Chapter Two
‡
“This place is yours?” She knew her mouth was hanging open but she couldn’t help it.
Andrew nodded.
She folded her arms across her chest. “No way. Spill.”
“What do you mean?” Did he mean to look so sheepish?
“I mean, you told me,” she said, putting her fingers in the air, “that you ‘knew somewhere’ we could film that was haunted. You never said it was yours.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact. Being a Scottish Laird isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
She tried not to smile at his response because she was annoyed. She’d expected other people to be around – the house owner, some other staff or residents. She hadn’t expected to be home alone with Andrew. It made her stomach flip over in a way she hadn’t quite anticipated.
“How much of this do you actually own?”
“All of it. Garnock Hall, the land, the houses, the forest.”
She walked over to a velvet-covered chaise lounge in the room and gave it a gentle thump with her hand. A cloud of dust rose upwards. “But this place looks as if no one stays here.”
“I don’t really. I live in London most of the time. I’ve got someone who keeps an eye on the place – you know, checks the heating and the lights, etc. It was Bill that phoned me about the leaking roof. Someone is coming out to see it tomorrow, and hopefully start replacing the tiles after Boxing Day.”
She held her hands out and spun around. “All this is yours? I can hardly believe it.” Now the house was filled with dim light she wasn’t scared to walk around. She moved through the first door and back out into the entrance way. There was an enormous staircase that almost took her breath away. “Wow. That’s gorgeous. Just how big is this place?”
“How many rooms – or how many bedrooms?”
She blinked and turned around. Her brain was having trouble comprehending any of this. “Either.”
“Well, there are seventeen bedrooms. But they’re not all in use. There are another ten rooms in the house and that doesn’t include the servants’ quarters.”
“There are servant quarters?”
He laughed. “There used to be. Since I don’t have any servants there isn’t much use for them. This house was built over four hundred years ago. Servants quarters were essential then, nowadays, not so much.”
She started walking down the corridor and opening doors. Dining rooms, a library, sitting rooms, another dining room. Some of the rooms were coated in a fine layer of dust and looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Others had slightly more modern furniture and a more lived-in look.
Andrew was right behind her. He seemed embarrassed. But if this was the place they were supposed to be filming in she needed to familiarize herself with it. And she needed to know its history. Normally, one of the researchers would have a file ready for her to read. But her only source for finding out about Garnock Hall was right behind her.
She spun around and Andrew walked straight into her. “Oomph!” She nearly landed on her backside, but he caught her in his arms and pulled her close to him.
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. His aftershave was winding its way around her again, as was the feel of his chest against hers. The last time she’d been in someone’s arms it was Rod’s. But his chest hadn’t been as broad or as inviting as Andrew’s. The more she was around this muscular Scotsman the more he sent shivers down her spine.
He was staring at her with those green eyes again. Not saying anything. But the way he was looking at her…she held her breath, waiting for him to bend forward just a little and kiss her.
Nothing. Nothing happened. He just kept standing. A wave of disappointment washed over her. She couldn’t stand the silence any longer. She said the first thing that came into her head. “It’s pretty cold around here, guess I should have bought fleecy pjs instead of a nightdress.” Genius. Not. She almost cringed as the words came out.
He took a step back. “Are you hungry? I’m not sure if there will be any food in the kitchen. We can check it out if you want then I’ll show you to your room.”
“So, we’re definitely staying here?”
She gave a little glance around. This place was cavernous and pretty intimidating. She was fairly sure that unless their rooms were right next to each other Andrew wouldn’t hear her screams in the night if the ghost climbed into bed beside her.
“Is that a problem?”
“I guess not.”
She tried to paste a smile onto her face. “Why don’t you show me where my room is first, then I can make a cup of coffee in the kitchen.” She gave a little shudder. “Any chance you can put the heating on?”
“Heating. Right.” It had obviously been off his radar. “One of the boilers is next to the kitchen. You’ll need to switch the radiator in your bedroom on. I’ll switch the boiler on once I’ve shown you your room.”
He led her up the staircase. It was curved to the side with broad steps. As they reached the top of the stairs he flicked the switch for the lights along the corridor.
Juliette gulped. The dimly lit corridor with the dark doors was even more intimidating than downstairs. She didn’t even want to look behind her at the other dark corridor on the opposite side of the stairs.
Andrew took long strides and opened the first door, flicking the switch inside. The room was large with windows looking out into the darkness. On the bed sat a neatly folded pile of sheets along with a winter duvet and some blankets and pillowcases. He smiled. “Sorry, but it’s make-your-own bed here. Bathroom is through there.” He pointed at another dark brown door and she gulped. This place was just so big. And so dark. Someone could hide in here and never be found. She was totally freaked out. But didn’t want to say so – this was Andrew’s family home.
He gave her a sideways glance then walked over, opening the bathroom door and flicking the light switch. At last, a light that was brilliant white. “Give me five minutes to go downstairs and make sure the boiler is on before you start running the shower. We’ve got three different combi boilers for this place. The hot water is pretty instant. But heating the rest of the place?” He shrugged. “That could take a bit of time. Make sure you turn the radiator on and keep the door shut. Otherwise I’ll probably find you frozen in the bed by morning.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he said the words. Maybe a fleeting thought of other ways to stay warm?
He sat her bags on the bed and touched her shoulder. There it was again. That close vicinity thing. The imaginary buzz in her head when he touched her. It was like her own personal alarm system and was sending her senses into overdrive. “Okay,” was all she could manage in response.
He disappeared out the door and his footsteps reverberated down the corridor. She walked over to the window. Outside was now covered with a thick blanket of white snow.
Under any other circumstances, Christmas in Scotland in an old house might be quite romantic. But this was different.
This was an old drafty – potentially haunted house – in the middle of nowhere.
And right now? Andrew Campbell was the potential light on the dark horizon.
Chapter Three
‡
The boiler for this part of the house took seven attempts before it finally started. Pulling open the door of the fridge was a disaster. He’d phoned ahead but all Mary, one of the tenants on the estate had left him was milk, bread, butter and bacon. The things that he usually lived on when he visited.
Juliette appeared in the kitchen – still wearing her jacket – just as the bacon was frying and kettle boiled. She didn’t even sit down. “Where are the cups? Do you want tea or coffee?”
No airs and graces at all. She was a real hands-on girl. He liked it. Some of the other presenters he worked with expected only to step in front of the camera, say their lines and leave. Juliette was much more involved than that. She didn’t expect anyone to run after her. She read all her r
esearch notes, spent hours talking to the people they were filming, and was happy to do take after take until the director was finally happy.
“Tea, please.” The toast popped next to him and he buttered it quickly and put the bacon on a plate. Juliette filled the teapot with hot water and brought the cups and milk to the table, sitting down opposite him.
The huge Aga cast iron stove ran on oil and hadn’t taken long to fire into life. Hopefully it would start to generate a backdrop of heat for the kitchen – eventually.
“So, can you tell me a bit about your family?” She was stirring sweeteners into her tea.
“What do you want to know?”
“Campbell, that’s a really traditional Scottish name. What’s the history of your family?”
Research. She was doing her research. Always the professional – he should have known. He didn’t even want to acknowledge the fact he was a little disappointed.
“The Campbells were one of the original clans in Scotland. They were mainly based around Argyll, Edinburgh and the Highlands. My family is apparently descended from the original clan.”
“How far back does the history go?”
He smiled. “The Battle of Bannockburn, Robert the Bruce and King James I of Scotland. The Campbells were connected to them all.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Wow. That’s some family history. What about your immediate family? There are some interesting portraits in the hallway as we came in. And what about the haunting? What can you tell me about that?”
“There’s too many to tell you about. Pick a few and I’ll tell you about them.”
She took a bite of her toast and thought for a few seconds. “The sad-looking woman in the pink dress at the top of the stairs. Who is she?”
“Elizabeth Campbell. The portrait is around two hundred years old. She was married to Robert Campbell who owned the house and apparently was a tyrant. She died after a fall down the stairs. But did she fall, or was she pushed?”
Juliette gave a shudder. “Oh, that’s horrible. Is she the one that’s supposed to haunt the house? And who put her picture above the stairs? Doesn’t that seem a little macabre to you?”
He loved the fact she was passionate about things and embraced them completely. “I have no idea who haunts the house. There are a number of suspects.”
Her eyes widened. “I like it. It’ll work for the story. Who are the other suspects?”
She rested her hand on her chin and looked up at him with those big brown eyes. If this were anyone else in the world he’d think they were flirting with him. But not Juliette. She was all about the story. More’s the pity.
“Well, we have two duelling brothers. And a portrait of the two of them, that has an actual blade mark down it.”
“Really? How fabulous.” Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh no. I didn’t quite mean it like that.”
He shrugged. “Yes, you did. They ended up killing each other whilst they duelled their way through the house.”
She shook her head. “This story just gets better and better.”
He raised his eyebrows, “And they were fighting over a woman.”
She leaned back and put her hand on her heart. “I think my work here is done.”
He took a drink of his tea. “I can do better than that one.”
Her gaze narrowed and she leaned forward, giving him a beaming smile. “Go on then. Prove it.”
“Do you want the axe marks in the walls from the fight with another Clan, or the charcoal sketch of the ten-year-old kitchen maid that scalded herself to death?”
She gasped, “How awful!” and looked around herself. Almost as if the ghosts might appear miraculously behind her. “That happened – here? To a little girl?” Her face paled and she took a deep breath.
He leaned over and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all part of the history of Garnock Hall. You know Haunted Ever After works best when we make people scared or cry.”
“But what if the host cries?” He could tell she wasn’t joking. He’d seen her shed a silent tear in the past over some of the heartbreaking stories that they’d covered. But Juliette was always the professional. She straightened her shoulders and looked around again.
“This is going to make a great programme. How about we film all this background stuff tomorrow? We can do it around the house. Or outside – it will be really atmospheric with the snow.” Her eyes had a thoughtful look around them, as if she were already imagining what the TV programme could look like. She wasn’t just thinking about her own job, she was thinking about his too. He didn’t know whether to feel flattered or annoyed.
“Fine with me. But you do realise tomorrow is Christmas Eve?”
She pulled backwards. “Is it? Of course. So, it is.” She looked around her and over towards the ancient Aga stove. “Does the stuff in here work?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at her term. It was abundantly obvious she was as much a stranger to the kitchen as he was. He pointed at the stove. “It works. I switched it on earlier. It just takes a long time to heat up. One of the first models. Had it repaired a few times but it should be fine.”
“What about these?” The gas burners on the stove flickered into life as she twiddled some buttons.
“Stop foutering.” It was his automatic response.
She pulled her hand back and laughed. “Stop – what?”
“Foutering. Interfering – touching things you shouldn’t. Of course it works. How do you think I made the bacon earlier?”
She walked up next to him, her amusement written across her face. It was the first time since they’d got here that her eyes had truly sparkled. “You have got to let me use that word tomorrow while we’re filming. The audience will love it.”
“You think?”
“I know. They love that kind of thing.” She pulled open a few doors and stared at the empty cupboards. “So, we have an oven that works and a gas hob. But what about food?”
He was starting to feel a bit embarrassed. She folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing like inviting someone for Christmas and then starving them.”
“We’re only a mile from the village. If you write a list of what we need then I can pick those things up tomorrow.”
She stepped forward, she was right under his nose. He got a delicious waft of strawberries from her hair. Good enough to eat. She poked her finger into the middle of his chest. “Andrew Campbell, what makes you think – for one minute – that I would have any idea what to put on a Christmas menu list? I’ve never made Christmas dinner in my life.”
“Neither have I.”
Silence. Both of them stared at each other for a few seconds as the magnitude of their words sunk in. Christmas just wasn’t Christmas without the traditional dinner that went along with it. The aroma of a cooked turkey with stuffing and chipolattas. Potatoes roasted in goose fat. Brussels sprouts with bacon. Carrots glazed in something that he’d never quite worked out. Homemade lentil soup to start. Gravy to smother all the food.
This was going to be a disaster with a capital D.
*
A feeling of dread was creeping over her skin. A tiny part of her overactive imagination had already painted a house filled with wonderful smells, a lit fire and Christmas dinner at the traditional dining table. With the dim lights and her handsome Scotsman her imagination might already having been dreaming of a few other things that seemed a little unlikely.
Now, her brain was picturing this cold, drafty house marooned in the middle of nowhere, with no fire, no food and a grumpy Scotsman instead. She could still currently see her breath in the air. This was nobody’s idea of Christmas and it certainly wasn’t hers.
It didn’t matter that she wasn’t in Barbados with her family. It didn’t matter that Rod had dumped her for a younger and probably fitter version. At least at home in her flat, she would have had her meal-for-one, some kind of chocolate, some heating, definitely some wine and her own remote control. She didn’t care about present
s.
As for the one thing she had bought herself – her red fur-lined parka – she hadn’t imagined sitting wearing it all Christmas day to keep herself warm. If that boiler didn’t fire up sometime soon it was going to be a cold, cold Christmas.
Andrew was doing his best to try and look cheerful. “We’ll be able to get a turkey from one of the nearby farms. The rest of the stuff we can just wing. How hard can it be to make a Christmas dinner?”
Juliette groaned. “Isn’t there just a hotel we can go to for Christmas dinner? There must be somewhere around here?”
He pointed to the blackness outside the window. “I hate to point out we’re in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t anywhere for miles. To be honest, I’m not even sure.”
Juliette folded her arms across her chest. “What’s with asking me to make a list? Why the automatic assumption that I’ll know what to put on it? Isn’t that a bit sexist?”
Andrew took a step back. He seemed startled and like most men she knew he started to babble. “Eh, no. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought that maybe if we put our heads together, that we might be able to remember what to put on the list.” A smile had started to creep across his face; he knew he was making a mess of this.
“You didn’t say anything about putting our heads together.”
“I was going to – you just interrupted me before I could finish.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but he was smiling at her again with his own arms folded across his chest.
She pulled a pad of paper across the worktop towards her. “Let’s do this turn about.”
“Where are we, in the school playground?”
She rolled her eyes. “If only. I never met any boys like you at school.” The words were out before she could pull them back. Things were ramping up in this cold kitchen. The boiler had finally spluttered to life and only just started to take the chill off the air. She could feel the rush of colour towards her cheeks and opened her mouth to make some joke about what she’d said but Andrew got in there first.
Christmas With the Laird Page 3
