She had caught her hair up in a glossy ponytail and was wearing a pretty rose pink and white striped dress. ‘Just dropped him off at his grandma’s.’
We introduced a blushing Jess to Aidan, and then all got involved, setting out the cake counter with today’s choices, which included raspberry pavlova; chocolate marble cake, and a marzipan, ricotta and fruit cake. We’d all had to bake late the night before to get ready for the shoot.
‘I don’t just have bags under my eyes,’ muttered Becky near my ear, ‘they look more like bloody suitcases.’
‘You look great,’ I assured her, ‘although I do know what you mean. I was still standing in that kitchen at one o’clock this morning, beating egg whites and folding almonds.’
Becky rolled her eyes. ‘Think I ended up almost falling asleep over my melted chocolate mix at home.’
Jess carefully arranged on a cake stand the rose and macademia cupcakes I’d made, before scribbling her lunch options onto the blackboard behind the counter.
‘I’m glad you couldn’t hear my language this morning when I was up making the venison pie,’ she said, going a fetching shade of pink at the memory. ‘Thank goodness Harry was still asleep.’
‘Why, what went wrong?’ asked Morven. She leaned over Jess’s shoulder, her green eyes dancing with approval at the venison pie nestled in a large ceramic bowl. ‘It looks irresistible to me.’
‘Oh, that one is fine,’ explained Jess. ‘It was my first effort that didn’t go so well. My hairdryer packed it in and I was so busy trying to fix it, I forgot about the pie being in the oven.’
‘Well, venison version two is a huge success,’ I encouraged her, silently promising to reserve a slice for myself for lunch. ‘What else does Aidan do for a living?’ I said quietly to Morven.
‘He’s a fitness trainer.’ She dropped her voice further and tagged on, ‘a personal fitness trainer,’ with heavy emphasis.
‘You’ve not mentioned him much before.’
Morven tilted an eyebrow. ‘Bit of a black sheep in the family.’
I clocked Aidan sending me a cheeky grin from across the room as he set up a tripod. ‘Lara, how do you manage to keep in shape when there are all these wicked treats around?’ he asked.
‘A good girdle,’ I joked, poker-faced. ‘And it’s amazing what a pair of big knickers can do.’
Becky tittered.
Aidan was momentarily thrown, judging by the confused knit of his fair brows. Then he regrouped his charm offensive as he adjusted the focus on his camera. ‘Maybe I could give you a one-on-one training session and set you up with a routine? Not that you need it, by the looks.’ He flashed his eyes at me again.
Oh, for pity’s sake.
‘He’s quite the mover, isn’t he?’ I asked Morven with amusement.
‘He certainly is,’ growled a familiar voice from the great hall doorway.
My stomach dropped. Vaughan.
He was leaning against the doorframe in a loose white shirt and navy jeans. He must have only just come out of the shower because his hair hung in slightly damp clumps around his shoulders.
Vaughan gave me a cool smile. ‘Good morning, ladies. So what’s happening here then?’
Becky lowered her tea cup. ‘Uh-oh,’ she muttered dryly. ‘It’s testosterone at dawn.’
‘Do you mind?’ I asked Vaughan, irritated. ‘Aidan has come to take photos for our social media and the new site.’ I tried to ignore the way the shirt clung to his biceps.
Vaughan tilted one eyebrow. ‘Oh, is that what he’s supposed to be doing?’
‘He’s only just got here.’
‘Yes, I think I may have heard his understated arrival,’ said Vaughan.
Aidan smiled frostily at him, before sending another shark-like grin my way.
‘Vaughan Carmichael,’ said Vaughan smoothly, striding over to Aidan and extending one hand. Aidan shook it in return.
‘So you’re here to photograph the ladies . . . ?’
‘That’s right, though I think it’s going to be a struggle even for me to do them justice.’
Vaughan gave the merest ghost of a smile. ‘So what magazines do you work for? Scottish Society? Landed Gentry? Or perhaps Social Scene?’
Aidan concealed his irritation but only just. ‘I’m freelance.’
There was an awkward pause.
Morven’s cousin snatched a glance at the windows. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said to Vaughan, ‘I’d better press on. I’d like to make the most of this natural light.’
‘Of course,’ replied Vaughan, catching my eye for an instant. ‘My apologies.’
He stalked past us, only stopping as he was about to pass me. ‘Enjoy your photo session with Action Man,’ he grinned, before disappearing out the tea room door.
Irritation gnawed at me and I opened my mouth to answer him, but he’d already gone.
What was all that macho posturing about?
I jumped when I suddenly felt Morven sidle up behind me and sigh. ‘You know what? I give in. Why don’t you two go to bed together and put us all out of our bloody misery?’
‘Time to rock’n’roll, ladies,’ called Aidan.
The remainder of the morning rolled past in a sea of chattering customers. The four of us barely paused, weaving in and out of the tables.
Aidan had taken an array of new photographs of Glenlovatt. He’d captured the regal old beauty of the house so well, as we saw when he showed us some of the results on his laptop, having harnessed the golden specks of light bouncing off the windows and the majestic turrets soaring into the autumn clouds. He’d also taken some more ‘arty’ shots, closing in on the butterscotch stone and the intricate details of the thistle-carved buttresses, blurring the tangles of trees and capturing Glenlovatt in a dreamy haze.
Inside, Aidan had photographed Morven, Becky, Jess and me holding up some of the cakes, and set up others of our cakes and pies artistically placed on one of the tables. Lastly, he’d taken a couple of photos of each of us on our own. When it was my turn to be photographed, I felt like his camera lingered on me slightly longer than was necessary, and as he was leaving, he pressed his business card into my palm. ‘Call me,’ he breathed with a theatrical wink.
I thanked him politely for all his efforts, and then Morven and I watched him screech off in a flash of shiny black. Back inside, I filed his number in the waste paper bin. Not really what I needed right now.
‘That lady’s in again,’ commented Becky at lunch, fetching two clean cups from the shelf. ‘The one in the purple coat.’
I glanced round from pouring fresh milk into one of the miniature milk bottles we used as jugs, glad of a reason to shake Morven’s earlier words from my head. ‘Why don’t you two go to bed together and put us all out of our bloody misery?’ I was still confused by Vaughan’s odd behaviour that morning. If I didn’t know any better, I might start to think he was actually jealous!
I looked over at the elderly lady Becky was pointing out. ‘I thought she seemed familiar,’ I agreed. ‘She’s been here a few times now, hasn’t she?’
‘More than a few,’ said Becky, carefully slicing a portion of frangipane tart and transferring it onto a plate. ‘If I remember rightly she’s been in here almost every day for the past week.’
I snapped open a bag of fresh coffee. The woman was sitting at one of the window seats towards the back of the tea room, from where you could gaze out onto a wilder section of the gardens. Purple heather sprouted from the edges of the flowerbeds and there was the faintest glimpse of the silvery Fairview Burn much further down the grounds. On a sunny day it sparkled like a glossy, watery ribbon, splashing over the rocks.
‘I’ll go and take her order,’ I said, collecting my pad and pen from the top of the counter.
Her pinched, freckled face was turned towards the gardens when I approached her table. I felt as though I was intruding on her thoughts. ‘Good morning. What can I get you?’
She swung around, my voice pulling her
away from wherever she had mentally travelled to. ‘Oh. Hello, sorry. Could I have a pot of tea and a fruit scone, please? No jam, thank you.’
‘Yes, certainly.’
I hovered a moment, unsure whether to initiate any more conversation. ‘It’s a lovely view,’ I attempted. ‘On a clear day like this, the burn really is pretty.’
Her hooded eyes moved downwards towards the water. ‘Yes, it really is.’ She paused, her speckled hands idly fingering the menu. ‘I’m so glad Glenlovatt is open again to the public after all these years.’
‘So you know the estate well then?’
The question appeared to startle her. ‘Yes, something like that.’
‘Have you been on a tour of the house yet?’ I smiled.
The woman protectively tugged her coat tighter. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘It’s great,’ I encouraged. ‘Mrs Baylis, the local librarian, conducts the tours and what she doesn’t know —’
‘I’m not really interested in the house,’ the woman said. ‘It’s the gardens that hold memories for me.’
She stopped short of elaborating, deciding to snatch up the patent black handbag at her feet instead. ‘I’ve changed my mind about the tea and scone. I must go.’ She noisily pushed back her chair and offered me a hurried apology from under a crown of salt-and-pepper layered hair.
Then she was gone.
A couple of other occupied tables eyed the woman curiously as she disappeared out of Thistles, the tail of her coat flapping in her hurry.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Becky, as I walked back to the counter. ‘What did you say to her?’
‘I haven’t a clue. I only asked her if she’d been on a tour of the house, and then she got all touchy and left. She seemed really interested in the gardens. She said something about them holding memories for her.’
Becky shook her head slightly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll be back.’
Lunchtime was quieter than the morning, so I devoured a tuna sandwich before telling Becky I wouldn’t be long. Thank goodness she was reliable!
I freshened up my deep pink lipstick, straightened my simple blue cotton T-shirt and tied my ponytail before negotiating the staircase, one apprehensive foot in front of the other. I propelled myself forwards until I reached the closed door, odd taps and thumps penetrating slightly between snatches of music from the other side. I raised a trembling hand to rap on the door. No response. I tried again—nothing. ‘Sod knocking,’ I muttered angrily, opening the door.
‘Hey!’
Vaughan was standing over a workbench, a hunk of stone positioned in front of him. He was wearing a pair of old black jeans—and nothing else. His hair hung about his sweaty shoulders, and dust clung to his fingers. The black curtains were now pulled right back, accentuating his angular profile. A volley of birdsong flooded into the room from the open window.
My power of speech momentarily ebbed away.
He tossed his chisel onto the bench. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Then the appearance of a mischievous grin threw me off kilter for a moment. ‘I take it your heartthrob photographer has gone now?’
I banged the door shut behind me and gathered my resolve. ‘Now you listen to me,’ I barked, ‘your dad is carrying the weight of Glenlovatt on his shoulders and it’s time we did something about it.’
Vaughan slid his hands into his pockets. I tried very hard to ignore the smattering of wiry black hair that trailed down his chest to the waist of his jeans. ‘Oh yes?’
Hold your nerve, Lara. He’s like an animal. Don’t show fear.
I straightened my spine. ‘He’s told me about the dry rot problem and how much it’s going to cost.’
Vaughan’s muscles tightened under his skin. ‘What dry rot problem? What are you talking about?’
Oh shit. Me and my big mouth. Not content with offending an elderly customer earlier, I’d gone and put my foot in it again.
Thirty-three
Vaughan pulled on a white cotton shirt, thrown over a nearby chair. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Dad is always telling me that one day Glenlovatt will be mine and yet he keeps something like this from me?’
I watched his fingers deftly fasten his shirt buttons. ‘It’s not just the dry rot you should know about,’ I stumbled. ‘That’s only part of the problem.’
Vaughan’s eyes glittered. ‘What else?’
I fiddled with my bracelet. ‘It’s going to be really expensive to fix. The tours and Thistles are doing well, but this dry rot thing has major financial implications.’
Vaughan moved towards me. ‘Lara, you’re waffling. Just tell me.’
‘I guess Gordon didn’t want to concern you with it all, especially as you’ve been working so hard on your art.’ I blew out a cloud of air.
‘If you’re going to do it, just spit it out, Lara.’
‘Your dad is considering marrying Rhiannon Kincaid.’
A silence louder than any bellow seemed to echo around the art studio.
‘Is this some sort of sick joke? What the hell for?’ he gasped, before the answer registered in his eyes.
‘Look, I know it’s none of my business but you can hardly pass judgement,’ I replied in Gordon’s defence. ‘You’re considering marriage to Petra for the same reason.’
Vaughan’s face darkened. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You mean you’re not?’ I asked in a thin voice.
He dragged a dusty hand across the top of his head. ‘No, I am not.’
I felt my heart thud in my chest.
‘Or, at least, I’m not anymore.’
Confusion rained down on me. ‘What do you mean?’
Vaughan stepped in front of me and took both my arms. ‘Do you honestly think I could marry that vacuous woman when I can’t stop thinking about you?’
His fingers burned my into my bare arms. ‘What?’
‘You heard,’ he croaked, pressing his mouth hard against mine. I moulded my body into his, revelling in the sensation of muscles sliding under his skin. His tongue teased mine and I responded, making him groan.
Despite all my protestations, Vaughan had slowly worn down my resistance.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I murmured after a few moments.
‘Because I’m not used to feeling like this. I’m usually the one in control.’ He lifted a thumb and traced it slowly down the contour of my cheek. ‘You’re like some force of nature. Everything was quiet here until you came and . . .’
‘And?’
‘Left my head spinning.’
His eyes rose to my hair, which he entwined in his fingers. He pulled my mouth towards his again and I selfishly kissed him back, revelling in the taste and smell of this gorgeous, complicated man.
‘There’s got to be something we can do,’ Vaughan said finally.
‘There will be,’ I assured him breathlessly. ‘We’ll think of something.’
Vaughan looked down at me again hungrily before seizing another kiss. Ribbons of electricity fired through every part of me. Eventually, we pulled ourselves apart. ‘There’s no way my father is marrying that woman.’
I lifted my hand and traced it down the angular lines of his face. ‘He’s worried. Very worried. The only reason he’s contemplating it is to secure this place and your future.’
Vaughan closed his eyes momentarily as my fingers slid under his jaw. His shadowy eyelids had me momentarily spellbound.
‘He still loves Mum,’ he murmured, revelling in the touch of my hands. ‘He always will.’ He turned and walked back over to the sculpture he had been working on and caressed the forming features with his fingertips. It was such an intimate gesture, I bit my lip.
‘Your dad will not be marrying her,’ I reassured him.
‘And I certainly won’t be getting married to Petra,’ he growled, moving back to take me in his arms again. ‘Because of you, Lara, I can’t. No matter what happens.’
; Arriving home in the late afternoon, I flicked between emotions like a faulty light switch.
Falling for Vaughan had been a rollercoaster experience.
He’d made a couple of appearances in Thistles during the afternoon, grinning at me as he’d taken away his tea and a large slice of coffee and walnut cake. Then his smile would falter, and I knew the whole situation with Glenlovatt and his father was crowding in on him again.
I headed to the kitchen, planning ot take it all in while trying out a new pineapple and carrot loaf recipe. I knew I should eat something but every time Vaughan strode into my thoughts my stomach rose and fell like a tsunami. Still, Wolf could eat for Scotland, so I knew it wouldn’t go to waste.
Right on cue, Wolf walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
‘Hi,’ I smiled. ‘Everything okay?’
Wolf looked shaken. ‘Not really.’
He shuffled from foot to foot in a pair of battered blue and white baseball boots.
‘Have you told Mum?’ I whispered over the hiss of boiling water.
‘Not yet.’
His words hung in the air between us. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ I sighed. ‘You really don’t have an option here, you know.’
Our exchange was interrupted by the entry buzzer.
‘Don’t answer it!’ snapped Wolf, lunging at me with an outstretched hand.
I switched off the hob. ‘Blimey, calm down.’
His face was stricken. ‘Please ignore it.’
I folded my arms. ‘Why do I get the distinct impression you’re hiding something?’
Wolf drew a hand over his beard. ‘I feel bloody awful dragging you into all of this, Lara.’
I stared him down. ‘Into all of what, exactly?’
Again, the buzzer sent its scream across my hall.
‘I’ll get it, shall I?’ called Mum’s disembodied voice.
‘No, Chris, don’t answer it!’ Wolf bolted from the kitchen in a blur.
‘Hello?’ asked Mum, leaning towards the intercom.
A gruff voice crackled out. ‘Hi there. Could I speak to Brodie Fairbairn, please?’
A Room at the Manor Page 18
