

"Yes."

"You left with him," she says, her slender fingers gently tapping her arm.

"He asked me to," I respond softly. I wonder why she's suddenly interested in my life. She's never cared who I mingled with as long as it don't mar the reputation of the Sinclair family.

"I don't like the looks of him," she tells me. "He looks like the sort of man whom mothers should keep their daughters away from."

"Then we are fortunate Isabelle isn't alive anymore," I say. It's out before I realise what I've said. Her eyes widens and then narrows before her hand hits my left cheek.

It's the first time she's raised her hand at me and it doesn't surprise me that she's finally gotten to it. It's been a long time coming.

"Apologise," she says, her chest heaving. "You don't get to speak like that to me. I'm still your mother."

She's always been prone to anger and dramatic flare ups.

I battle with the thought of opening my mouth. I want to tell her how sorry I was. I want to tell her I didn't mean to hurt her. But my lips refuse to part. The love of a child for the parents is instinctive. Something uncontrollable. Yet, somewhere along the line, I had lost it. It has been washed away like footprints in a terrible snow storm.

"Apologise," she screams. I step back, stumbling slightly.

"What's going on here?" Father asks as he comes to stand next to his wife.

We are at an impasse. Mother might be easily angered but she'd never laid a hand on me until now. It was a line she refused to cross. Father on the other hand has no such reservation. I think deep down, mother despises him for it.

"Nothing," she says after a few minutes.

"It didn't sound like nothing," he insists, glancing back and forth between us. "It sounded like you were shouting."

"I said it was nothing," mother snaps.

"Well then," father says, turning to me. His blue eyes hold a dark promise in them and I know that if I do not tread carefully, I will have a taste of his belt tonight. "The bishop will be joining us for lunch. I want us all present when he arrives."

"Adrian is out," mother says. "He left for France a few minutes ago."

"What!" Father shouts out in surprise. I take a step back too in an attempt to absorb my shock.

"He has business to take care of," mother says without care. "Besides, I think the change of environment will do him a whole lot of good."

"Go freshen up," father says as he stares contemplatively at mother.

I'm certain he's thinking what I'm thinking. Adrian has no business to take care of. In fact, the only business Adrian has is dead. Isabelle.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Diana asks. She is in my room folding some clothes.

"I need to take a shower," I tell her as I strip out of my clothes.

"Why? You smell good. You can take a bath after dinner."

"The bishop is coming to the house," I tell her.

"I know," she says. "You didn't come home with your parents."

"Mr. Priest gave me a ride home," I tell her, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"A four hour ride?"

"We spoke for a while. He's quite intriguing."

"Intriguing?"

"Yes. He uh... he's intelligent, well travelled. He seems to know a lot of things," I say as I try to find the right words to describe him.

She picks up the clothes from the floor and turns to me.

"You should get out more, Scarlett," she says.

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid for your well being."

"Diana," I start.

"You are setting yourself up for another heartbreak," she interrupts.

I part my lips, ready to dispute her but then I hesitate. She's right.