by Jenny Kane
Stalwart of the local book club and terror of the local Scottish Women’s Institute, Charlie’s grandmother had moved from London to join her granddaughter in Banchory three years ago, after it became clear that Charlie’s parents would not be returning from their life in the States any time soon.
‘You’ll think me feeble.’ Charlie stood up. ‘Cup of tea, Gran?’
‘Thank you, Lottie dear. If this is going to be a tale of heartbreak and woe then tea is just the thing.’
Charlie couldn’t help but smile. ‘And what makes you think a failed romance is behind this?’
‘Books.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Charlie clicked on the kettle and got out a mug for herself and a cup and saucer for her Gran, who refused point-blank to drink tea out of anything else.
‘You love your work. I know you get nervous about doing the publicity bit, but you let Erin take over, and you just do it. So not to do this festival when it’s on your doorstep makes me think it has to be love. You’ve never worried about money or reputation, and apart from health, what else is there?’
‘That’s quite a speech, Gran,’ Charlie spooned sugar into her cup, ‘but honestly, I’m too busy.’
‘Charlotte Davies, don’t give me that rubbish.’ Gwen pointed at the kitchen table. ‘Sit down and tell me what’s going on or I’ll force you to come to the next SWI meeting, and I’ll put you on tea duty with Mrs Crippit!’
‘That woman is a nightmare!’
‘I know! So spill the beans.’
‘Rather than spill the coffee, sugar, and boiling water like Mrs Crippit always does?’ Charlie smiled at the image of the bossy old lady who, despite constantly criticising others for sloppiness, was permanently distracted by what she was going to do next rather than what she was doing now, and therefore made a mess of everything.
Gwen laid a hand over her granddaughter’s. ‘Come on, Lottie, what’s wrong? Can I help at all? I was quite surprised when that Alice called me and asked for my help with the festival. We’ve never hit it off. She uses you; you know that, don’t you?’
Having had this particular conversation many times with her gran since Gwen had first met Alice, and not wanting to repeat it, Charlie picked up her mug and sat down. ‘OK. It’s not love, although I thought it was once upon a time. Let’s call it hurt pride and humiliation.’
Getting up long enough to retrieve the biscuit tin her granddaughter kept on the dresser, Gwen placed the open tin in the middle of the table. ‘Come on, Lottie love, there’s nothing new under the sun.’
Fiddling a cookie between her fingers, Charlie gave in. ‘OK, Gran. Five years ago, just before I was due to write my second novel, Alice …’
‘I knew it! It’s always Alice when you’re having a rough time and …’
‘Gran, please! I know you don’t like her, but Alice has been my friend for ages, and she’s lovely underneath the businesswoman front. She gets wrapped up in the quest to not just be successful but to be seen to be successful, that’s all.’
‘I have yet to see any evidence of that nice side, but go on. What did Alice do that made you unable to forgive her this time?’
‘Alice didn’t do anything. It was her boyfriend at the time.’ Carelessly dunking her cookie in her tea, Charlie sighed. ‘You already know what happened, Gran.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Gwen was confused.
‘You’ve read my books, haven’t you?’
‘Of course, and jolly good they are too.’
‘Thanks, Gran.’ Charlie sucked at her tea-soaked cookie, suddenly cringing with embarrassment at the thought of how she’d laid her humiliation and heartbreak bare for anyone and everyone to read. ‘Well, if you’ve read them all then you already know.’
Gwen’s eyes widened as realisation dawned. ‘Your second novel?’
‘Yes.’
Putting her hand back over her granddaughter’s, Gwen asked, ‘So, who was the love-blind boy then? Or perhaps I should say, who is he, if the situation has been stirred up again now?’
‘Cameron.’
‘Crathes Castle Cameron?’
‘The very same.’ Charlie let out a groan. ‘I know I’m being ridiculous, Gran, but all the time he was going out with Alice she was using him. She said so over and over again. It was a relationship of convenience between finishing her masters at Aberdeen and moving on to be a business tycoon in Edinburgh.’
Gwen picked up her teacup. ‘Let me guess; he fell for her, and if my memory of your manuscript serves me well, you fell for him but he didn’t notice you even existed whenever Alice walked into the room.’
‘Got it in one. I’m a walking cliché.’ Charlie tugged a persistent knot from her hair. ‘It was awful. One minute we’d be sat together around this table chatting, laughing, talking about life and stuff, and then Alice would walk in. The second Cameron heard her footsteps outside the kitchen door he’d stop talking, mid-sentence or not. He’d go quiet. I’m not sure Cameron even knew he was doing it. Then our whole conversation would be wiped from his head, and if he looked at me at all it was blankly. It was as if Alice was the sun and she outshone everything, making Cameron blind to anything but her.’
Picking up on the rueful sadness in her granddaughter’s words, words she recognised as coming from the novel she’d written, Gwen was thoughtful. ‘Does he know? Cameron, I mean, that you wrote about him?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Alice does. I could never have written it without her permission. After all, she doesn’t come over as very nice in the book.’
‘And she didn’t mind?’
‘She said it’s always more fun to be the villain than the good guy. I wish that wasn’t true.’
Gwen picked up her teacup. ‘I know how the novel ends, Lottie love, but that can’t be how it really ended, because you and Cameron aren’t together, and never have been.’
‘I did write the real ending to start with, but it was rejected by my publisher.’
‘Because people like happy endings?’
‘And who can blame them? That’s why it’s called fiction.’ Charlie took another cookie from the tin. ‘So the fictional me got her man, whereas the real me failed to make enough of an impression on Cameron for him to even remember who I was when I bumped into him in town only a month after Alice had left for Edinburgh.’
Gwen shook her head in despair at the younger generation. ‘I thought he seemed a sensible young man when Alice introduced us at the castle. Shows how easily I can be taken in by a handsome face.’
‘Not you, Gran, you always see through appearances.’
‘Usually, but he’s a stunner for sure, . I can see why you fell for him. Nice soft Scottish accent as well. What we called “a right bobby dazzler” back in my day.’
Charlie couldn’t help but smile. ‘That’s him alright.’
‘Indeed; but obviously a bit daft in the head, otherwise why would a sensible man like Cameron Hunter be re-pursuing a pointless quest for Alice’s romantic attentions when you are much lovelier?’
‘I never said he was pursuing her again.’
‘You didn’t have to, Lottie. It’s written all over your face.’
Charlie exhaled slowly. ‘I know it’s silly to still feel humiliated, especially as I wouldn’t want Cameron now. It’s the principle of the thing, I suppose, and the fact that Alice never took how I felt seriously. It was as though I was disposable. A good friend to Cameron when Alice wasn’t there, and a good friend to Alice when Cameron wasn’t there.’
As the image of Alice and Cameron linked arm-in-arm flashed through her head, Charlie knocked back the rest of her mug of tea. ‘Let’s forget about it, Gran. It’s a non-problem really. Tell me how you’re getting on with rallying the SWI and book club members to buy and sell tickets for the literary festival instead.’
Ignoring the question, Gwen regarded her granddaughter shrewdly. ‘Come back and help run it, love. You know you want to.’
‘But I can’t! I’ve just explained;
not with Cameron there.’
‘As I understand it, Cameron has no idea how you felt, and Alice is far too wrapped up in what she is organising to even think about it. And you wanted to meet Kit Lambert in the flesh, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did, but I don’t think Alice will want me on the panel now I’ve walked away from helping her.
‘But Kit’ll still be coming up here, won’t she? You’d be able to get to know her better if you helped out a bit.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well then?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘That’s my girl.’
‘No promises.’
‘Of course not, Lottie dear. Now, is there any more tea in the pot? I have so much more to tell you. You’ll never guess what Mrs Crippit did in the library yesterday …’
Chapter Six
Monday November 23rd
Kit had changed her mind about going up to help run the festival so many times that she’d been driving herself, and everyone else, mad. Guilt-ridden at leaving her children and husband, who she knew deep down could manage without her, Kit laid her head against her seat on the plane and thought back to the moment before she got into her taxi to the airport. Phil had passed her an envelope and told her not to open it until she was on the plane.
Scrabbling in her handbag for the envelope, she pulled it out and ripped it open.
A piece of paper dropped onto her lap. Unfolding it quickly, Kit’s eyes widened with pleasure. Phil had booked rooms in a picturesque Deeside hotel for the week after the festival for the two of them. Underneath the booking information he’d written, Don’t worry about the twins: Peggy has agreed to check on them now and again in exchange for some whisky and shortbread. Can’t wait to join you up there for some Highland flinging! So proud of you for doing this, Kit. Love you. Pxx
Closing her eyes, Kit felt the rumble of the engines increase as the wheels beneath her began to taxi towards the runway.
Alice checked her watch again. Come on, Kit!
The plane from Heathrow had landed, but despite frequent peering through the window of the terminal, Alice couldn’t see anyone fitting the writer’s description. Any minute now, Alice would either have to chat up the traffic warden who was working his way along the row of ‘ten minute only’ parking bays or she’d have to drive over to the car park.
‘Come on!’ Alice muttered under her breath, ‘we’ve got loads to do. How long does it take to collect some luggage, for goodness’ sake?’
Even though she knew she was being irrational, and that Kit Lambert had no idea just how much work she had flown into, Alice couldn’t shake her irritation at having to wait longer for her guest than she’d expected, even though she knew she should be extremely grateful that Kit had agreed to come at all.
It took extreme strength of will for Alice not to exclaim, ‘At last!’ as, two minutes later, a nervously smiling Kit Lambert walked through the sliding doors, holdall and handbag in hand.
‘Alice?’ Kit held out her hand in greeting, ‘I’m so sorry I’m a bit late, the luggage carousel took for ever!’
Kit was disappointed that Erin Spence hadn’t been able to collect her, but as was soon apparent, Alice was keen to fill her in on the festival’s progress on the drive to the castle, before they headed straight into a meeting.
By the time Alice had finished transporting Kit the twenty miles that divided the airport from the outskirts of Banchory, where Crathes Castle nestled in stunning grounds, Kit was more than a little surprised that Erin had a friend like Alice. Apart from a brief word of welcome, Alice had spent the entire drive listing everything that still needed to been done. She hadn’t given Kit the chance to glory in the splendour of the landscape she found herself in, or asked her anything about her life in London at all.
On arrival at Crathes, having hailed a gardener to carry Kit’s luggage to her lodgings, Alice whisked her into a stunning circular stone building to the side of the main castle. Kit found herself marched to a table, at which sat a small but determined-looking pensioner and a very attractive man in his early thirties.
‘Sorry we’re late, everyone, I was filling Kit in on the festival’s progress so far.’
Not sure how Alice had managed to make it sound as if their lateness was her fault when she’d had no idea what time the meeting was to start, Kit smiled apologetically as Alice strode away towards the restaurant’s counter.
The old lady opposite Kit extended an hand across the table and offered a beaming grin. ‘Welcome, Mrs Lambert, I’m Gwen, Charlie’s gran. I’m very pleased to meet you.’
Wondering who Charlie was, Kit smiled in return, ‘Please, call me Kit.’
‘And I’m Cameron.’ The ginger-haired gentleman sat next to Gwen half rose as he took Kit’s hand. ‘It’s so kind of you to come all this way to help.’
Relieved that the other people she’d be working with seemed friendly, Kit – privately thinking it was a shame she didn’t write erotica anymore because Cameron would have made the perfect hero for one of her books – said, ‘It’s my pleasure. When Erin said she was stuck with work, I was glad to help. Although I’ll be honest, I’ve never done anything like this before. I may be useless!’
‘Not a bit of it,’ Gwen said proudly. ‘Erin – that’s my Lottie, or Charlie as she insists on being called nowadays – says your writing is great. And a bit saucy I believe, my dear! We could do with a bit of that to pep us up, couldn’t we, Cameron?’
Laughing, as she realised who Charlie was, Kit said, ‘It’s been a while since I knocked out any erotica, to tell you the truth, but hey, if it helps!’
Soon though, with Alice’s return, a sense of order descended upon the table. Gwen’s playful spark instantly dampened down – but Cameron’s seemed to ignite in the presence of the blonde. Kit couldn’t help thinking that if she was writing about Alice, she’d be one of those perfect women who appeared to have it all but didn’t have what really mattered. However, as Alice came laden with a tray of coffee- and teapots, cups, and a plate of apple and cinnamon scones, Kit was prepared to give her a second chance to make a better first impression.
Having written more notes than she normally did when planning a novel, Kit eventually laid down her pen. Her head was thudding with the beginnings of a tension headache, and swam with how much remained to be done. These weren’t the finishing-off jobs that she and Peggy had assumed she’d be doing.
Even though Gwen’s calm enthusiasm and ability to talk with great excitement about the event was infectious, Kit knew that Alice’s closing statement to the meeting was going to haunt her in the middle of the night.
‘I’m glad you all turned up today because we have our work well and truly cut out for us. We have an excellent line-up of world-class authors coming to Crathes, but two of our panels have no hosts yet; although I’m assuming you’ll fill those gaps, Kit. Five hundred flyers need delivering, we have a hostile bookshop owner to tame, the total indifference of the local newspapers to remedy, and almost all the tickets still to shift!’
An hour later, having still not visited her room, Kit felt as though she’d been thrown into the deep end with no sign of a lifejacket. She was shocked that she was now expected to host not just the romance panel, but the crime panel as well.
Having been dispatched into a taxi, she now stood alone outside WHSmith, on busy Banchory High Street, without even having had the chance to change out of her travelling clothes. She would have loved to have had time to explore the castle and soak up the atmosphere. Kit also badly needed to find a coffee shop, order a massive Americano, and think.
The first job she’d been given was to charm the local newspaper editor into advertising the festival. ‘Use some good old-fashioned flirting, girl,’ Gwen had said, in a jokey way which was far more persuasive than Alice’s demands had been.
Kit had laughed at the time; now, as she stood swaddled in her thick anorak which made her look like the Michelin Man, and feeling less sexy than s
he ever had, Kit was fast losing her bottle.
A buzz from her phone broke through her indecision.
You arrived safely love? Alice OK to work with?
Wiping sleep from her eyes, her early start now catching up with her, Kit fired a text back, cursing herself for not having told her husband she’d got there safely before.
Sorry love. Been non-stop since arrival. Alice is bit of a nightmare. I’m working already.
Phil’s instant reply made Kit smile.
Sod work. Get coffee. Call Erin. Chat. Then work.
Firing back a quick, Love you! Kit found Erin’s number and, with her fingers crossed that her friend would answer, made the call.
Chapter Seven
Monday November 23rd
Kit aimed her stride towards The Gift Shop Café as per Erin’s recommendation. The idea that Erin had a regular café like she did warmed Kit to her fellow author further.
Taking comfort in the familiarity of a large Americano, Kit wrapped her hands around the satisfyingly huge mug. The café, which was obviously intended for tourists, had stacks of locally made fudge and shortbread on the counter. Haphazardly placed wooden shelves dotted the cream walls, holding a variety of Highland cows in china, wool, and clay, many of which were topped with miniature Santa hats in honour of the season.
The whole place had a cluttered but comfortable ambience, and Kit had to resist the urge to pull out her notebook and pen. An idea for a story based in this little place, that didn’t seem to know if it was a town trying to be a village, or a village trying to be a town, built in her head. As she watched out of the window, the pattern of winter sunshine dancing over the granite stonework of Banchory’s shops was enough to make Kit fall in love with the place.
Then there was the castle. How she had managed to resist ignoring Alice and going off to explore it, she couldn’t imagine. From the outside at least, Crathes was the epitome of a fairytale castle. She couldn’t help thinking that Walt Disney would have had a field day with it.
Kit’s musing on a children’s story based around Crathes were interrupted by the sound of the waitress greeting a new customer.
