Sealed With a Kiss
Page 21
‘Aye, she and Roddy have done a grand job over there.’ Bruno leaned back on his chair, cradling his coffee in both hands. ‘They make a guid team.’
‘So I hear.’ Her mother smirked slightly. Kate kicked her under the table.
A group of teenagers ambled into the cafe, settling down around the high counter, laughing and joking with each other. Kate recognized some of them as the students who had worked for Murdo at Hogmanay. Standing at the till, rifling through her purse for change, she gave them a shy smile, not sure if they’d be too cool to acknowledge her in public.
‘Hiya, Kate – how’re you doing? You recovered from New Year?’
Obviously not. ‘Yes, it was a lovely night. I felt a bit gruesome the next morning, though.’
The larger teenager laughed in sympathy, turning back to his friends.
‘Come on then, Mum. I’ll drive round the long way, show you a bit more of the island.’
‘I’d like that. Maybe I’ll see you again before I go, Bruno?’ said her mother, with a coy little wave.
‘I’d like that.’ Bruno leaned forward, kissing Elizabeth on both cheeks. Kate raised her eyebrows. After their conversation of last night, her mother wasn’t hanging about. Mind you, Kate supposed, after fifteen years of being on her own, she had a fair bit of catching up to do. She held the door open, winding her scarf up against the biting wind blowing off the sea.
They were at the highest point of the island, looking across the water to the island of Eilean Mòr, which lay forbidding in its emptiness. Snow tipped the hills there, and the wind was even harsher. It was a relief to climb back into the car, even with the temperamental heater blowing out more cold air than hot. Kate’s mother wisely kept her gloves on, rubbing her hands together to try and warm them up.
‘It’s a lot colder up here than it is in England.’
‘A lot more beautiful, though, wouldn’t you agree?’ Kate parked the car up on the verge opposite the track that led up to the cottages. ‘Look down there – can you see the grey seals by the water?’
It had been a relief to see the seals returning to the beach, following the scare they’d had. She’d driven over during the following days, checking hopefully, until one day she pulled up to find them back in their rightful places, curving over the stones, statue-like in their peace.
‘But there’s so many of them! When you said you’d seen seals, I thought you meant one or two – not huge gatherings of them.’ The cold forgotten, her mother climbed out of the car. They scrambled across the rocks, Kate stopping to point out a flock of oystercatchers, their long beaks probing the shingle. Seeing her smile as she stood watching the seals, Kate tucked her hand into her mother’s arm.
Something in the sky caught Elizabeth’s eye. ‘What on earth is that? It’s huge!’
Kate followed her gaze. Swooping above them, silent and graceful in a sapphire sky, wings outstretched, was a golden eagle. Roderick had told her about them many times, but she had never been lucky enough to spot one. Until now.
‘Keep still and don’t make a sound,’ she whispered to her mother.
They stood together, watching with awe as the enormous bird swooped over their heads and, with two beats of its powerful wings, disappeared out of sight into the pine-covered hills.
‘And that is why I love it here. I’ve learned so much about the wildlife on the island,’ explained Kate, leading her mother across the rocks and back up the shingle beach to the road, ‘and now, with the idea of wildlife tours, there’s a real chance that we can start to bring tourists – and money – back to the island.’
The track up to the cottages was still frozen solid. A thin ribbon of smoke curled from the chimney of Fiona’s cottage. Her booking had been extended, bringing welcome income to the estate, but in the most unwelcome of forms. Bruno had told Kate that Fiona was using the cottage as somewhere to work during the day, away from the noise of the hotel. And the distractions of Roderick, thought Kate, frowning. As they drew closer it was clear there was nobody in – the curtains were open, no lights were on and there was no sign of her car. She’d probably flounced into the kitchen at Duntarvie House by now, heels clattering on the flagstones, expensive handbag thrown across the table, demanding a drink.
‘Looks like we’ve missed Fiona,’ said Kate, ‘so I can quickly show you both the cottages as well as the bunkhouse.’
‘I’m very impressed with all of this.’ Her mother waved a hand, encompassing the whole steading. Billy and his workers had done an amazing job of clearing away all the rubble and the twisted, rusted old pieces of machinery. In their place were old feeding troughs filled with pansies, laced with frost, from Helen’s shop. Each cottage now had a beautiful, wide wooden door with an old-fashioned bell attached to the wall.
‘Come and look at the bunkhouse. It’s not finished yet, but you can imagine it.’
Kate led her mother around the side of the cottages, to the old cow byre. The building, full of straw the first time Kate had seen it, was now floored, the walls lined and plastered. The roof beams had been treated and the old wood was seasoned and full of character.
‘There’ll be a shower room here,’ explained Kate, taking her mother through to an empty space at the end of the building. ‘This used to be the room where the cowman washed the milk churns, so we didn’t have to build any walls.’ She ran her hands along the smooth plasterwork, smiling to herself at Billy’s artistry. It was flawless. She could visualize the bunkhouse full of chattering students, talking in the velvety blackness long after lights out.
‘Kate?’
‘Sorry, I was in a dream. What d’you think?’
‘I think you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel.’ Her mother squeezed her hand, looking at her with admiration. ‘Morag told me you’ve run this project pretty much single-handed. I always knew you were capable of so much more than all those temp jobs. You’ve really worked hard at this, darling. I’m proud of you.’
Kate scratched her head, not quite sure what to do with the compliment. ‘I don’t think I knew I had it in me. But it hasn’t seemed like hard work, and I couldn’t have done it on my own – Roderick has been by my side the whole way.’
‘Mmm,’ her mother said with a small smile, ‘has he now?’
‘Mum! There is nothing going on between me and Roderick – not least because he’s back together with Fiona. Come on, I’ll show you round the cottages.’
She locked the door of the bunkhouse, making a note to herself to buy Billy a bottle of his favourite malt whisky by way of thanks for the work he’d done.
‘I feel a bit naughty taking you in here.’ Kate looked over her shoulder as she unlocked the door to Fiona’s cottage. A waft of Fiona’s strong, floral scent hit the back of Kate’s nose as she pushed the door open. She stopped in her tracks, pulling a face.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. If she catches us, we’ll say we were inspecting the pipes or something.’ Elizabeth pushed her daughter forward into the open-plan room. Kate laughed at her mother’s new, rebellious spirit. After fifteen years of doing the right thing, she seemed to be determined to make up for it.
‘Come on then, I’ll show you round. This is the bathroom – you know I always wanted one of those claw-footed baths,’ said Kate, opening a door into a surprisingly spacious room, with a huge window that looked out across the bay. ‘I thought it would be nice to have a bath and watch the sunset, and round here you don’t have to worry about people peering in at you.’
The bed hadn’t been slept in. Kate felt her stomach sink, realizing this was yet another sign that Fiona had been sleeping up at Duntarvie House.
The fire in the wood-burner was nearly out, but the sitting room was blissfully warm after the icy-cold winds of the beach and the chill of the empty shell of the bunkhouse.
‘You’ve made a good job – such a lovely homely feel. I could curl up here by that fire and go to sleep.’
Kate pointed out of the window at the view, which stretche
d over the bay. ‘The sunsets here are unbelievable, Mum. I reckon we’ll be able to rent these cottages out and make a fortune. I think I’ve persuaded Roderick to do up the other derelict cottages and rent them out, too.’
‘You’ve got it all planned out, haven’t you?’ Laughing at Kate’s excitement, Elizabeth turned away from the window. ‘I love these old reclaimed-wood tables, they have so much—’
She stopped, hand to her mouth. Kate spun round. ‘What is it?’
‘What did you say Fiona did?’
‘She’s a journalist – why?’
‘Look at these.’ Elizabeth pointed down at the coffee table, where Fiona’s laptop lay, surrounded by notebooks, pieces of paper and a sheaf of black-and-white photographs.
Kate looked down at the pile of pictures. On top, smiling mischievously, a curtain of blonde hair shining across one shoulder, was Annabel Maxwell. It was the photograph Jean had showed her when she first arrived on the island. And underneath – Kate poked at the pile with a finger, cautiously.
‘Oh!’ She looked away, hands over her face, which was scarlet with embarrassment.
‘For heaven’s sake, Kate, don’t be such a prude.’ Her mother picked up the photographs, fanning them out in her hands. ‘Bloody hell. It’s Ivar Cornwall. I always suspected he was a lecherous bugger.’
Kate peeked through her fingers, catching a glimpse of naked flesh. She reached out her hand, taking the photographs from her mother.
‘That scheming little . . . bitch.’ The photographs were dynamite. Annabel and Ivar had obviously had a great time with a camera one afternoon. Kate was horrified to think of Roderick coming across them, after his father’s death: he must have known about them, surely. Had he shown them to Fiona, or had she found them herself? Kate could just see them all over the Sunday tabloids, lurid headlines screaming out across every news-stand. It would destroy Roderick to see his mother’s name dragged through the mud.
‘What the hell are we supposed to do now?’ She turned to her mother. There was only one thing Kate could think of. She grabbed her phone. ‘Jean, it’s me – we’ve got a problem up at the cottages.’
‘A problem? Surely you want Roddy or Billy, not me?’
‘Shh!’ Kate hissed down the telephone. ‘Is he there?’
‘He’s at the fishery, but he’ll be back shortly. Shall I get him to give you a ring?’
‘No, God – no. Just come here, quickly. I’ll explain when you get here.’
‘I’ll be ten minutes.’
It was the longest ten minutes Kate and her mother had known. They both stood, silent and anxious, staring out the window, willing Jean’s little Ford to appear.
‘Oh no.’ Kate stood, transfixed with horror. A Land Rover with the registration DE 1 was hurtling up the little track that led to the cottages. ‘It’s Roderick! Quick, think of something. Why are we in here?’
‘Smoke . . . a leak – a gas leak?’ Elizabeth guessed wildly.
‘Smoke! We saw smoke and we thought the chimney was on fire.’ Kate exhaled with relief and they both stood by the window, watching as the car door opened.
Jean shot out of the car, slamming the door. Kate and her mother were still recovering from the shock of not seeing Roderick when she clattered into the cottage, dropping the car keys in her rush.
‘What a to-do. I’ve never driven so quickly. Now what on earth can the matter be?’
Kate motioned towards the coffee table.
‘I told you that wee madam was up to something, didn’t I?’ Jean scooped up the pile of photographs, handing them to Kate. ‘What else has she got her hands on?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything else,’ said Kate, averting her eyes from a particularly graphic photograph of the Right Honourable Member’s member.
‘Och, I think there is,’ said Jean, eyes scanning the table. She seized on a tattered airmail envelope addressed to Annabel Maxwell and held it up, showing the return address to Kate and Elizabeth. Inked at the top was Ivar Cornwall’s name. So that’s what she was doing at Roddy’s desk on the night of the party!
‘Come on, girls, let’s get out of here before we’re caught in the act.’ Jean picked up her keys and made to leave the cottage.
‘But, Jean, you can’t just take the photographs. She’ll know someone’s been here.’
‘You just watch me.’ She stormed out of the door. ‘I’ll see you back at the house.’
‘That went well,’ said Elizabeth, turning to Kate. They both collapsed in giggles as Jean’s wheels spun, spraying gravel in her rush to get back to Duntarvie House.
‘Come on, we’ll have to face the music.’ Kate locked the cottage door and they walked down the path back to her little car. ‘But it’s not going to be pretty.’
Roderick had been relaxing, feet up against the Aga, eating an apple and reading the paper, when they had returned. Jean had placed the photos on the table, face down. Kate and Elizabeth hovered in the hall, just out of his sight.
‘Everything all right?’ His tone was mildly curious, but he didn’t look up.
‘Fiona!’ Jean’s tone was sharp.
‘For God’s sake, what has she done now?’ Knocking the chair over as he pushed it back, he strode across to the table, picking up the sheaf of pictures. He flipped it over. For a split second his face darkened with pain. He threw the photographs down, swearing in a low voice. ‘Why I didn’t destroy these after Dad’s death, I’ll never know.’ He was talking to himself, and Jean wisely stayed silent.
Long-buried emotions flashed across his face as he muttered to himself, pacing the length of the kitchen. ‘Think, think,’ he muttered, steepling his fingers together. He took a deep breath. ‘I suppose it felt like a little piece of Mum, in a strange way. I couldn’t bear to lose any more of my past.’ He looked at Jean for reassurance, his face suddenly vulnerable.
‘I’m sorry, Roddy.’ Her voice was gentle.
‘I’m so bloody angry with her. And with Dad, for putting up with her. And I’m left picking up the pieces.’
‘Well,’ Jean began, cautiously, ‘you’d put it to one side, until now.’
Standing motionless in the hall, still unseen, Kate felt a surge of sympathy for Roderick. Trapped with a house full of tangled memories, and the constant weight of responsibility that came with running an estate, it wasn’t surprising that his temperament could be mercurial at times.
‘I don’t know, Jean. I just . . . ’ He ran his fingers through his hair, his jaw tense. ‘I thought there was a moment there when Fiona had actually changed and realized she couldn’t be concerned only with herself her whole life.’
‘That young madam?’ Jean bristled, her voice sharp with disdain.
‘I’m an idiot. And she’s going to bloody ruin us.’
Kate heard the sound of water running. The kettle was going on – Jean’s default reaction to stress. There was a clatter of mugs and the banging of cupboard doors. Roderick was sitting at the table now, head in his hands, his back towards them, talking.
‘I was so relieved when she buggered off the island to Glasgow. It was the perfect excuse to finish things with her. I should have realized she was up to something at Hogmanay. All that time I thought she was hanging around because she was hoping we’d get back together,’ he laughed hollowly, ‘and I was trying to work out how I could let her down gently.’
Kate glanced at her mother in surprise. Elizabeth looked back, confused, not familiar with the characters in this drama. They were standing stock-still in the doorway, just feet from Roderick. God, this was awkward – no way of escape, but no way of making their presence known without him realizing they’d heard it all.
Jean cleared her throat. He looked up at her, and she raised her eyebrows in a motion that managed to suggest they weren’t alone. Roderick turned in his chair.
Impeccable manners won over embarrassment. He stood up at once, extending his hand graciously. ‘You must be Elizabeth. Roderick Maxwell. How do you do?’
‘I hope you had a good crossing? You’ve been lucky, the water’s been like a mill pond all week.’
‘Yes, the ferry was very nice, thank you.’ Elizabeth managed a smile.
This was all terribly British, thought Kate. Next we’ll be discussing the weather, or cricket. Or both.
‘Look, this is terribly awkward. I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in this.’ Roderick addressed her mother, and Kate realized that he hadn’t actually acknowledged that she was there at all.
‘It’s fine. Look, Mum, we can get going back to the cottage now. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Kate was gabbling, filling the silence.
‘It might be many things, Kate, but fine isn’t one of them.’ Roderick turned to her, eyes narrowed in anger. Jean motioned her to sit down, shushing her with a cup of tea and an expression that warned her this wasn’t the time for platitudes.
Roderick recommenced pacing up and down the kitchen, the offending photographs now strewn across the kitchen table. Catching a glimpse of them, Kate grimaced and averted her eyes again. Jean caught her eye once more and gave her a reassuring half-smile.
‘Conniving little . . .’ Grabbing the photographs, Roderick took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, Kate.’
‘It’s fine.’ She ventured a smile. ‘I’m on your side, remember?’ His shoulders, previously somewhere around his ears, dropped a little as she said this.
Roderick leaned back against the Aga, taking a huge gulp of tea, clutching his mug.
‘I might be speaking out of turn.’ Elizabeth, who had been uncharacteristically silent, spoke quietly. ‘But all families have their skeletons, Roderick.’
Jean nodded.
‘We can’t take responsibility for the way our family behaves,’ Kate’s mother continued. ‘All you can do is try your best, and let people judge you on that.’