Chapter 3

The sunset over Muskoka Lake, Canada, was spectacular in the fall. The autumn light was a mix of reds, oranges and golds. It bathed the lake and the shoreline with sparkling iridescent patterns of light off the water and into your eyes. The leaves from the deciduous trees carpeted the forest floor and drifted in short-lived islands of colour in the coves and bays of the lake.

Jamie Conner enjoyed the changes of the seasons that happened around Muskoka Lake. Every year it was similar but never the same. The hues and the shades of reds and oranges were determined by the heat and length of the summer sun. The past few years had seen longer and hotter summers. This made the colours more intense each fall when the leaves turned and dropped from the trees. He could spend all afternoon watching the changes happen before his eyes.

Over the summer, Jamie had been busy cutting and chopping pine logs for the winter fire. It was something he liked to do to keep fit and active. Repairing and building holiday cottages was his family’s business. Which meant Jamie spent more time in an office than outdoors, working in the fresh Canadian air. He was tall, broad and had red curly hair, a common trait among the descendants of the Scottish settlers from back in the 1800s. Jamie got up from his chair on the boat deck of the lakeside boathouse and went up to the main cottage to build a log fire for the evening. As the fire caught hold and smoke rose in the chimney. Jamie opened a bottle of fine Scottish whiskey and poured a generous glass for himself. Jamie added just one ice cube into his drink to fine-tune the whiskey’s flavour and taste. Just enough to round off the sharper tones of the alcohol.

Just then, as he was relaxing in an armchair to stare into the flickering flames of the logs burning in the fireplace, the phone rang.

“Beep, beep. Jingle tunes” played on the phone.

Jamie had a look at the caller. Madam Duvall, his neighbour who lived a short walk away round the edge of the cove.

“Bonjour, Madam,” Jamie said into the phone.

“Bonjour Jamie, how are you this lovely evening?” Madam Duvall asked him.

“I am well and tired,” Jamie told her.

“You work so hard, Jamie. It would help if you learned to relax more,” she said.

The polite conversation continued for a few minutes until Madam Duvall got around to telling Jamie what she wanted.

“That whiskey sounds nice. Can I come over and share a glass with you?” Madam Duvall said, inviting herself over for a drink and face-to-face talk with Jamie.

“Of course, I’ll have one ready for you when you arrive,” said Jamie.

Ten minutes later, Madam Duvall was sitting on the sofa beside Jamie with a glass of whiskey in her hand. She sipped it and enjoyed the taste.

“Not quite the same as a good French Cognac, but good all the same.” She complimented Jamie on his choice of whiskey.

Jamie sat and smiled at her. He knew some things about Madam Duvall. He knew she was French Canadian, rich, and a sexy swinger from the sex parties she and he had attended over the summer months. But She was also a very private person and much about her and Justine, her daughter, was still a mystery to him.

“What do you think about Justine?” she asked Jamie.

“What about her? I think she is a charming young woman.” Jamie answered but was still unsure of what Madam Duvall was asking him about her daughter.

“She needs to be married. I cannot keep her forever on the shelf. She must find herself a husband!” she said to Jamie.

“A husband, well, that does seem a good idea for her,” Jamie said.

“Good! Then you understand, Jamie. When will you propose to her?” Madam Duvall said it was a deal, and Jamie had just agreed to marry her daughter.

Jamie sat wide-eyed and stunned by the words Madam Duvall had just spoken to him. He took a large sip of whiskey, and it caught his throat and made him cough and his eyes water a little. Madam Duvall had just suggested that he and Justine get married, and she was asking when he intended to make a formal proposal to Justine.

“You understand, Jamie, and you would both make a perfect match. She is good at sex, and you are handsome and rich enough to keep Justine in the way she has become used to,” Madam Duvall laid it all out and made it sound all very reasonable and settled.

“I haven’t said yes, and you have me already halfway up the aisle with her!” Jamie spat out, still coping with his whiskey caught in his throat.

It took a while for Jamie to regain his composure and clear his throat. Madam Duvall sat sipping her whiskey like it was perfectly normal for a mother to arrange the marriage of her only daughter to a man that she had picked.

“Don’t be so upset, Jamie. You know that arranging a marriage is a very sensible way to do things. Falling in love is a romantic idea. However, it is better to do these things with a clear head and a good    idea of what both of you should expect from being married.”

Madam Duvall drained her glass and asked for another. Jamie took the sip and poured one for himself and one for Madam Duvall. The ice clinked in the mirror, and Jamie poured the whiskey. Then he sat next to her, and they both sipped together in silence.

“I am not sure I am the right man,” Jamie said in a low voice.

“Of course, you are, Jamie. You are as near a perfect man and husband I have ever come across in my entire life,” She said in such a matter-of-fact way. Jamie hardly noticed the compliment that she was giving him.

They sat together and looked into the flickering flames of the log fire. Jamie got up and added another log into the burn, and more flames leapt up and illuminated the room as the sun sank below the horizon and darkness came to the lake and the cottage.