Other people he knew spoke of a pull to go home. He felt completely opposite. Just a glimpse of Garnock Hall made him want to run in the other direction. Or, at least it had.
Juliette was changing that. He’d never brought a woman back to his family home before. She’d known nothing of his family, or his circumstances. Juliette wasn’t here because she felt sorry for him, or because he potentially had a huge estate and land.
Juliette was here because of a job. But it didn’t feel like that.
From the second she’d set foot in Garnock Hall it was as if the whole oppressive atmosphere had lightened. In the middle of winter it was still a dark place, but it didn’t feel quite so sorry, quite so sad. It was almost as if the ghosts had given up and left.
He picked up the axe and swung. It might not be highly practical but it was therapeutic. He had to bend and swing low to reach the part of the trunk nearest the ground. The thick, wide branches made it more difficult, jagging him with their spiky needles. Needles, which in a matter of days, would be scattered across the floors of the hall.
It was the one thing that had driven his mother crazy. Every year she’d spent days sweeping around the Christmas tree. He probably should have cut one of the Nordman firs. They had a lower needle drop and were the most traditional type of Christmas tree commonly used around the country. But they didn’t have the same traditional shape, or smell, as the spruce. And this was the kind of tree that had always been decorated in Garnock Hall.
His arms just wouldn’t let him cut another.
The muscles started to burn as the axe first chipped away at the trunk, and then started to slice through with more definition. Finally the heavy tree started to sway. He paused for a second and lined up the wheelbarrow on the other side, taking the few last swings before it toppled over.
Sweat ran down his back. He needed to shower, but was reluctant to wash the unique scent from his skin. It reminded him of Christmases gone by. Happier times with him, his mother, father and brother all sitting around the large dining room table, covered in a red tablecloth, with holly wreaths on every door.
He stretched out his back and picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow. It was almost inky black now. The last few rays of sun had disappeared and the only light was now from the house.
From this side of the house he could see the kitchen. Juliette had been busy. All the food was laid out across the high wooden work bench in the kitchen, with a silver roasting tray and some pots sitting nearby.
It sent a little buzz through him. She was serious about this. Serious about decorating the house and trying to create a Christmas dinner.
It would have been so easy for her to come up here and grumble about everything. The heating, the lighting, the location, the lack of available help. But she hadn’t grumbled once. She’d just got on with her job.
That made his stomach twist a little. Was this just about the job? Or was it something else?
He’d always thought Juliette was beautiful and smart. But he’d never really known the real woman. The one who looked cut to the bone about being dumped. The one who was sad that her family was away at Christmas. The one who hadn’t hesitated to say yes about working, when she knew the circumstances.
The one who’d reached out and touched him when she knew that he was sad. When she knew that being back here was a struggle.
He was fighting the urge to get closer. Fighting the urge that this could be something else. Juliette had always been polite and professional around about him. But she’d never shown anything else.
No pull. No flirtation. No sexual undertones. Not like he was feeling right now.
Maybe he was imagining it? Maybe he was reading things all wrong? Maybe the backlash of emotions at being back here was turning into something else entirely?
He parked the wheelbarrow at the door. Maybe he should stop overthinking so much and just do. He still had to get through the next few days up here.
And the sinking feeling in his stomach hadn’t changed since he got here. There was no point putting it off any longer – it was time to make a decision about Garnock Hall.
Chapter Six
‡
Juliette walked through the empty house. Andrew was still outside finding them the perfect tree.
It was the first time since she’d got here that she’d been in the house on her own. And it felt a little odd. This place felt as if it should be full of people, full of voices.
Everywhere she went her footsteps echoed down the hall. The kitchen was the warmest place in the house. The lighting good and the warmth from the Aga stove drifted across the tile floor towards her. She’d scrubbed the wooden counter top and laid out their food. Now it was all in front of her she was starting to get stage fright. Who was she kidding that she could actually create a Christmas dinner out of this?
The turkey was still wrapped in paper. She was sure that somewhere in the instructions it said to keep at room temperature before it was cooked. Even with the edge taken off the chill in the air, the kitchen was still probably as cold as most people’s larders.
She opened drawers to find some utensils. Baking trays, roasting trays and a whole variety of pots, pans and glass casserole dishes seemed to mock her. She sat out the ones she thought they might need along with a grater, a potato peeler and some serving spoons.
One of the cupboards held a beautiful, immaculate set of white boned china, inlaid with red roses. It was exquisite. Were these the plates they should use tomorrow? She would need to wait and ask Andrew later.
Something spurred her on. There was one thing she could do. She grabbed the chocolate and butter and started to melt them in a pan. She emptied the digestive biscuits into the bowl and smashed them to pieces with a rolling pin.
Job done, she added the raisins, cherries and marshmallows and mixed them with the melted chocolate and butter. She looked over her shoulder – Andrew definitely wasn’t about – and smiled and dipped her finger into the mixture. Hmm. Delicious. If she’d been at home in her flat she would probably have lifted the bowl, found a spoon and just sat down and finished the lot. But she couldn’t. This was for them. This was for Christmas – no matter how much the mixture in the bowl was shouting out to her. She gave herself a shake and washed her hands. Two minutes later she pressed the whole lot into a tray ready to set in the cool larder. See? She wasn’t quite such a disaster after all.
She peered out the kitchen window towards the dark woods. It was too dark to see Andrew out there but she could hear the chop, chop of an axe.
She smiled. If she allowed her imagination to run riot it would actually be the chop-chop of a mad axeman who’d just killed the leading man in the forest, and any minute now the lights would flicker off and he’d chase her through the haunted house.
But she was an adult. A grown-up. At least she thought she was. If Andrew were cutting the Christmas tree it was time to find the decorations.
She washed her hands at the deep Belfast sink and dried them on a towel. Which room were the decorations in?
She climbed the wide, curving staircase and flicked on the lights in the corridor in front of her. Her mouth was dry and she gulped. So many rooms, so many dark closed doors. When was the last time any of them had been opened?
Stop it. She was being ridiculous.
She walked quickly to the first one and opened it, sliding her hand automatically to the right and flicking the light switch in the room. Thankfully, it worked. A simple room with a double bed and some old-fashioned furniture. She took a quick look around. There were no boxes on the floor and no obvious cupboards – just a large chest of drawers.
She closed the door and moved quickly to the next room. It was full of wardrobes and a full-length mirror. This room must have been used as a dressing room. No boxes again. She moved on, crossing to the doors opposite and trying those.
Andrew had pointed to the rooms at the far side of the house. In theory, she should walk to the end of the corridor and just check
those rooms. But something was stopping her doing that.
Maybe it was curiosity – the chance to see the other rooms in the house. Maybe it was the way the light dimmed a little near the end of the corridor. Maybe it was the fact that right now, she knew she was in the house alone and this would be so much easier if Andrew were right next to her.
The first few rooms were the same as the others. A few were a little larger, with dressing rooms to the side that in a modern day and age would probably be converted to en-suites. The next room was more personable. There were photos, some black and white, some colour. She looked at the nearest one, two young boys dressed in shorts and t-shirts. The colour in the photo had faded over the years. The bright red of one t-shirt muted to a paler shade. But she could still recognise one of the faces. It was Andrew. He was smiling, laughing with his brother. They were sitting on the edge of a bench, both sets of feet too short to reach the ground. His brother was as blonde as Andrew was dark.
It made her catch her breath. A moment in time. Captured for all eternity. She could almost feel Andrew’s mother’s fingers tracing over this photo, time and time again and praying for that second again. Tears sprang to her eyes.
All of a sudden she felt ashamed about being in this room. It felt invasive, intrusive. This must have been Andrew’s parents’ room. She moved quickly and left, crossing the hall and opening the door opposite.
It hit her straight away. So unexpected. So out of the blue. A cool chill swept over her, prickling her skin and making her hairs stand on end. Her breath caught in her throat.
This room was a young boy’s. A room that clearly hadn’t been touched since the moment he had died. It was perfectly tidy. Board games stacked in one corner, the edges of the boxes bashed and obviously well-used. A dressing gown hanging on a hook behind the door. An old-fashioned teddy in the middle of the bed.
There was a wooden desk and chair next to the window with an open box of crayons sitting on top. Some of them were broken.
She closed her eyes for a second. She could almost see a little boy sitting there. She could almost feel him picking up the crayons and colouring on some paper. The pictures in her head were vivid. Pale. He was pale beyond all reason with mischievous green eyes – just like Andrew’s.
A collection of books sat next to the bed. She recognised some of them. Most of them were still popular today. One with a bear. One with a caterpillar. They looked as if they had been read everyday.
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t breathe.
Her first reaction was to turn to the door and run. But, for some reason she just couldn’t. Something was pulling her back inside, drawing her into the room.
With some faltering steps she continued. Walking straight towards the bed and sitting down. The temperature was colder than everywhere else. The chill terrifying.
She wasn’t sure if she believed in hauntings or ghosts. She wasn’t sure if she believed in ‘presences’. But this was the first and only time she’d ever felt anything as strongly as this.
On a few rare occasions she’d walked into a place and wanted to turn around and walk back out. Some places were just plain scary. A few production assistants on a number of jobs had agreed and refused to be part of the crew.
“Douglas,” she breathed. She could see her breath in the air.
All the rational parts of her brain were trying to flood her with thoughts. The radiator in this room wouldn’t be switched on. It was far from the other rooms that were already heated. It was only reasonable that this room would be cold. But it felt wrong.
She picked up the caterpillar book and started turning the pages. Something made her talk. “I’m here with Andrew, your brother. He’s thirty now.” She looked up from the pages. “He still misses you.” She stood up and walked to the door, running her hand down the cold dressing gown. It shouldn’t be cold. It shouldn’t be like this. It should be filled with a little warm body, wrapped around to keep the cold out.
Something squeezed around her heart. She was so lucky. She’d never experienced grief like this family had. It made her appreciate how fortunate she actually was. Andrew’s parents must have felt as if their hearts had been ripped out their chests.
She couldn’t blame them for leaving the room the way it was. It was like a secret dream that their son could actually come back. It wasn’t morbid. It wasn’t crazy. It was a way of coping. She got that.
She touched the desk at the window.
No dust. It came to her in an instant. The other rooms she’d visited had been covered in a light coating of dust.
She looked around again. There was no rational explanation. Andrew had said he didn’t have a housekeeper. His father was dead and his mother in a nursing home. Who could keep the room clean?
She took a deep breath. She was crazy. She clearly had no idea what she was doing. “Andrew is cutting a tree for Christmas. We’re going to put it in the window where it used to be when you were boys. I’m supposed to be looking for the decorations.” She gave a little smile. “Tonight, and tomorrow I’m going to try and help Andrew cook Christmas dinner. That might not sound like much, but I’m not exactly the world’s greatest chef, so it’s a big deal for me. After that Andrew and I will film an episode of our TV series.” Now, she was a little nervous. “It’s about hauntings and Andrew said that Garnock Hall has a history. We shouldn’t even be here, but another little boy got hurt, and we can’t use the show with him in it. So we had to make a replacement at short notice. I hope you don’t mind.”
Her voice trailed off and she looked around her again. “Your brother is sad, Douglas. This whole house is sad. I’m hoping to make it a little less sad.”
The light above her flickered.
It was the tiniest second, and more than likely caused by ancient wiring. But it felt like so much more. She walked to the door, and touched the dressing gown once more.
“Merry Christmas, Douglas,” she whispered as she flicked the switch and turned out the light.
Chapter Seven
‡
By the time he’d hauled the tree into the house and managed to get it into the stand and fill it with water he was badly in need of a shower.
Juliette appeared at his back with a large cardboard box in her hands.
“Oh good, you found the decorations.” He lifted one of the flaps on the box. “I’m not sure what condition they’ll be in. Do you mind if I go and have a shower before we start?”
She seemed pale and a little distracted. “Sure, that’s fine. How about I make us some tea and toast before we start? I think I can manage that.”
“That would be great, thanks.” He gave a little nod and went to walk towards the door, before hesitating. The expression on her face was bothering him. “Juliette?” Her eyes met his. “I’m sorry you can’t be with your family this Christmas. I hope Garnock Hall isn’t too disappointing.”
She stared at him for a long time. “I’m sorry you can’t be with yours either.”
It was the oddest sensation. A little prickle down his spine, caused more by the way she was looking at him, rather than the words she said.
She looked unnerved, uncomfortable, and he was sure it wasn’t anything that he’d done. Maybe he hadn’t been welcoming enough? Garnock Hall wasn’t exactly guest central. He was even making her help cook her own Christmas dinner. His host skills were definitely questionable. As for a Christmas gift? It hadn’t even crossed his mind.
The thought horrified him. He couldn’t care less about gifts for Christmas. But he’d sent something to the people who were important to him. His mother always took great pleasure in telling him to buy her things in her moments of being lucid. He always complied. The staff at the nursing home always received a huge hamper from one of the big London stores containing enough wine and chocolates for everyone.
But here? Now? He couldn’t think of a single thing to give Juliette.
“I’ll light the fire when I come back down. Maybe heat this room a little
.”
It was strange seeing her in here, with a Christmas tree behind her. The last time he’d been in this room with a Christmas tree had been the year before his brother died. He wasn’t sure he was ready for all the feelings that the sight and smell of a simple tree were evoking.
But what he was sure about, was the fact that Juliette being here, made it so much easier.
*
She listened to his footsteps on the stairs and hurried to the kitchen. Tea and toast she could do. The bread looked a little strange. Andrew had called it a ‘plain’ loaf when he’d bought it. The slices were more oblong than square, with thick crusts and thicker than normal slices. He’d obviously picked up some jam too, so she boiled the kettle and made the tea and toast. Her stomach growled. It smelt great. Perfect, for a winter’s night.
The pile of food on the work surface was beginning to look a bit ominous. Could they really cook up a Christmas dinner between them? This could be a disaster.
By the time she’d found a tray and walked back through, Andrew was lighting the fire. His hair was still damp and he’d pulled on a t-shirt and jeans that outlined all the muscles on his back as he leaned towards the fireplace.
As the fire lit, it sent a warm, orange glow around the room. But the heat didn’t quite reach where she was standing. She slid the tray onto a nearby table and lifted the plate with toast and the mugs of tea towards him, sitting on the rug beside him.
“Don’t you want to sit at the table?”
She smiled. “Not a chance. I’ve always dreamed of sitting in front of a roaring fire and this is my chance.” She took a bite of the toast. The thick toasted bread was different from any she’d tasted before. “This is delicious. Why on earth haven’t I tasted this before?”
“It’s one of Scotland’s secrets – plain bread – always best toasted. Have you never looked on Facebook and seen all the ex-pats in Australia and the US complaining that they can’t get plain bread or square slice sausage?”
Christmas With the Laird Page 7
