‘My friend Emma. I am
so
sorry. Oh God, I’m mortified. I’m so sorry. I mean . . . ’ Kate was blushing furiously and, as ever, was unable to stop herself from
babbling in a crisis.
‘I’ve been called far worse.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But you’re not in the city now. We don’t walk about with our phones permanently glued to our ears round
here.’
Now he was admonishing her. And this after five years of living with Ian, who could have won an Olympic Gold in making her feel stupid. Her new employer was obviously a pompous git who behaved
in the same way.
‘Come up to the house and I’ll get Jean to take a look at you – that was quite a fall.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Kate. ‘I just need a hot bath.’
‘I’d be happier if you did,’ he said, in a don’t-argue-with-me sort of voice. ‘I need you in one piece. I’ve got plans for you.’ He grabbed a pile of
folders, throwing them onto the back seat of the car. With one word from their master, two sleek black Labradors leapt down from their vantage point on the front seat and were shut behind the
dog-guard rail.
Feeling unable to object, Kate climbed into the Land Rover, trying not to wince. In protecting Willow, she’d fallen awkwardly on her left side, and her shoulder was beginning to ache
badly. She could feel herself trembling slightly, and her teeth were chattering. She clutched onto the puppy for comfort.
Roderick edged the Land Rover round, expertly dodging the potholes on the way to the house. He didn’t speak, giving Kate the chance to survey her new employer with a sideways glance. He
seemed distracted, the frown still fixed in place and a nerve jumping in his cheek.
The Land Rover scrunched to a halt on the driveway. Kate looked up at Duntarvie House for the first time. Actual turrets, like a fairy-tale castle. Not just one, but loads of them. He lived in a
blooming castle – no wonder her new boss seemed a bit snooty. It’d be hard to have any grasp of reality if you lived in a stately home.
The house was beautiful, a perfect example of the Scottish Baronial architecture her dad had loved. He’d taken her to Balmoral as a little girl, patiently explaining the characteristics of
the castle. She could recognize the crow-stepped gables, the ornate cornices and the crenellated battlements of the central tower topped with another turret. There was even a flag. And gargoyles.
It was utterly gorgeous, and quite ridiculous. Her shoulder was absolutely killing her, and everything – and everyone – she knew suddenly felt very distant.
‘For goodness’ sake, Roddy. What’s been going on here?’
Jean opened the car door, taking in Kate’s filthy clothes and pain-whitened face.
‘You’ve been in the wars.’ Scooping Willow out of Kate’s hands, Jean passed the puppy to Roderick. Gently she then helped Kate out of the car.
Willow was lying upside down in Roderick’s arms, squirming helplessly as he tickled her tummy.
Flirt
, thought Kate, as she straightened up, gritting her teeth against the pain. ‘I’m fine, really. It was only a tumble.’
Jean looked at her with motherly disapproval.
‘Well, even so we’ll get you inside and cleaned up, and then we’ll decide.’
It was like being back home, with her mother lovingly railroading her. Kate allowed herself to be propelled across the gravel drive and up the stone stairs. Twin stone eagles guarded the steps,
and above the door Kate noticed a crest carved into the stone. We’re not in Kansas any more, Willow, she thought.
The hall of Duntarvie House was vast, with a parquet floor covered with a Turkish rug bigger than anything Kate had ever seen. There weren’t any dead stags’ heads
that she could see, which was a relief, but ancient oil paintings of forbidding men in kilts indicated that the house had a long history. It smelled of wax polish and old oak and log fires. The
staircase in front of her curled upwards, the banister spiralling towards a vaulted ceiling.
‘Come away into the sitting room for a minute.’ Jean propelled her into a chair and disappeared.
‘Drink this. You’re a bit shaken up, and it’ll help.’ Roderick handed her a glass of brandy, taking a step backwards and looking at her expectantly. She obediently drank
the burning liquid, aware of his dark eyes watching. It seared down her throat, filling her with warmth.
‘Where’s Willow? I’m not much good at this dog-owning business, am I? She’s been gone from her mother five minutes and I’ve tried to flatten her. And now
she’s gone AWOL.’
‘She’s in the kitchen.’ Roderick leaned down, taking the glass from her hand. Kate caught a waft of his lemony aftershave. ‘Jean’s giving her some puppy food we had
left over from Hugo – he’s only just turned one. Not sure she’ll eat much – I think she had a fright, too, looking at the state of your shirt.’
His expression was unreadable.
Kate looked down. It was possible to be more embarrassed after all: she was sitting on the posh sofa of a country house in a wee-soaked T-shirt. Time to escape. She tried to pull herself up, but
her arm wouldn’t cooperate and she slumped backwards into the chair.
‘Stay where you are.’
Roderick strode out of the room and, with her good arm, Kate felt in her pocket for the offending phone. Feeling like a schoolgirl in danger of being caught out sending notes in class, she sent
a surreptitious message to Emma:
Have made complete prat of myself. You would laugh. I might later, too, if I don’t throw myself off a cliff first.
Kate stuffed the phone back in her pocket as Jean reappeared, lips pursed, her head cocked sideways. She set down a tray with a pot of tea, and wrapped a blanket around Kate’s
shoulders.
‘I’m running you a hot bath. I don’t want you going home to the cottage tonight and sleeping on your own, when you’ve fallen down and hurt yourself.’
‘That’s lovely of you, but I really am fine.’ Kate tried to shuffle forward out of the deep sofa, but winced at the pain. ‘I need a sleep and a couple of
painkillers.’
‘Aye, and you’ll get those here, and someone to keep an eye on you as well.’ Jean poured her a cup of tea, before leaving Kate to survey the sitting room alone. It was tattered
but beautiful, the walls panelled with wood, a threadbare rug by the fireplace. The table was piled with books and magazines – a strange, eclectic mixture of marine biology, interior decor
and out-of-date copies of
Vogue
and
Hello!
The door opened to the sound of Roderick and Jean laughing together. Their easy familiarity caused another wave of homesickness to wash over Kate.
‘One lesson you’ll learn quickly,’ Roderick said as he reappeared, holding Willow, now cradled in his arms like a baby and staring at him adoringly, ‘is
“Don’t argue with Jean”. Braver men than me have tried, and failed.’
‘Och, away.’ Jean was smiling at him with as much adoration as Willow. Roderick was clearly the apple of her eye, but Kate couldn’t see the appeal. Admittedly he was more
handsome than she’d expected, but, cosseted and living in a castle, Roderick clearly had no idea of how the other half lived.
‘Leave Kate with me, Roddy, and I’ll have a wee look at her shoulder now.’
‘See what I mean? I’ll take this little one away and get her settled.’ He left, carrying the sleeping Willow in his arms. Typically upper-class, all horses and dogs and
shooting.
‘Let me have a look at that shoulder, Kate.’ Jean gently lifted up the sleeve of her T-shirt, revealing a mass of stone scratches and the beginnings of some nasty bruising.
‘Ow!’ Looking at the mess of her arm, Kate felt a bit sick. It hurt a lot more now that she’d seen the damage.
‘I was hoping to get you to see Duntarvie under slightly better circumstances, Kate, but welcome nonetheless. I hope you like it here.’ Jean gave her a kind look.
‘It’s been a bit of a day. Car, people, puppy – and now this. I have to keep reminding myself I was coming here for a bit of quiet.’
‘Och, you’ll not get that here on Auchenmor. There’s always something going on.’
‘So I see.’ Kate tried to stand up, but her balance was definitely off-kilter.
‘Sit yourself back down. I’m going to go and sort your bath out for you now, and I don’t want you getting into any more trouble.’
Kate poured another cup of tea and watched the logs burning in the fireplace. It was very much like being in a faded country-house hotel, but this was someone’s
home.
The idea of
Roderick living alone in a place this size was insane. How on earth could he sleep at night in a house with countless empty bedrooms, and corridors just begging for ghosts to wander around them
clanking chains – or whatever ghosts did these days. She shivered at the thought of it.
Jean reappeared, making Kate jump. ‘Now, up to your bath, young lady, and no arguments.
The bathroom was huge, white and stark. But the bath was full to the brim with lavender-scented bubbles and, next to the towels, a pile of clothes lay folded neatly on a chair.
Kate peered at them through the steam. What on earth? They were definitely her pyjamas, her dressing gown and her fluffy slippers. Someone – it must have been Jean, surely – had been
back to the cottage and found them. Kate grimaced. The idea of someone going through her belongings, not to mention seeing the state of her already messed-up bedroom, was awful. Jean was right when
she said there were no secrets on this island, she thought, clambering gingerly into the boiling hot water. At least she’d bought new pyjamas before she’d left Cambridge, instead of
bringing the ancient scruffy nightshirt she’d worn while living with Ian. She leaned back, wincing with pain, and closed her eyes for just a second, luxuriating in the scented foam.
‘Kate?’
A man’s voice through the door woke her from her sleep. Heat-drunk and slightly shocked from the fall, she must have dozed off in the bath. It took a couple of moments before she could
gather her thoughts to reply.
‘Sorry, sorry. I’m here.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Was that a note of humour underneath the clipped tone of voice? ‘When you’re ready, dinner’s waiting, and there’s a young lady here to see
you.’
Kate pulled out the plug and climbed out of the bath. The soak and the painkillers had eased her stiff shoulder, which was already turning purple. With some difficulty she dried herself and
managed to manoeuvre herself into her pyjamas. She folded up her dirty, torn clothes as best she could, leaving them on the chair with her phone, which had run out of charge in any case.
She left the brightly lit bathroom, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom of the corridor. A series of doors stretched before her, and the walls were hung with yet more of
Roderick’s ancestors. Turning for the stairs, she noticed that one of the doors was ajar. The temptation to peek inside was too much to resist. Heart pounding, she sneaked her head round the
door. The room was ice-cold, with dust sheets covering the furniture. She withdrew with a shudder. Imagine
living
in this place. No wonder Roderick seemed a bit chilly – it probably
seeped into his bones.
The stairs were the stuff of
Gone with the Wind
, but there was no dramatic entrance for Kate. She manoeuvred her way down cautiously, pausing as she reached to turn the handle of the
sitting-room door. She looked down at her pyjamas and slippers – hardly suitable for dinner in such a grand house.
As if he’d sensed her presence, Roderick opened the door. He’d changed and shaved, and looked younger and less terrifying in a faded blue shirt and jeans. He was close enough that
Kate could smell the citrus of his aftershave. His freshly washed hair was hanging in his eyes. He looked more like an advert for Barbour than the laird of a country estate that she’d
imagined. She stood in the doorway, feeling extremely out of place.
‘Kate. Well, it’s nice to see what you actually look like when you’re not covered in mud.’ He flicked a glance towards her hand. ‘No phone? Not got any urgent texts
to send?’
‘I left my phone with my things in the bathroom. Thought it might be a good idea to make it down the stairs without breaking my neck.’
He strode over to the bookshelves, where a bottle of whisky and two glasses stood on a tray. Pouring two huge measures, he handed her one and motioned for her to sit down. Easing herself into
the chair, Kate took a sniff of the malt. She stifled a cough as the whisky fumes hit the back of her nose. She wiped her eyes.
Roderick sat down at the far end of the sofa.
‘You’ve made quite the impression in twenty-four hours.’
The frown was back. Kate fiddled with her glass, looking down.
‘I suppose we should be glad you’re still with us. Jean told me you were planning to make your escape before you’d even set foot on the island.’
‘I – no, I just . . . ’ Kate stumbled over her words, not sure how to answer.
‘Go on.’ Roderick leaned forward, surveying her over the top of his glass. His dark eyes narrowed.
Without the stubble, Kate noticed, he had a bee-stung upper lip. It looked somehow vulnerable, and definitely at odds with his rather formal demeanour. She shook herself. This was her boss, a
man who was used to getting what he wanted. And, right now, what he wanted was an answer.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Her voice was determined, and the last vestiges of doubt were gone.
Half-hiding her face behind her glass, she stared into the flames. If taking risks wasn’t exactly her style – and, in the past, it hadn’t been – she was going to show
people she
could
do it. She’d jumped from one temp job to another in the last four years, and her lack of staying power was becoming a standing joke.
‘You’re building a patchwork CV,’ Sam had teased her, recently. ‘You can always say you’ll try anything once.’
The joke had been a little too close to the bone. Kate, while laughing, had winced. And then there was the fleeting exchange of glances between Emma and her mother on the journey to Scotland
when she’d mentioned staying for at least six months, if not more.
She put down her glass, resolute now. For once she was going to prove them wrong.