by Janet Pywell
‘And the guests?’
Julie smiles. ‘The young ones don’t want to go to bed; they’re still drinking.’
‘Is that pasta good?’
She pulls a face. ‘It looks terrible…’
‘Why are you eating it then?’
‘Mrs Long said she made it for the staff and I haven’t eaten all day.’
I reach over and take the bowl and tip it quickly into the bin.
‘Leave it to me. I’m sure I can find us something much nicer.’
I spend a few minutes rummaging around in the pantry and then the fridge and I place chopped salad, Scottish langoustines and smoked salmon on the table.
‘My goodness,’ Julie gasps, staring at the mouth-watering dishes. ‘We shouldn’t.’
I grin. ‘Why not? Come on, tuck in, there’s enough for us both, and I’ll see if I can find us some plonk to go with it.’
I find a chilled bottle of Chablis in the fridge.
‘We can’t drink that,’ Julie says.
‘Are you driving?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ I pour us both a healthy measure. ‘Cheers! To us. We deserve it.’
Julie grins. She looks exhausted and pale, like someone who rarely goes outside and enjoys the sunshine or good weather.
‘What will Hugo say?’ she asks.
‘I’ll tell Hugo the mice drank it.’
Julie laughs as I serve her a healthy plate of food.
‘Where is Hugo?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘He’s around somewhere. I’ve never been so spoilt,’ she says, eyeing the plate of food.
‘Really? It’s a perk of the job, look at the size of me.’
‘You’re not big.’
I laugh. ‘I’m solid muscle.’
‘But you’re not big, Ronda. You’re beautiful, Rubenesque, voluptuous—’
‘Careful, or I will think this plonk has gone to your head.’ I grin, happy with her description of me and ask, ‘Have you been working here long?’
‘For a few weeks. The last girl was sick and they needed someone urgently. They had a couple of big groups and then a hen party, and after that a wedding, so they asked me back—’
‘Who asked you, Mrs Long?’
‘She’s the housekeeper, but she doubles up as cook when no one else is around, or it’s quiet, or there’s a smaller group. She’s actually quite nice to me.’
‘Good. Do you live nearby?’
‘I’m staying in the stable at the moment.’
‘Ah, the luxury accommodation,’ I grin. ‘I’m in those salubrious lodgings too.’
She laughs. ‘I’ve rented a cottage in the village but because Mrs Long wants us here from dawn to dusk this weekend they offered me a room here on the estate, free of charge, and it saves me travelling back and forth.’
‘How lucky,’ I reply, but my sarcasm is lost on her, and she eats with gusto.
I savour the langoustines and lean back in my chair, relaxing for the first time today.
‘I watched you on Masterchef. They did a documentary after you won about you being in the army. You’re a war hero.’
I can’t tell her the truth, so I sip my wine.
‘Was it bad in Afghanistan?’ she asks.
‘Yes, and Syria and Belize…’
I finish my dinner, and when I try to ask her questions about her life, she’s self-deprecating.
‘Me? It’s just a job and a way to pay the rent.’
It’s evident that she doesn’t want to talk about herself, and suddenly Julie has finished her food, and she yawns loudly.
‘Would you mind if I went to bed, Ronda?’
‘No, you go ahead.’
‘You must be exhausted too. Didn’t you fly up from London this morning?’
‘I don’t need much sleep, besides I think I’m too excited to sleep.’
‘Is everything prepped for tomorrow?’
I pick up our dirty dishes and carry them to the sink. ‘Yes, don’t worry. I’ve got a couple of things I want to finish then I’ll head off to bed as well. Sleep tight.’
‘Night, Ronda. Thank you.’
‘Night, Julie.’
* * *
I find a bottle of brandy, pour myself a generous measure and head out to the garden and to the bench I’ve claimed as my own. The early evening smells of herbs, and wildflowers have disappeared, and now the heady scent of Lady of the Night lingers on the soft Scottish breeze. This is a world away from the madness of London, and I lean back, resting my head on the old brick.
I’m not looking forward to sleeping on my own. I’ll miss Molly. I’ll miss the way she clambers up on the bed and waits patiently for me, lying with her head on her paws, as I come out of the bathroom. Then when I get into bed, she rolls on her back for her traditional tummy rub, and when I turn off the light and lie on my side, she curls into me. I usually fall asleep to her heavy sighs and soft snoring.
I imagine her at Tina’s house. She’ll be in her doggy bed on the floor in Tina’s kitchen. No tummy rub. No soft mattress.
A male voice complains from the other side of the wall, and I strain to listen.
‘Christ, it’s bloody suffocating. And, on top of everything else, I’ve got to go bloody grouse shooting tomorrow.’
It’s Wilhelm, Herr Schiltz’s youngest son.
‘Is it the season?’ an American woman drawls – Chloe.
‘Presumably.’
‘Well, think of me tomorrow, I’m going with the ladies on a tour of Loch Ness to find the monster.’
‘There is no monster. It’s a story made up to get stupid tourists to visit the place.’
‘Don’t be such a spoilsport.’
‘This is a nightmare, Chloe. I hate it.’
‘Come on, honey. It’s not that bad.’
‘It is. You’ve no idea. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand them.’
‘But they’re your family.’
‘They maybe, but they’re certainly not my friends. Mike is behaving as if I know him well, but I haven’t seen him for years – since before I moved to the States. Besides, they’re not family, my stepmother and her best friend are behaving as if they’re on some pathetic soap opera, prancing around giggling. She’s common.’
‘You do worry so much, Wil. You mustn’t stress it.’
‘I can’t be like you, Chloe. Don’t you understand?’
‘Of course, I do, sweetie, but it’s only for a couple more months.’
‘It can’t come quickly enough.’
I sit still, hardly daring to breathe.
‘Jack’s drunk. He’s an idiot.’
‘He’s young, and he is family. He’s your brother.’
‘He’s my stepbrother.’ William corrects her. ‘And I can’t stand him. He’s lazy, spoilt and he’s a drunken idiot.’
‘Freya is sweet.’
‘She’s like her mother. She’s a replica of Louisa – she pretends she’s funny and easy-going, but she’s a manipulative whore.’
‘Wil, stop it. Stop being nasty.’
‘What? It’s the truth—’
‘It’s not for much longer. Come here and hold me, it’s turned chilly out here.’
‘How can I survive working with him?’
‘The time will fly past. Come here.’ There’s a hint of ridicule in her voice. ‘Umm, you’re lovely and warm. Just remember, in a few months, you can tell them all what to do with the company.’
‘That will be worth celebrating. I told you it would be worth marrying me, didn’t I?’
‘I’d marry you anyway, Wil – with or without the inheritance.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t know how Gunter puts up with him.’
‘Gunter is a different man to you. I can never fathom him out, but he’d had a row with poor Roma. She looked positively miserable. Umm, that’s nice,’ she murmurs. ‘I’ve never known two brothers to be such opposites. That’s probably why Gunter stayed in London, and why you came to America.’
/>
‘America – I love it. New York suits me, my darling. You know that. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.’
‘I know, sweetie.’
Their voices become a whisper, and I hear a soft moan, and suddenly I’m uncomfortable sitting listening to the sounds of their romance in the dark. It’s like I’m a voyeur, and this is how I get my kicks, but I don’t move. I’m rooted to the spot, but then, just as I’m deciding what to do, Wilhelm whispers, ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and make the most of that four-poster bed.’
Chloe giggles seductively. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
After they’ve gone I sigh with relief, quietly reflecting on their conversation, mimicking Chloe’s words softly and sarcastically.
‘Oh, Wil, I thought you’d never ask. Oh, Wil, take me upstairs and shag me senseless.’
‘Pardon?’ Mac steps out of the stone arch doorway and into the light. ‘Are you speaking to me?’
* * *
I’m smothering a giggle when Mac says, ‘Have you seen the front of the castle all lit up?’
I shake my head.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he insists. ‘Leave that glass and bottle there. I’ll take it inside later. We’ll go this way by the south wall. There’s a scenic view of the woods and the river in the day. The view is spectacular.’
I walk companionably beside Mac along the path and when the clouds part, the silvery moon shines above us lighting the pathway.
‘It’s a full moon tomorrow,’ he says, squinting up at the sky. ‘Good weather is forecast for the shooting.’
‘Are you taking them?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Do you double up as night watchman too?’
He rubs his head and doesn’t reply.
‘Do things get a bit rowdy?’ I ask.
‘Sometimes, with promotional or corporate events, you know, when too much alcohol is consumed. Weddings are normally alright apart from the occasional bridesmaid vomiting in the toilet—’
‘Lovely! And this group?’
‘They’re a bit strange. Aloof. Spoilt and rich. There’s an odd mix.’
‘In what way?’
He shrugs. ‘They don’t seem to want to be here.’
‘I thought that too. It’s a bit strange to have to be here to celebrate a birthday. You’d have thought they’d want to. I’d have thought they would be happy to hang out here, of all places.’
‘That’s family, I guess. They’re not always your friends or the people you want to hang out with.’ His voice takes on a bitter tone, and I remember he’s recently-separated.
‘They don’t seem to like each other much,’ I probe, in part for my report to Inspector Joachin but also because I’m curious.
‘You’re right. Herr Schiltz’s business partner, Mike, has already told me not to pair him up with one of the guests tomorrow at the grouse hunt, so I’ll have to rearrange things in the morning.’
‘Really? Who’s that he doesn’t want to be paired with – Wilhelm?’ I say.
Mac stops and looks at me in surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I took a guess.’
‘Do you know why?
I shake my head. I’d already shown off. Inspector Joachin wanted me to be his eyes and ears, not his mouth-almighty. I have to be more cautious.
Mac is distracted, and he takes my arm.
‘Look, there. See the castle?’
I turn around to see Castle Calder illuminated in red lights, the stone walls glowing like hot coals and the peaked silver château turrets reflecting the glowing moon. A fairy-tale castle; what a perfect place to spend a birthday, unless of course, you’re with the wrong people.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I whisper.
We stand companionably then I say, ‘There’s someone up on the casement, up there. Look on the battlements.’
Mac squints into the distance. ‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Jim, the chauffeur.’
‘He looks more like a bodyguard,’ I reply. ‘I wouldn’t want to get in a fight with him.
‘Very wise, Ronda. He’s a very dangerous man. He also carries a gun.’
* * *
I close the door quietly and turn on my bedside lamp, conscious that the walls are thin and my neighbours will hear me moving around. I pull out my mobile and check my messages. There’s one from Tina with a photo of Molly.
Sorry, we missed you. out running. missing you. Woof woof, lick, lick and goodnight.
I smile then I rummage in my weekend bag and find the particular mobile the inspector gave me.
A green flag tells me I have a message.
Read this text then delete it.
I prop up the pillows and make myself comfortable.
Ronda, if you have any news, please send a message. It doesn’t matter how unimportant you think it might be or how late it is.
I begin to type.
Mr Schiltz is giving me a valuable blue diamond ring to hide in Mrs S. birthday cake at 6 am. Wilhelm, younger son, isn’t happy to wait to get his inheritance? He doesn’t like his family! Gunter and his wife have been arguing. Jim, the chauffeur/bodyguard, wears a Smith & Wesson.
I gaze at the ceiling for inspiration.
I’ve been in the kitchen with the staff. Ronda.
I sigh and toss the phone on the bed, too tired for drama. I have a quick shower, dry my hair and brush my teeth. It’s after I’ve pulled on my cotton pyjamas and I’m sitting in bed that a message comes back.
Thank you, Ronda. This is a big help. I need to ask a favour of you. Is there any way that you can get into Herr S. bedroom? See if there are any documents?
I gaze at the ceiling, thinking of Jim and his gun when another message pings through.
BTW, can you get a photo of the ring?
I type back.
I’ll try, R.
I clear the messages and switch off the phone and place it between my underwear, at the bottom of my weekend bag. I turn off the light and lay my head on the pillow.
I miss Molly’s happy sigh, her wheezing and soft snores.
Inspector Joachin. Is he here in Scotland?
Chapter 7
‘Look wise, say nothing, and grunt. Speech was given to conceal thought.’
William Osler
It’s a bright and sunny morning, and I can feel the warmth of the sun on my back as I lock the door of my room. I’m dressed in clean whites, and today, I’ve put a navy, gold, orange and green bandana around my head.
‘Morning!’
Startled, I turn quickly.
Hugo is wearing black shorts and a jogging vest. He’s panting while trying to smile at the same time.
‘You’re up early,’ I say.
‘I try and do 5k first thing.’
‘Is that all?’
He grins and begins breathing more regularly with his hands on his hips. Then he checks his watch. ‘I set off at five-fifteen.’
‘Really, you had a lie-in? I was up much earlier.’
‘Ha ha, Ronda.’
‘See you later.’ I wave.
‘You’re starting in the kitchen early,’ he calls.
‘It’s the normal time,’ I say, with a hint of mockery in my voice. ‘I went jogging at four-thirty – sorry I missed you.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’
I don’t try to convince him. I know how to maintain the necessary fitness level for my cardio kickboxing, and there’s a strong focus on my core. It also improves my flexibility, balance and coordination, as well as helping my reflexes. I try to work out five days a week for sixty minutes, even if I have to get up early. I need this discipline, but more importantly, it also helps me cope with my night-time demons; my nightmares about bankruptcy, serving a disastrous meal and my feelings of inferiority. Last night had been no exception.
* * *
I’ve balanced three sponge cakes on top of each other, mixed the icing fondant and I’m rolling it out wh
en Herr Schiltz arrives in the kitchen wearing a navy dressing gown and maroon slippers. His moustache looks trim, and he’s shaved.
‘Good morning.’ I force myself to smile.
He ignores me and walks around the kitchen to stand beside me. His breath smells of toothpaste. ‘What’s that?’
‘The fondant – icing.’
‘Green?’
‘You wanted a golf-themed cake, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘This will be a putting green with a hole and a flag with the number five on one side and zero on the other. I will make two figures, one of your wife and one of you, and golf clubs, and – if it works out – a golf buggy.’
‘Where will we put this?’ he whispers, ‘the ring?’
‘Wherever you like. I can cut a tiny hole and then mark the spot with a toothpick, and when I place the fondant over the cake there will be a tiny, tiny hole and we will know the exact location.’
‘Can you put something there to mark the spot?’
‘Like a golf ball?’
‘That would be perfect. Then I would know which piece to cut for Louisa.’
‘No problem.’
I reach over, wipe my hands on my apron, and pick up my Japanese knife. I point to the top of the cake.
‘Here?’
He nods.
‘Do you have it?’ I ask.
As I dip my knife into the soft sponge, he pulls the glistening blue diamond from his pocket. I want to whistle at its beauty, let alone the probable cost but I refrain from any silliness as I carefully gouge out a small hole. I take the ring from him, and for a few seconds, it’s mine. I place it gently and neatly inside and then pack a small amount of sponge into the middle of the ring where Louisa’s finger will go. It looks almost perfect. I place a toothpick in the centre of the hole inside the ring, so it stands out, marking the spot.
‘Now what?’ he asks.
‘This.’
Herr Schiltz’s breath increases in short rapid gasps as I take the rolled-out green fondant and place it carefully over the entire three layers of cake. I ease it over the toothpick, and it pricks easily through the fondant and without tearing. I leave a generous measure to tuck around and into the sides. It takes several minutes for me to cover the cake and then I stand back and look at my work.
‘All done.’
