Tears clustered in my eyes. I turned to read the faces of Gordon and Vaughan. Gordon was gaping at me. Vaughan was firing deadly lasers.
I couldn’t make sense of it. It was crazy—wonderful, surprising but utterly bonkers. Was poor Hugo expecting to pass away so quickly? He must have written his will much earlier, and then changed it very soon after meeting me. What had possibly possessed him to do that?
I flicked my anxious eyes towards Gordon and Vaughan.
‘But why me?’ I croaked in response to their reactions. ‘I don’t understand any of this. I’m not family or anything.’
‘You’re telling me,’ spat Vaughan, tugging at his gold silk tie. ‘The old man must have lost it towards the end. I loved him a lot but this is crazy, even for him.’ He gestured towards Hugo’s will. ‘My grandfather must have explained why he’s done this. What else is in there?’
Mr Chalmers steepled his hands together. ‘All I can tell you is that your late grandfather telephoned me shortly before he passed away and was most insistent that the nature of his will be changed.’
‘But why?’ asked Gordon. ‘He certainly never gave any indication to us that he intended to alter his will.’
‘I’m afraid your father has left specific instructions not to divulge any further information—for now.’
‘For now?’ echoed Gordon incredulously. ‘No disrespect to this young lady but as Hugo’s next of kin, I do think . . .’
Mr Chalmers pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m fulfilling the strict instructions left by your late father.’
‘Which are?’ sighed Vaughan with an exasperated air.
‘That the reasons for bequeathing the art room to Miss McDonald will be revealed on the twenty-seventh of October this year.’
‘The twenty-seventh of October?’ scoffed Vaughan. ‘That’s months away. Are you kidding me?’ He appealed to his father. ‘So this means we have to go along with this bloody charade while we wait for further instructions?’ Vaughan shot to his feet. ‘This is madness. Not only do we have a bloody tea room inflicted on us but that means we will have to open Glenlovatt up to the public again. We’ve been closed for twelve years now.’
Gordon leaned forward in his chair and ran a finger around the cream collar of his shirt. ‘Why on earth has he stipulated the twenty-seventh of October? Do you happen to know the significance of this date at all?’
Mr Chalmers shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know the significance either. What I do know is that your father has left a letter addressed to you all.’
There followed a pause so pregnant that I half-expected a midwife to be called. Mr Chalmers lifted an envelope and spoke again. ‘This is the letter which is to be opened on that day.’
Eleven
As I stared up at the two men towering in front of me, a scary realisation clutched at my heart: I was now in business with two strangers I knew nothing about—except that the younger one was a total knob.
Traffic blasted past the three of us while we hovered uncertainly on the pavement outside the solicitors. Travis had cleverly excused himself from the icy atmosphere and was on his way to collect the car to take us back.
‘So,’ I exclaimed a little too brightly, ‘that was unexpected.’
Vaughan’s mouth slid into a grimace. ‘You can say that again.’ He turned to his father. ‘Do you think Grandfather was all there at the end, Dad? I don’t mean to sound callous but . . .’ His indignant words trailed off.
‘Of course he was,’ sighed Gordon, dashing an impatient hand over his silver hair. ‘My father was sharper than most people half his age.’
‘Then why decide to turn Mum’s old art studio into a tea shop?’ pushed Vaughan, giving me a sideways glare. ‘Unless, of course, he was cajoled into doing it?’
The inference hung like wintry mist in the Glasgow air, between the beeping horns and darting shoppers. I drew an angry breath. He thought I’d manipulated his grandfather into handing over that studio for my own purposes? What a bloody cheek!
‘Are you accusing me of influencing Hugo?’
‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ he snapped. ‘I’m simply wondering what your exact involvement with my grandfather was.’
Gordon raised his palm. ‘This isn’t helping anyone.’ He placed a hand on Vaughan’s shoulder. ‘Your grandfather was never cajoled into doing anything he didn’t want to do. Not once in ninety years.’ He rested his silvery grey eyes on his son. ‘He loved Glenlovatt but he thought we weren’t moving with the times. He said so often enough.’
Vaughan’s dark brows knitted. ‘What do you mean? Had Grandfather mentioned this ridiculous idea before?’
Gordon gave a light shrug. ‘Once or twice, yes, but I thought he was just having random thoughts, especially when he didn’t make a move to do anything about it.’
A couple of shoppers manoeuvred their way around us on the pavement, swinging an assortment of carrier bags in garish colours.
Vaughan jerked up the collar of his coat. ‘So why wasn’t I told about this? Am I no longer part of the family?’
‘Stop being petulant,’ said Gordon. ‘I had as much of an idea as you that Hugo was going to do something like this.’
Vaughan’s jaw set like concrete.
I could feel myself shrinking a little further. Here I was, caught between two warring aristocrats in the centre of Glasgow.
‘If I might say something,’ I managed, smiling shakily. ‘I don’t really understand all this either. In fact, I feel as though I’ve suddenly jumped on a merry-go-round that refuses to stop.’ I twisted my fingers together. ‘But what I do know is that I was very fond of Hugo. I also know how much Glenlovatt meant to him.’ I raised my face in a slightly more confident gesture. ‘If you support me, I promise to put every ounce of energy I have into making this tea room a success.’ Then I added carefully, ‘Not just for me but for Hugo’s memory, and for the benefit of Glenlovatt.’ Gordon adopted a small smile when I added, ‘And I will respect the late Mrs Carmichael’s studio.’ Choosing to ignore Vaughan’s silence on the matter, I concentrated all my attention on Gordon.
He nodded gratefully. ‘Miss McDonald, large old homes like Glenlovatt are expensive to maintain, as I’m sure you will appreciate. Any other income we can generate would therefore be very helpful.’
Thank goodness I had at least one of these men on side. I nodded enthusiastically as I spoke. ‘I’m determined to give it my all, sir. And, please, call me Lara.’
Gordon warmly extended his hand, which I gratefully accepted. ‘Call me Gordon.’
But the new ease soon evaporated.
‘Well, isn’t this cosy?’ sneered Vaughan. ‘What next? Is Miss McDonald going to move in? Change the wallpaper? Operate a theme park in the dining room?’ He pinned me with his hard blue eyes. ‘Unfortunately, we don’t have any other choice. Grandfather made sure this was all sewn up.’ He pushed a lock of dark hair off his forehead. ‘It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.’ He turned and walked away from us.
‘Where are you going?’ called Gordon. ‘Travis will be back at any minute with the car.’
Vaughan shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I fancy a walk. I’ll see you back at the estate.’
Gordon watched as his son was swallowed up by the milling pedestrians while I tried to compose myself.
‘Thank you for the offer of a lift home, Gordon, but if you don’t mind, I’ll catch the train back. I’d really like to clear my head.’ I gave him a nervous smile. ‘This has all come as a bit of a shock.’
Gordon nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, it most certainly has. For all of us.’
My head churned with thoughts as the train rattled me back to Fairview. Why on earth had an elderly laird put all his faith in me?
I remembered confiding in Hugo about how much I desperately wanted my own tea room, and every time he shuffled through the door of True Brew he’d witnessed firsthand how difficult it was working for Kitty. But to let me us
e his late daughter-in-law’s art studio and make the necessary financial provisions for me to make a living from it was a huge leap of faith that I was both grateful for and struggled to comprehend. Tears of happiness at this unexpected chance threatened to spill down my cheeks. Having to deal with Vaughan Carmichael, though, was going to be a huge challenge on its own, let alone making Glenlovatt Manor’s new tea room a viable business.
As the train continued to Fairview Station, I considered Gordon Carmichael. Although the will had been a shock, at least Vaughan’s father had the good grace to wish me well and offer his support.
‘I have to admit,’ he’d said, smiling ruefully after Vaughan’s frosty departure, ‘what I know about tea rooms you could write on the back of a postage stamp.’
The train slid easily up to the platform and unloaded a handful of passengers. It was lunchtime and gaggles of schoolkids were milling around the town square, devouring their sandwiches and rolls.
I glanced down at my office-style outfit. It would have to be a quick dash back to the flat to throw on some jeans before going to work. Then, I thought ominously, it would be a case of telling Kitty my news. Visions of a glowering Vaughan Carmichael and a snarling Kitty Walker converged into one terrifying monster in my imagination. I teetered faster in my heels.
Deal with one horrific apparition at a time, Lara, I told myself. Then a thought struck me: I couldn’t do this on my own. This required the Thelma & Louise approach—although hopefully we wouldn’t end up over a cliff at the end. I pulled up the contacts on my phone.
‘Morven,’ I gabbled before she could say more than hello. My voice as I spoke sounded disembodied. It was as if the words bursting out into Fairview’s afternoon air belonged to someone else. ‘I’ve just inherited a tea room,’ I gasped, dodging the people drifting past me, ‘and I want you to work with me.’
Twelve
‘You are what?’ gasped Kitty. She clutched a shelf behind her in the storeroom for added support. ‘After all the help and training I’ve given you and you stab me in the back like this?’
I racked my brain for examples of the training she’d given me, or situations where she’d freely given help, but couldn’t recall a single one. ‘I’m grateful to you for giving me this job when I came back to Fairview,’ I explained politely. ‘But I owe it to Hugo to give this my best shot.’
Kitty glared at me with her moon-like face. ‘I don’t understand this,’ she muttered. ‘Why on earth would Hugo Carmichael do all that for the likes of you?’
I dipped my head around the corner to see if any new customers had come in. Thankfully the lunchtime rush had subsided, leaving a man bashing away at his laptop in the corner and a couple with their grumbly toddler.
I knew I had to choose my words carefully. ‘I haven’t got my head around it all yet either. But from what was in Hugo’s will, he was adamant Glenlovatt must move with the times.’
‘By opening up a bloody rival tea room!’ supplied Kitty, clasping a hand to her forehead in horror.
I tried to reassure her. ‘It won’t be like that. Glenlovatt isn’t in Fairview itself. It’s a few miles out.’
‘I know that!’
I collected my thoughts and did my best to ignore Kitty’s amateur dramatics. ‘The new tea room will be specifically for Glenlovatt Manor visitors,’ I carried on, growing more confident. ‘Hugo was keen to open up the house again to bring in some revenue. The tea room would help with that.’
Kitty’s hard eyes fired killer beams so I decided to try a different approach. ‘I’ve read some things about these stately homes and how the upkeep of them is phenomenal. Leaking roofs, heating, structural wear and tear—’
‘Oh, so you’re an expert on stately homes now, are you?’ she interrupted, folding her arms.
My shoulders slumped. This conversation was going downhill fast but I decided to try one more time. ‘What I’m trying to say is—’
Kitty shook her head. ‘I’ve heard enough. I’ll pay you until Saturday.’
My mouth popped open. ‘Sorry?’
She jutted her powdered jaw defiantly.
‘You’re letting me go? Right now?’
Kitty’s frosty pink lips twitched.
‘But I’m more than happy to work out my proper notice,’ I insisted.
Kitty pushed herself away from the shelf, her apron crinkling angrily against her floral blouse. ‘No need,’ she assured me airily. ‘I can manage. And anyway, there’s a long list of—’
‘Girls who are keen to work here,’ I finished for her. I probably said that in my sleep, she’d said it to me so often.
She stuck out her hand and made a beckoning motion to me. ‘Apron.’
Had I expected Kitty to be so ruthless? Part of me had. The other part had clung to the hope she’d show some element of understanding.
I slowly untied my gold and white apron, which she snatched back.
‘Good luck,’ she hissed, raining me with spittle. ‘You’ll need it.’
Glenlovatt Manor, August 1957
Rain coursed down the windows of Glenlovatt like tears. If the old manor was weeping for something precious she had lost, he knew what that was. He was suffering too.
The laird, Lachlan Carmichael, blinked up at his son from the comfort of his moss green velvet chair. ‘Straighten your face, man.’
There was no response. Lachlan watched his son’s shoulders tighten under the sharp cut of his dark blazer. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still mooning over that shop girl.’
‘She’s not a shop girl. She’s a baker.’
Lachlan twitched his bony fingers. ‘Same difference, if you ask me.’
‘That shows your ignorance then, Father.’
The young man swung around as he received a roar from his father. ‘Don’t you dare address me in that manner! Kindly remember who you are talking to.’
His dashing son smiled grimly, the silvery raindrops suspended from the window behind him like a jewelled curtain. ‘It’s not difficult to remember when you’re constantly reminding me.’
Lachlan glowered at his son as he stalked around the drawing room. ‘Why don’t we throw a huge bash at Hogmanay? We could invite the Murray-Hamiltons. That pretty daughter of theirs seems rather keen on you.’
Visions of the girl simpering at him in some marshmallow-style dress set his teeth on edge. He couldn’t contain his pain a moment longer. It was burning inside his chest, threatening to erupt. ‘Do you know what happened this morning, Father?’
Lachlan’s white face with its pointed expression infuriated him further.
‘This morning I watched the woman I love marry someone else.’
Lachlan slammed a clenched fist on the quilted arm of his chair. ‘Why the hell did you go? What’s the matter with you?’
To compound Lachlan’s fury, his handsome young son laughed. It was dry, bitter and inflected with hatred. ‘What’s the matter with me? Let me tell you. I’m still in love with her and I always will be.’ He bent down and pressed his jaw towards his father’s surprised face. ‘But I’m so much of a coward, I let her go.’
Lachlan was dismissive. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’
His son’s mouth twisted. ‘You’ve never felt like this, Father. How could you possibly begin to imagine how I’m feeling?’ He pulled back from the stench of cigar smoke emanating from his father’s breath.
‘I was not prepared to allow you to give up Glenlovatt for some common nobody,’ spat his father. ‘You should just have had the little tart and got her out of your system.’
Lachlan Carmichael let out a startled whine as his son seized his collar with both hands. ‘If I ever hear you refer to her in that way again I won’t be responsible for my actions.’ He let go of Lachlan’s grey shirt and the older man fell backwards into his chair. Aiming one more contemptuous stare at his father’s shocked visage, he barged out of the door and into the garden. A cluster of yellow roses met him as he angrily rounded the corner, and triggered painf
ul recollections of that morning.
The sight of her framed in the church doorway was one he’d never forget, her red curls spiralling gently beneath a short fountain of veil and her white dress pooling to the floor in layers of thick lace. She wore short white gloves and clutched a bouquet of yellow roses.
The church gate was heavy with white satin ribbon wound through the black wrought iron. Then the bells pealed their rusty joy and his stomach clenched. He dipped behind a cluster of wedding guests, unable to bear the pain of her seeing him. Nor did he want to set eyes on her new husband, but curiosity reared its head and he moved slightly to one side to get a clearer view.
The groom lingered protectively behind his wife, one hand placed on her bare upper arm. He had a ready smile and brown hair swept severely to one side. Longing lunged through him as wedding rice cascaded down onto her upturned face. He’d seen enough. He should never have come.
Rain was forecast for that afternoon but at that moment the summer sun dazzled down on the wedding party, illuminating floral hats, bare shoulders and Brylcreem-slicked hair. Barging into a female guest, he muttered an apology and raced to the other side of the road. He caught sight of his reflection in the milliner’s window, haunted grey eyes staring back out of his sharply chiselled features. He had to live with the consequences of being weak, of not defying his father. But what he didn’t have to bear silently anymore was Lachlan’s intolerance of emotion.
He continued to examine his reflection in the glass, oblivious to the startled looks from the stern woman behind the shop counter.
One day his time would come, and he would ensure Glenlovatt would have what might have been.
Thirteen
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’ I smiled at Gordon across his desk.
I was back at Glenlovatt just two weeks after the formal reading of Hugo’s will, to meet with the family about moving things forward with the tea room. Well, when I say family, that grumpy sod Vaughan was nowhere to be seen. He was probably off somewhere biting some innocent virgin’s neck.
A Room at the Manor Page 6
