Ruby Red 3 - A Romance for All Time (Complete)

Chapter 4

Even with the three-hour time change, it was dark when the plane landed.

As they taxied towards the gate, Ali closed her book and tucked it into her carry-on. Sam's father had offered Ali his personal jet to get her home faster. It was generous, just like the man, but Ali had already booked her flight. She absentmindedly wondered if her own father would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.

Then she felt a pang of guilt. Comparing Christopher to her father was not what she should be doing right now. Still, she hoped for some similarities in circumstances. A few months ago, Christopher Harrington had had a heart attack. He'd been unconscious for days. Hospitalized for a week. His road to recovery was long but the head of the family was making progress, minding his health.

Could it be the same for her father?

Luckily her father had been at the club when the stroke hit. The onsite doctor called immediately, probably saving his life as the ambulance rushed to him. Now her father was lying unconscious in a hospital bed. The doctors were optimistic but cautious. They would all know more when her father woke up.

Ali picked her suitcase out on the rotating carousel. Grabbing the handle, she plucked it up and winched as it crashed on the hard, stone floor. Sam's attempt at a joke about overpacking rang in her head.

Sam had been trying to help. The love of her life's first instinct was to drop everything and make the journey with her. It had taken a lot of convincing to persuade Sam to abandon the notion. There was nothing he could do, she had told him. It would only be sitting in a hospital room waiting for her father to wake up.

In typical Sam fashion, his answer had been, "I could hold your hand."

Oh, how Ali loved him for it. And Sam would do it too. Travel across the country just to offer a modicum of comfort. The thought made her feel warm inside as she stepped out into the cooling evening.

Scanning the line of black limos awaiting passengers, Ali spotted a familiar face.

"George."

The smartly dressed man was stepping briskly towards her. For a moment Ali had the notion he might hug her. But instead, he reached down and took the heavy baggage she was clutching, offering her a wide grin.

"Miss Stinson. Sorry to see you under such unpleasant circumstances." Kind, milky grey eyes, under bushy white eyebrows threatening to make Santa Clause jealous, met hers. Matching thick white hair peeked out from underneath this chauffer's hat – an old-fashioned notion George insisted on clinging to. For all the years George had been driving for her family, she could count on her left hand the number of times she had seen the man without the cap on.

"Any news?"

Despite being technically staff, George was more like family in the Stinson universe. He had been driving for them for decades, ever since returning from some war overseas as an ex-soldier looking for work. Ali never asked why her usually indifferent father hired the man, she simply knew he was trustworthy, solid. George was just always there.

The older man opened the car door for Ali, shaking his head. "No change yet."

Slipping into the back seat, Ali felt the darkness envelop her when George shut the door. The base of her neck tingled and she dug in her purse for her phone. She sent a text to Sam, letting him know she had arrived.

Ali rubbed her ear as she waited for a response. The same one Sam had whispered words of love and support in at the security gate in the airport on the other side of the country. He'd held her until the boarding call when she'd had to rip herself from his arms to make her flight.

Her phone lit up with her blonde boyfriend's face followed by his response. It was a picture of Sam Ali had snapped during a casual stroll through the park on a sunny spring day. They had nipped out of the office for a quick lunch and decided to take their food to go, walking and talking. A half-hour of bliss where nothing memorable or earth-shattering was discussed, yet it left a permanent mark, like a brushstroke in the painting of their lives. Sam was happy, the light hitting his jade eyes, making them sparkle. Capturing the moment on a whim it quickly became her favourite picture.

The next few minutes were lost to a string of text between lovers. When Ali looked up, she was confused to find they were on the expressway.

"George?" The old man looked at her in the rear-view mirror. "Aren't we going to the hospital?"

George's eyes darted forward, probably to pay attention to the road. "Mrs. Stinson," he licked his lips, "requested you be taken straight to the house."

Ali folded her arms across her chest and slumped in her seat. Typical of her mother – orchestrating Ali's every move. What if she'd wanted to see her father? Was it such a crazy idea? Ali considered over-riding her mother's orders but decided against it. She was tired from the travel. Visiting hours were sure to be almost over. And there was no need to start this trip on the wrong foot.

City light pollution gave way slowly to brief glimpses of the dark as the limo raced out of the city. Ali looked out across the ocean. Even though she could not really see it, she felt it there - on the right side of the road again. There was something oddly comforting in the notion. In New York, the water was never where she expected it to be, it always felt turned around, trying to confuse her.

Familiar landmarks came and went as they drew closer to the Stinson family homestead. Ali felt butterflies in her stomach when George made the final left turn. She wasn't sure what she expected, but no one was waiting on the porch, arms outstretched to greet her.

Dragging her suitcase up the steps, Ali paused at the black lacquered door with the ornate brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Biting her lip, she wondered if she should knock or simply walk in. Instead, she rang the doorbell.

Light from the multi-tiered foyer chandelier almost blinded Ali when the door swung open, revealing a petite blonde woman not much older than herself in a black dress and white apron. It was like she had stepped back in time to her childhood. All this woman needed was a feather duster and she could have been an extra out of a movie.

"Yes?"

Ali didn't recognize the woman. She must be a new housekeeper. "Hi," Did her voice sound oddly high pitched? "I'm Ali. Lynn's... I mean Mrs. Stinson's daughter."

The maid's eyes widened. "Alexandria. Oh, do come in. We've been expecting you." Ali tried not to wince at the use of her full name. It had been over a year since she'd been referred to so formally. A year away from all of this.

Stepping into the black and white tiled foyer, Ali tucked her bag into a far corner, absentmindedly wondering if she would be staying in her old room or a different guest room. The minute she'd left the house for college, her parents had redecorated her bedroom, making it clear she was not expected to return.

The other woman informed Ali her mother was upstairs but should be down soon. Ali thanked her, leaving her to her dusting duties or whatever it was she did around the house this late at night.

Making her way into the kitchen, Ali grabbed a glass from the cupboard and rooting around in the fridge, looked for something to drink. As usual, it was stocked with an assortment of nondescript fruit juice looking options. Her mother was on a continual and often fruitless quest for the elixir of youth, usually in the form of some liquid tonic. 

Once, as a child, Ali had absent-mindedly drunk a glass without asking what it was first. What she thought was cranberry juice, she discovered a little too late, had been a beet-infused kombucha concoction. It turned her off of beets for perhaps the rest of her life.

She was on the brink of giving up and going in search of some scotch, an option as constant as the sun sinking into the sea in this household, when she heard a rustling behind her.

"Well look what the cat dragged in."

Ali nearly dropped her glass at the all to familiar deep voice. Slowly placing the crystal on the counter, trying not to let her handshake, Ali turned to regard the tall dark figure of Jack Blackhorne.