"Alright, alright, I promise I won't do it again. Anyway, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Now that I've said it in advance, you can't be mad at me, right? … Come on, I didn't do it on purpose… If you keep saying that, I might cry. Do you want me to cry in the airport hall? … Okay, I get it, I love you too, Jessie, but before you hang up, I just want to say… Jessie, I really miss you. Really!"
Click. Catherine hung up the phone with a big sigh of relief. Damn, that feeling again. I just wanted to say I miss you, so why is my heart racing so fast?
The little girl returned to the VIP lounge, where the flight was delayed due to heavy snow. Sitting down beside her parents, she began flipping through the latest issue of Rolling Stone. Though it was the latest, it had been out for quite a while. It featured a full-page review of her three songs, with a red background and a huge black silhouette with a big white question mark in the center.
The reviews were mixed, with some criticizing the lyrics and composition, but her singing was unanimously praised. One review stood out: "Absolutely perfect, even the flaws are perfect. Yes, there might be some shortcomings, but Miss C integrates them so well with the songs that they have a unique charm. It's truly astonishing."
Such high praise made Catherine feel a bit anxious, as if it was all unreal. Maybe checking Billboard would offer more opinions? Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to get a copy, so she'd have to wait until after New Year's when she got back from London.
But speaking of Christmas Day, was that little girl really Scarlett Johansson? Catherine wasn't sure. Unlike Lindsay Lohan, she'd never seen Scarlett as a child, and Scarlett didn't have distinctive features like Lindsay's red hair. Oh well, it didn't matter. Even if it was her, so what? It was more important to think about the New Year she would spend in London. The old Duke, her grandfather, definitely wouldn't let her off easily. It was truly worrisome.
When Catherine groggily woke up, she seemed to be in a car, unusually nestled in her father's arms.
"Hey, Dad, are we there yet?" The little girl yawned, sitting up lazily, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Such a sleepyhead. Your dad carried you off the plane and into the car, and you're still not fully awake," a familiar voice said, making Catherine startle and open her eyes wide. "Uncle Frank?!"
"It's me. Surprised?" Frank, who was in the driver's seat, laughed.
"As long as it's not Butler Gerald," Catherine sighed in relief, trying to snuggle back into her dad's arms, but her mom had already sat her up.
"Cathy, you just misspoke," Susan said as she adjusted Catherine's collar.
Catherine stuck out her tongue and stayed silent, realizing she'd forgotten that they were in England, in London, and visiting her grandfather. Here, certain things—like etiquette—had to be strictly observed.
"My dear sister, when did you become as old-fashioned as Dad?" Frank called from the front.
"Frank, it's not about being old-fashioned. Some etiquettes must always be observed," Susan replied.
Frank shrugged and muttered, "This doesn't sound like the you who eloped back then." Of course, he said this quietly, not wanting to risk Susan hearing and causing a scene.
By the time they reached Albert Manor, it was nearly 5 PM, and the sky was beginning to darken. The manor was lit up, with Christmas decorations now turned into New Year's ones, looking beautiful against the snowy landscape.
As soon as Catherine got out of the car, barking came from a distance, and two large shepherd dogs bounded over. Catherine laughed, clapping her hands and spreading her arms. One of the dogs leaped up and knocked her over, its tongue ready to lick her. The little girl shrieked and dodged, clearly enjoying herself. The other dog, slower, whined and circled her legs, rubbing against her repeatedly.
"Alright, Rollo, alright, Bobby, stop! Stop!" Catherine called out, and the two dogs finally stopped their playful antics, sitting obediently by her side.
"No wonder these two ran so fast; my little angel is here." An elderly but strong voice called out as a balding white-haired man with a cane walked over. Unlike her other grandfather, Kleist Mason, who was calm and steady, her grandfather Clark Albert was more outgoing. Beside him was the black-suited butler Gerald, with a slightly upturned mouth, giving off a peaceful air. However, those who knew him understood it was just an appearance.
Catherine wanted to go over and hug the old man but hesitated. Instead, she performed a curtsy, crossing her right leg behind her left and holding an imaginary skirt, lowering her body slightly.
The old man paused and then chuckled, "What's this? When did you start greeting me like this, my dear?"
The little girl stuck out her tongue, momentarily at a loss for words. Fortunately, her mother stepped forward and hugged the old man. "Happy New Year, Dad."
"Happy New Year, Dad," Vincent also stepped forward and shook the old man's hand. Unlike his relationship with his own reserved father, Vincent got along quite well with his outgoing father-in-law, an amusing fact indeed.
The family followed the old man into the manor, which, unlike her grandfather's New York villa, was purely English classical in style. From the doors and windows to the curtains and the corners of the walls, including the large fireplace, everything exuded an antique charm.
Catherine greeted her mother's siblings—more precisely, her mother's younger siblings—warmly, except for the youngest sister Winnie, who was still in Athens. One thing that was convenient in Western culture was that you could call all male relatives of your parents' generation "Uncle" and all female relatives "Aunt," saving a lot of trouble.
Overall, the family atmosphere here was better than in New York. This was not to say that the atmosphere at her grandfather's place was bad, but her mother had genuinely reconciled with her father after initially eloping out of love for her father. This was a true reconciliation, unlike her father, who barely spoke to his own father despite facing him regularly.
However, one thing remained unavoidable: the pre-dinner prayer. Although Catherine had been baptized—otherwise, how could she have a godfather—she was clearly not a devout Christian. Her parents, in their younger rebellious years, though Christian, were not very keen on attending church services either.
But her grandparents were different: one was a devout Jew, the other a devout Christian, and they were very strict about this aspect. Especially her grandfather, being a nobleman, adhered to many etiquette rules strictly. It was no big deal usually, but during holidays, these rules had to be followed.
So, despite the mouth-watering aroma of smoked fish, ham, cheese, and mashed potatoes wafting from the long table, Catherine had to sit properly on the long bench, praying with everyone before, with the help of servants, taking food onto her plate and eating it in small, ladylike, and elegant bites. If she had known, she would have eaten something on the plane instead of sleeping through the flight.
The only slightly pleasant thing was that her grandfather was unexpectedly denied wine. Butler Gerald had taken the bottle away.
"You can't have any wine, not a drop," the butler said politely but firmly.
Her grandfather could neither refute nor argue, muttering a few words before shrugging it off. After all, Gerald had grown up alongside him.
After dinner, things became more relaxed. Gathered around the crackling fireplace, family members formed small groups discussing various topics. If anyone wanted to watch TV, they could do so in their own rooms. The living room was reserved for conversations.
As the eldest granddaughter, Catherine was undoubtedly more doted on. Plus, she had a natural charm that even animals couldn't resist—like the two big dogs and the horses in the stable. At this moment, her grandfather's snow-white Persian cat was comfortably lying in her lap, its eyes half-closed. This little kitty was her grandfather's favorite, always sticking to him, with food specially prepared by him. Anyone else trying to play with her would only get a disdainful look.
"This isn't fair. Why does Dudu always like being with you?" Frank said as he tried to scratch the cat's chin, only to have his hand batted away.
"Why, Uncle Frank, are you jealous of a little kitty?" Catherine said playfully, scratching the cat's chin as if to demonstrate. Dudu cooperated by purring contentedly, leaving Frank with a frustrated expression.
"Such a proud kitty," her uncle said helplessly.
"Pride is better than lying," the little girl teased, pulling a face at him. "Who was it that warned me to be careful back then?"
"I was telling the truth," Frank shrugged.
"The truth? Were you telling the truth when you were deceiving Julia too?"
"Dear, slandering me like that isn't nice. Besides, Julia and I are just ordinary friends. We mostly write letters to each other, rarely calling, and we discuss literature or philosophy. So your accusation is quite unjustified."
Ordinary friends? That old excuse. They were already calling each other "dear" and still trying to hide it. Did he think she was a little kid? Did he think she knew nothing about what went on in Los Angeles? Catherine rolled her eyes, looking at Frank with disdain. Before he could finish, she turned and walked over to her grandfather.
"Hey, dear Cathy, is making movies fun?" her grandfather asked with a smile.
The little girl stuck out her tongue in surprise, "I didn't think you'd ask."
"Why not? Because I'm an old stick-in-the-mud?" her grandfather laughed.
"Of course not. I was just afraid you'd be mad at me... for coming back to London but not visiting you," Catherine replied timidly.
"To be honest, I was indeed quite unhappy about that, so you owe me," her grandfather said with a mischievous tone.
I knew it, the little girl thought, rolling her eyes internally. Then she asked, "Yes, I know. Tomorrow night, right?"