Sealed With a Kiss

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Roderick? As in “Lord of the Manor” Roderick?’

  ‘The very one.’ Susan winked at her and bumped the pushchair up the step and into the ice-cream parlour. The fittings were so ancient that they were now attractively retro in style. The tables were arranged in booths, with dark-red leather seats, and an original Wurlitzer jukebox at the far end of the room. They were the only people in there, and Jamie took full advantage of this, hurtling from one end of the cafe to the other, sliding across the polished floor on his knees.

  ‘Susan MacKelvie. Where’ve ye been all ma life?’ A beaming Italian man with a strong Glaswegian accent appeared.

  ‘I was here on Tuesday, but you were probably up at the hotel bar having a sneaky pint,’ said Susan. ‘Bruno, this is Kate, who’s moved into Bruar Cottage on the estate.’

  Taking Kate’s hand, he kissed it and then gave her a wink. ‘Bellissima. Guid tae meet ye, darlin’.’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ snorted Susan. ‘You’ll be scaring her away when she’s only just arrived. Jamie’ll have his usual please, and can we have a couple of coffees. You’ve never tasted a coffee like Bruno makes – they’re gorgeous.’

  Kate was dying to hear more about the famous Roderick, her new employer. It was a relief when Susan picked up the thread of her story, having paused to arrange baby Mhairi under her jumper for a feed.

  ‘Right.’ She took a slurp of coffee. ‘Roderick. Well, I’ve known him since we moved to the island when I was five. His parents used to bring him up here to the estate every summer. But he didn’t go to school here until his mum died, when he was about fifteen.’

  She paused to help Jamie poke a straw into his carton of apple juice.

  ‘When she died at their house in England – Oxfordshire somewhere – his dad couldn’t face living there, so they came up here.’

  ‘Was she ill?’

  ‘No, she fell down the stairs. I don’t know what happened exactly. Sounded horrible, like something out of a fairy tale.’

  Remembering the sudden emptiness that had fallen upon their family home, Kate felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her mysterious new boss. When her dad died, it was as if someone had put out a light. Nothing changed, and yet everything was different. She would get up for school, do her homework, have her friends round to play music and sleep over. It didn’t occur to her for a long time that her mother’s keenness to have Kate’s friends round was out of over-protectiveness, and a desire to know where she was at all times.

  Living in a small town, it was hard to break out of her mother’s smothering embrace, but escaping to Edinburgh University had seemed the perfect opportunity. Her mum hadn’t seen it as an escape, because Kate had been with Emma, her childhood best friend, the whole time.

  In fact, Kate realized with a jolt, she’d headed up there and straight back home under her mother’s watchful eye. This was the first time she’d flown solo, and while it was pretty terrifying being thrown in at the deep end of island life, she felt a sudden sense of pride. She was doing this without moral support, and there was nobody to hold her hand.

  ‘So Roderick came up here and got a fair bit of stick, as you can imagine, having been the posh public-school boy up till then.’ Susan absent-mindedly swirled her wooden stirrer through the coffee froth. ‘But we were friends, and a wee bit more than that for a while, and eventually people just got used to him being around.’

  ‘So where is his dad now?’

  ‘He died of cancer a few years ago; it was very sudden. Only took a matter of weeks.’

  ‘And now Roderick’s in charge of the estate?’

  ‘He is, and it’s not in a good state, despite his best efforts. His father’s heart was never in it, after his wife died, and Roderick has spent the last couple of years trying to get it back under control. There’s a fishery and a wood-yard, and they’re the main employers on the island. Without them, there are no jobs, and everyone will leave the island and the place will end up empty.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kate’s face fell. ‘So I’ve taken a job away from someone on the island?’

  ‘Not at all. There’s not many people would want to live in your cottage,’ Susan said, raising her eyebrows. ‘It’s a bit – well, rustic. Most of the younger folk prefer to be here in the town, and not five miles away on a road with a bus that only comes past once a week.’

  ‘Oh!’ Kate put her hand over her mouth.

  ‘What’s the matter? Is it Jamie?’ Susan spun round in her chair, expecting to see her toddler creating some kind of mess.

  So much for going it alone. She hadn’t thought this through at all. ‘I don’t have a car. There are no buses. And I’m living in the middle of nowhere!’

  ‘Have you not got a car?’ Susan asked.

  ‘Nope. I left it with Ian.’ Kate remembered her battered old Vauxhall. ‘I told him he was welcome to it, because it kept breaking down at traffic lights.’

  ‘Ah. Right.’ Susan returned the sleeping baby to the pushchair, and wrapped Jamie up in his scarf and gloves. ‘Next stop Jock’s Cars then?’

  Buying a car with Ian had been a long drawn-out process, involving the inevitable spreadsheet of cost-analysis pros and cons, miles to the gallon and other things, which Kate had found unbearably dull. She’d nodded and smiled, handed over half of the money and had driven whatever they’d ended up with. She couldn’t help finding it amusing that, after all that analysis, they still ended up with a car that constantly broke down.

  In comparison, buying a car on the island of Auchenmor was blissfully simple. With the money she’d received from Ian in lieu of the furniture, she was able to choose a car based on colour and shape, and the fact that it already had a dog guard fitted in the boot. Susan assured Kate that Jock wouldn’t dream of selling her anything that wasn’t reliable, and the grey-haired old man in a boiler suit had given her his word that the car was sound. He also had no problem with handing over a vehicle on the strength of a cheque.

  Laughing to herself, Kate followed Susan, who drove like a maniac on the narrow island lanes, back to the estate, parking her car outside the cottage. Despite the reassurances that nobody here locked their vehicles, she double-checked the door before she walked away. Island life really was something else. The idea of walking into a garage, choosing a car and driving it home, without handing over hard cash, would be unthinkable back in Cambridge. It was like stepping back in time.

  ‘I can’t decide. They’re all so beautiful.’

  Kate was sitting on the floor of the kennel in a sea of fur, when a puppy chose her. Unlike the others, this one’s face was almost all brown, but it looked as though someone had spilled a splash of white paint down one side of her muzzle. She was quieter than the others, and curled up on Kate’s lap.

  ‘This one. Now, quickly, get me out of here before I change my mind.’

  Susan laughed and pulled her up from the floor with one hand. Kate’s other hand curled around the soft, fat tummy of her little dog.

  ‘The others are being homed over the weekend, so she’ll be okay to go with you tonight.’ Susan rummaged in a cupboard, pulling out a hot-water bottle. ‘Tuck her up with this in her bed and she’ll be fine.’

  Kate had every intention of sneaking the puppy into bed with her, but took the hot-water bottle without argument.

  ‘What’s her name?’ Jamie lay on the rug, letting the puppy chew his hair.

  ‘Willow.’ The name came out of nowhere, but suited her perfectly. Kate scooped her spaniel puppy into her arms, stroking her soft ears.

  ‘Can we come and see her tomorrow?’

  ‘You can come whenever you want, Jamie. Bring your mummy and daddy, too.’

  ‘And Mhairi? She can’t play with puppies because she’s too little. Mummy said she’s not allowed.’

  ‘Mhairi, too. But you’ll be in charge, because you’re a grown-up boy. Mummy said you’re going to be four on your birthday next week.’

  ‘I think I’ll be five. Five is bigger.’ Jamie stood
up on tiptoe. ‘I’m quite big just now, look.’

  ‘Enormous.’ Kate laughed.

  Susan reappeared from the baby’s bedroom, creeping in with an expression of relief.

  ‘Right, Jamie, I think a bit of Thomas the Tank Engine for you,’ she switched on the television, ‘and a wee sit-down for Mummy.’ Susan looked suddenly exhausted, worn out by the needs of a sleepless baby, a little boy who was more than ready for school, and a whole kennel full of dogs. ‘Do you want some more tea before you go?’

  ‘Truly, no. But thanks.’ Kate headed for the door, manoeuvring her way through the toy cars and assorted plastic. ‘I’m awash with coffee as it is.’

  Susan kissed her goodbye. The sun was setting on what had been another very long day, and Kate was dying to collapse in front of a fire and watch something mindless on television.

  Her mobile beeped. Shuffling Willow under her arm, she managed to yank it out of her pocket:

  Have you run off with a haggis? What’s the news? I was promised regular gossip updates.

  Emma’s texts always made her smile.

  24 hours in: two new friends (no, you are NOT dumped), a dog, a gorgeous gamekeeper (don’t worry, married, so out of bounds) and enough caffeine to send me into orbit.

  ‘Ow!’

  Not looking where she was going, Kate’s ankle gave way as she stepped into a pothole. With a gasp and a yelp of surprise, she and Willow fell sprawling forward into the mud and gravel of the drive. Somehow she’d managed to avoid squashing Willow, or dropping her, which was fortunate as a car was approaching at speed.

  The Land Rover from last night, with the distinctive DE 1 number plate, pulled up in front of her. Kate heard the door hinges creak, and feet crunching towards her.

  ‘Multitasking isn’t going to be your strong point then, I take it?’

  Kate peered up from her landing place. Looking down at her, dark brows in a line of disapproval, was the owner of the voice. Tall, with dark hair flopping forward over his eyes. Green wellingtons, of course. A pair of rather muddy jeans, a navy-blue jumper, a checked shirt. He held out a hand and hauled a filthy Kate and Willow up from the ground.

  Her phone, which had narrowly missed a puddle, beeped indignantly. Her rescuer knelt down and picked it up, glancing at the screen before handing it to Kate with an expression she couldn’t read.

  Don’t go falling madly in love with Sir Roderick of Posh, or whatever he’s called. You’re not Cinderella.

  ‘Sir Roderick of Posh: your new landlord, employer, and definitely not Prince Charming.’

  Fine pieces of gravel were falling gently, like rain, from her hair. Willow was whimpering slightly. Kate was tempted to join in.

  ‘My friend Emma. I am so sorry. Oh God, I’m mortified. I’m so sorry. I mean . . . ’ Kate was blushing furiously and, as ever, was unable to stop herself from babbling in a crisis.

  ‘I’ve been called far worse.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But you’re not in the city now. We don’t walk about with our phones permanently glued to our ears round here.’

  Now he was admonishing her. And this after five years of living with Ian, who could have won an Olympic Gold in making her feel stupid. Her new employer was obviously a pompous git who behaved in the same way.

  ‘Come up to the house and I’ll get Jean to take a look at you – that was quite a fall.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Kate. ‘I just need a hot bath.’

  ‘I’d be happier if you did,’ he said, in a don’t-argue-with-me sort of voice. ‘I need you in one piece. I’ve got plans for you.’ He grabbed a pile of folders, throwing them onto the back seat of the car. With one word from their master, two sleek black Labradors leapt down from their vantage point on the front seat and were shut behind the dog-guard rail.

  Feeling unable to object, Kate climbed into the Land Rover, trying not to wince. In protecting Willow, she’d fallen awkwardly on her left side, and her shoulder was beginning to ache badly. She could feel herself trembling slightly, and her teeth were chattering. She clutched onto the puppy for comfort.

  Roderick edged the Land Rover round, expertly dodging the potholes on the way to the house. He didn’t speak, giving Kate the chance to survey her new employer with a sideways glance. He seemed distracted, the frown still fixed in place and a nerve jumping in his cheek.

  The Land Rover scrunched to a halt on the driveway. Kate looked up at Duntarvie House for the first time. Actual turrets, like a fairy-tale castle. Not just one, but loads of them. He lived in a blooming castle – no wonder her new boss seemed a bit snooty. It’d be hard to have any grasp of reality if you lived in a stately home.

  The house was beautiful, a perfect example of the Scottish Baronial architecture her dad had loved. He’d taken her to Balmoral as a little girl, patiently explaining the characteristics of the castle. She could recognize the crow-stepped gables, the ornate cornices and the crenellated battlements of the central tower topped with another turret. There was even a flag. And gargoyles. It was utterly gorgeous, and quite ridiculous. Her shoulder was absolutely killing her, and everything – and everyone – she knew suddenly felt very distant.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Roddy. What’s been going on here?’

  Jean opened the car door, taking in Kate’s filthy clothes and pain-whitened face.

  ‘You’ve been in the wars.’ Scooping Willow out of Kate’s hands, Jean passed the puppy to Roderick. Gently she then helped Kate out of the car.

  Willow was lying upside down in Roderick’s arms, squirming helplessly as he tickled her tummy.

  Flirt, thought Kate, as she straightened up, gritting her teeth against the pain. ‘I’m fine, really. It was only a tumble.’

  Jean looked at her with motherly disapproval.

  ‘Well, even so we’ll get you inside and cleaned up, and then we’ll decide.’

  It was like being back home, with her mother lovingly railroading her. Kate allowed herself to be propelled across the gravel drive and up the stone stairs. Twin stone eagles guarded the steps, and above the door Kate noticed a crest carved into the stone. We’re not in Kansas any more, Willow, she thought.

  The hall of Duntarvie House was vast, with a parquet floor covered with a Turkish rug bigger than anything Kate had ever seen. There weren’t any dead stags’ heads that she could see, which was a relief, but ancient oil paintings of forbidding men in kilts indicated that the house had a long history. It smelled of wax polish and old oak and log fires. The staircase in front of her curled upwards, the banister spiralling towards a vaulted ceiling.

  ‘Come away into the sitting room for a minute.’ Jean propelled her into a chair and disappeared.

  ‘Drink this. You’re a bit shaken up, and it’ll help.’ Roderick handed her a glass of brandy, taking a step backwards and looking at her expectantly. She obediently drank the burning liquid, aware of his dark eyes watching. It seared down her throat, filling her with warmth.

  ‘Where’s Willow? I’m not much good at this dog-owning business, am I? She’s been gone from her mother five minutes and I’ve tried to flatten her. And now she’s gone AWOL.’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen.’ Roderick leaned down, taking the glass from her hand. Kate caught a waft of his lemony aftershave. ‘Jean’s giving her some puppy food we had left over from Hugo – he’s only just turned one. Not sure she’ll eat much – I think she had a fright, too, looking at the state of your shirt.’

  His expression was unreadable.

  Kate looked down. It was possible to be more embarrassed after all: she was sitting on the posh sofa of a country house in a wee-soaked T-shirt. Time to escape. She tried to pull herself up, but her arm wouldn’t cooperate and she slumped backwards into the chair.

  ‘Stay where you are.’

  Roderick strode out of the room and, with her good arm, Kate felt in her pocket for the offending phone. Feeling like a schoolgirl in danger of being caught out sending notes in class, she sent a surreptitious message to Emma:

 
Have made complete prat of myself. You would laugh. I might later, too, if I don’t throw myself off a cliff first.

  Kate stuffed the phone back in her pocket as Jean reappeared, lips pursed, her head cocked sideways. She set down a tray with a pot of tea, and wrapped a blanket around Kate’s shoulders.

  ‘I’m running you a hot bath. I don’t want you going home to the cottage tonight and sleeping on your own, when you’ve fallen down and hurt yourself.’

  ‘That’s lovely of you, but I really am fine.’ Kate tried to shuffle forward out of the deep sofa, but winced at the pain. ‘I need a sleep and a couple of painkillers.’

  ‘Aye, and you’ll get those here, and someone to keep an eye on you as well.’ Jean poured her a cup of tea, before leaving Kate to survey the sitting room alone. It was tattered but beautiful, the walls panelled with wood, a threadbare rug by the fireplace. The table was piled with books and magazines – a strange, eclectic mixture of marine biology, interior decor and out-of-date copies of Vogue and Hello!

  The door opened to the sound of Roderick and Jean laughing together. Their easy familiarity caused another wave of homesickness to wash over Kate.

  ‘One lesson you’ll learn quickly,’ Roderick said as he reappeared, holding Willow, now cradled in his arms like a baby and staring at him adoringly, ‘is “Don’t argue with Jean”. Braver men than me have tried, and failed.’

  ‘Och, away.’ Jean was smiling at him with as much adoration as Willow. Roderick was clearly the apple of her eye, but Kate couldn’t see the appeal. Admittedly he was more handsome than she’d expected, but, cosseted and living in a castle, Roderick clearly had no idea of how the other half lived.

  ‘Leave Kate with me, Roddy, and I’ll have a wee look at her shoulder now.’

  ‘See what I mean? I’ll take this little one away and get her settled.’ He left, carrying the sleeping Willow in his arms. Typically upper-class, all horses and dogs and shooting.

  ‘Let me have a look at that shoulder, Kate.’ Jean gently lifted up the sleeve of her T-shirt, revealing a mass of stone scratches and the beginnings of some nasty bruising.