She felt sick all of a sudden, sick and homesick. She walked back the way she’d come only stopping when she came to a café with a couple of empty tables outside. She didn’t even know she’d taken a seat until a harried woman with a child clasped to her hip came out with a menu. Ordering a coffee she stretched her legs and let the weak March sunshine work its way over her skin and down to her bones.
‘Here on holidays, are you?’
She opened her eyes to find a large mug of cappuccino in front of her and threw a smile at the woman with one child already and another on the way if the pull of her jumper was any indication.
‘No, working up the road. I’m cook at the castle. I thought I’d take a walk up to the other castle?’ her voice holding a question.
‘Aye, Dunollie, not much to see but the gardens are nice,’ she added, leaning forward. ‘What’s he like then?’
‘What’s who like?’ her eyes wide.
‘The lord of the manor, Lord Brayely. We don’t see him much down here, keeps himself to himself up in Edinburgh with all his posh pals.’
‘Really, I wouldn’t know. I’m new.’ She found a smile and rooting around in her jacket pulled out a handful of coins for the bill before stretching back and closing her eyes. She had another thing coming if she thought she was going to gossip about Tor.
Stopping at The Oban Fish and Chip Shop, she wandered along the esplanade and then north up to Dunollie Castle, the now derelict ruin of the MacDougall family but she didn’t linger. She carried onwards and upwards, the bag of chips long forgotten her thoughts a million miles away. She had some decisions to make, big decisions and absolutely no idea how to proceed. The one thing she did know was: she couldn’t carry on as she was doing. She had to leave, and as soon as possible because to stay would mean discovery. She’d been lucky, incredibly lucky no one had realised who she was but it wouldn’t continue. If he found out the hard way, there’d be no telling what he’d do. He’d be angry, more than angry at being played a fool and there was no way she could ever explain why she’d done it. There was no way she was prepared to answer his questions because what could she say? She’d wanted to see if she fancied him before accepting his hand, to see if they were in any way compatible? He just wouldn’t get it. He needed an heir, not some relationship. Her father had told her she wasn't important, that her opinions didn’t matter. He’d never said a truer word. She was a pawn in the game of life; to be shifted from pillar to post at her father’s and then her husband’s bidding.
She paused for a rest, surprised to see the sun already dipping in the sky. She had no idea of the time having left both her phone and her watch back at the castle but, by the look of the clouds gathering force, it was time to head back. She found herself by a convenient tree and, sitting down on the ground, leant against the wood for a moment.
Her life in London was a complete mess. Her so called friends and the media wouldn’t leave her alone. They all wanted a piece of her and if it carried on, there’d be little left. She’d only felt free in Paris and look how that had turned out, her eyes closing at the memory. Oban was like a dream, a dream where she was a working girl instead of a privileged one. But it was a mirage, a lie. She was living a lie thinking she could ever be that girl, that she could ever be Tansy Smith with her black hair and lipstick-free lips. Whilst she didn’t miss the make-up or any of the other accoutrements of her former life, they were still there within grabbing distance if everything came crashing down. Home was within shouting distance and, now she knew funds were only as far away as the nearest bank, she had no reason to stay. She had no reason to stay and yet she had no intention of going. Not until she’d made her mind up about that kiss.
She woke with a start, disorientated, and it must be said, a little afraid. Where before there was light now everything around was pitch black and not only black, but cold. The temperature had dropped to what must be only a notch above freezing. She didn’t know what had woken her and then she felt the first sprinkling of rain drip over her cheek and down the inside of her collar. The rain wasn’t the polite London rain she was used to.
In fact, thinking about it, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out in the rain because there was always a car or a taxi waiting on hand with someone or other with an umbrella at the ready. But here in Oban she had no umbrella. She had a far from waterproof coat and a woolly hat that even now was doing a fine job of soaking up water only to drop it down her neck, drip by drip. Standing up, she maintained contact with the bark, even as she berated herself for being so stupid as to fall asleep. There was no way she was going to be able to find her way back to Brayely Castle. In the daylight it would have been easy to mark the spot by its proximity to McCaig’s Tower but now she could barely see her hand in front of her let alone a bloody tower. It was cold, wet and dark but at least the tree offered some degree of shelter…
Chapter Eight
Edinburgh was a mistake. He could run away from Brayely Castle. He could run away from her and her accusatory glare but the one thing he couldn’t run away from was his thoughts.
He’d never encountered a glare like it. He couldn’t quite fix on the right word but he had a pretty strong idea she loathed him; a salutary thought. He’d never been loathed before. Teased, bullied even. Ignored on occasion and perhaps hated by the odd few of his students who’d decided the best course of action for their finals was beer and guess work. But loathing was stronger than hate. Loathing was stronger than being despised, and the shiver trespassing over her skin was proof enough of her strong feelings for him. The only thing he could be pleased about was, at least she wasn’t indifferent. There were some strong feelings hidden under that cool pale exterior, strong emotions worthy of his investigative powers, he thought, as his tyres snagged on the tarmac outside the front door. He’d just have to play it cool or he’d be getting a lot more than a cold stare and a shiver for his efforts.
Glancing down at his watch he noted the time with a smile. Two and a half hours as the crow flies, his fastest yet. Friday evenings with the roads clear of motorists, either drowning their sorrows in the pub or downing shots at home in front of Netflix, was obviously the way to go in future. He’d planned on getting up early and beating the Saturday morning traffic but, sitting in the bar as he half listened to his colleague discussing the new microscope the university had just ordered, he suddenly didn’t see any point in staying.
He’d stood on the top step of The Balmoral Hotel, bidding him a safe journey home when he’d found himself dragged into the largest embrace. If it hadn’t been for the hearty ‘Mon amie,’ almost shouted into his ear before the double kiss on each cheek he’d have lifted up his clenched fists and started pummelling. There was only one man in the whole wide world who’d dare kiss him in public as his heart stumbled around in his chest trying to get a secure footing.
‘Mon amie. Tor. Ça fait longtemps…’
‘Oui, far too long, Pascal. So how is the Marquis de Sauvarin then? I hear you’ve become a dad since I last saw you? Congratulations.’
‘Merci. There’s Anique and then baby number two on the way. My wife…’ He smiled. ‘I’m still new to this wedded bliss thing but, mon dieu, it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.’
‘What, even better than those bowler hats you adorned each of Magdalene’s four chimneys with?’
‘Not a patch on being a dad. You should try it,’ he added, taking his elbow and walking him back inside. ‘My wife is just handing over to the babysitter; she won’t leave the baby with just anybody. And then, I’d like you to meet her.’
‘It would be my pleasure. You’re certainly a long way from home?’
‘We’ve been spending a few days in Stonehaven, a very special place, or for us at least. But Sarah’s never been to Edinburgh so I’m showing her the sights. We head back tomorrow, first thing.’
Tor eyed his friend with affection; the Marquis de Sauvarin, the only man who’d dare kiss him. Even his father had been more of
a slap on the back and double handshake kind of guy. He remembered how they’d met, although it was more of a being thrown together in desperation than actually meeting out of choice. He’d met him during Fresher’s Week, all those years ago and friendships forged out of loneliness and a large dollop of homesickness were friendships forged in steel.
Accepting a pint with a smile he sat back and watched with twinkling eyes as Pascal, the most undomesticated of men, twittered around his wife until he was satisfied she had the right drink and the right chair.
‘Do stop fussing, Pascal. I’m fine. More than fine now the monster’s asleep.’
‘Monster? ’
‘Oui, monster.’ She laughed, her whole face alight with mischief.
He’d been surprised at the sight of this pretty average woman because Pascal had always had first pick and Lady Sarah, whilst cute, wasn't anything like his previous girlfriends. That is until she smiled. When she smiled it didn’t matter she wasn't the prettiest in the class. It didn’t matter she wasn’t the tallest or the skinniest. Nothing mattered except the sweet expression on her face. Nothing mattered except the soft curve of her lips and the light streaming from her eyes. Suddenly he was reminded of Miss Smith but, by the time he’d reached for his glass, he’d lost his train of thought completely because, just like Pascal he’d fallen under her spell. Well, not just like Pascal because Lady Sarah had eyes for only one man, and sadly it wasn't him. Here was a woman he’d do anything for, anything except take Pascal on, his gaze wandering over his well-built friend cradling his beer between his hands, a self-satisfied smile stamped across his face as the baby photos were pulled out.
‘She takes just after her father, little monkey.’ she said, tracing a gentle finger over her chubby cheek. ‘And you, Tor. Are you married?’
‘Me,’ he spluttered, placing his untouched beer back on the table. ‘No, not exactly. There is a girl but-,’ his eyes wavering between the two faces now staring at him from across the table.
‘But?’
‘Well, it’s sort of an arranged thing.’
‘An arranged thing,’ her eyes wide. ‘What, as in an arranged marriage?’
‘Something like that, but I don’t think… I’m not sure… I haven’t met her yet so it will probably come to nothing.’
‘I should think so too. You need to choose your own girl, Tor.’ She paused, her eyes seeking out Pascal’s, a frown marring her brow. ‘You’re not in one of those religions that go in for that kind of thing? I sort of assumed you were C of E or something but these days...’
‘Actually Church of Scotland so no, it’s nothing to do with religion. It’s more a…’ His words fell away as he tried to think what it was for? His mother would have him believe it was because he needed an heir but there were a fair few Brayely cousins knocking around so…’ His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of her voice.
‘A fine good looking man like you, it shouldn’t be difficult.’ She turned to Pascal, patting his leg. ‘You need to tell him, darling. If you hadn’t interfered, I could even now be married to Rupert.’
‘Over my dead body!’
‘Rupert? Rupert who?’
‘Oh, just some fortune hunter, and anyway he’s heading for divorce number three. So tell us about this girl then, what’s she like?’
‘As I’ve said, I have no idea. It’s someone I knew as a child, someone I barely remember,’ he mused, almost to himself, as an image of a little girl with a mass of blonde hair and legs right up to her neck came to mind. Blonde hair and long legs covered in slime. ‘She was a noisy thing, that’s all I remember, noisy and clumsy.’
‘What’s her name then? I might know her?’
‘Mon dieu, look what you’ve started. You’d better tell her or we’ll be here all night.’
‘Titania…’
‘You don’t mean Titania Nettlebridge do you? You must. Surely there can’t be many with that mouthful. I always felt sorry for her despite everything. There are her brothers with quite decent names and her parents had to go and lumber her with something not normally found outside of a Shakespearian play.’ She burst out laughing even as she picked up her bag and pulled out a copy of Hello before flicking through the pages and marking an item with her finger. ‘Here’s your betrothed - Quite a looker, isn’t she?’
Tor didn’t want to take the magazine although he couldn’t understand his reluctance. He’d been all set to meet her last week but now; now as he took the magazine from Sarah he had no interest in the woman both his mother and her parents were determined to marry him off to. No, that wasn’t quite true as he caught sight of creamy pale skin and a cloud of long pale blonde hair. But it wasn’t her skin or her hair that caught his attention it was her eyes, eyes he’d last seen glaring at him with that look, a look he couldn’t get out of his mind. He glanced across, a puzzled look on his face before returning back to the article and scanning through the story.
‘I wouldn’t worry about the words, Tor. I don’t know her that well but from what I can remember she’s nothing like the tearaway they are portraying her as,’ she whispered, taking back the magazine and rolling it up before ramming it down the side of her bag next to a dummy, a packet of baby wipes and a mangled Farley’s rusk. ‘The last time I saw her was at some party or other in Paris. She was working for some chef.’ Her eyes met his briefly. ‘There was some scandal and she had to leave in a rush. I’m not sure what she’s up to now but, if I was her, I’d be in official hiding until all this nonsense blows over. She’s a nice girl but I still think you should do your own choosing. Marriage is such an important step. Don’t you agree, darling?’ she said, clasping Pascal’s hand between her palms.
‘I’m beginning to think you’re right.’ Standing, up he pushed his untouched beer into the centre of the table and made his excuses before he could change his mind.
He nearly regretted his decision when the weather changed. He nearly stopped then. It was only the thought of a warm whisky and an even warmer bed that kept him on the road; that and the thought of having her there in the morning to cook his breakfast.
Twisting the door handle, he was surprised to feel it almost wrenched away from him by an anxious hand.
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Er, yes, Toddy.’ He raised his brow at the unexpected greeting only to frown as he took in the worried expression stamped on his face. ‘Why? Who were you expecting?’ he asked, closing the door with a quiet snap before starting to take his jacket off. ‘It’s a filthy night out there.’
‘Aye, that it is, and Miss Smith’s out in it too.’
His hand paused, his fingers tightening around the black leather collar. ‘Miss Smith? It’s surely a bit late for her to be out, and on a night like this?’
‘It’s her day off. We’ve been expecting her for hours, ever since the weather closed in. In fact, I should really be thinking of closing up,’ he added, glancing at the grandfather clock as it started to chime the hour.
‘What about Mary, what does she say? Perhaps she’s an idea where she’s gone?’
‘I thought of that but she’s not here. The mistress decided to spend the weekend with friends and took her along. Miss Campbell went up to London for the weekend. There’s only me holding the fort, so to speak.’
Heaving a sigh he struggled back into his wet jacket. ‘I’ll go get the car if you can make a flask up, although I’ve no idea where to start. She’s probably decided to stay with a friend and there’s no way I’m going banging on every door in town.’
But that’s exactly what it felt like. He headed down the hill and pulled into a parking space across from the seafront before trying every bar and late night café still open. He’d finally had success in the fish and chip shop who remembered directing a dark haired woman towards the old derelict castle and that’s where he found her an hour later, curled up into a tight ball; a tight sopping wet ball.
‘You little fool. What the hell do you think you’re doing; trying to get
pneumonia?’
He bent down and scooped her up in his arms, hardly giving her a chance to open her eyes let alone get her bearings.
‘I’m too heavy.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Hey…’
‘Well, you did ask. Now shut up like the good girl I’m quite sure you’re not and let me concentrate on trying not to drop you,’ as he just missed stumbling over a tree root. ‘Bloody hell, and bloody women. The next cook is going to be male if I’ve anything to do with it; male and able to take care of himself.’
Opening her eyes all she could see was the blackness of his jacket. All she could hear was his breath as he struggled to walk down the hill with her in his arms, all the time muttering to himself at the stupidity of Sassenach cooks without a brain cell to their name. She felt the tears well up then and allowed them to fall in a steady stream down her face to mingle with the rain. He wouldn’t notice and she didn’t really care if he did. He didn’t like her one little bit which was unfortunate as she’d quite changed her mind about him. Although, if he continued swearing at her under his breath that could all change.
When they reached the bottom, he unceremoniously opened the car door and flung her in the front.
‘Here, drink this.’ Turning in his seat he pushed something into her hands, only to press his warm fingers over hers. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘It’s the cold,’ she said, through chattering teeth even though it wasn't. It was the sight of him and not just the sight. It was everything. In fact she couldn’t remember a time she’d felt more miserable; miserable and alone. He wasn't on her side. She was a nuisance, a burden. She was someone to help only because he should. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d just left her there as she tried and failed not to sniff.
The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan Page 24
