Little Pink Taxi

by Marie Laval

  His voice had grown deeper. His eyes turned a mesmerising dark grey, the colour of Bran Loch under a stormy sky.

  Just as the thought of thunder and lightning crossed her mind, the electric bulbs flickered and went off with loud popping sounds. The glow from the fire cast shivering shadows on Petersen’s face and made him look rugged and untamed – a far cry from the conservative businessman she’d collected at the airport, and from the man who showed no emotion at the mention of the father he’d only just lost.

  The fire crackled in the hearth, the wind howled outside and rain pounded against the windows. Petersen gazed down at her and her pulse started to race. An invisible force pulled her towards him, closer and closer until she felt she was falling.

  A discreet ringtone startled her and she jerked back. As if on cue, the electricity flashed back on. He retrieved his mobile from his trouser pocket, and checked the screen. ‘Sorry, I need to take this.’

  He pressed the answer button. ‘Good evening, Fizpatrick. I was expecting to hear from you sooner.’ He walked to the window, the frown creasing his forehead getting deeper as he talked about missed deadlines, accounts and bank balances.

  Her face still hot, her throat dry and her breath shaky, Rosalie walked to the fireplace, grabbed hold of the poker and prodded the logs. What on earth had just happened? Physical attraction, sudden, powerful and electrifying, that was what. The kind of physical attraction she’d never experienced before, but that could, according to her friend Alice’s late night confessions, make you lose your head, your self-respect, and most of your clothing.

  Disgusted with herself, she gave the log a hard jab. How could she even for one moment be attracted to Petersen? She disliked everything he stood for. He wanted Raventhorn, not because he had fallen in love with its history or its beauty, but because it would yield a profit. In the process he would put her out of business and throw Lorna out of her home without a second’s hesitation. He would also put her staff out of work, and without her taxi, village life would never be the same again.

  Petersen was still on the phone. He sounded angry now, but like everything about him it was a cold, flat, restrained anger. ‘When we agreed the terms, you never mentioned you had doubts regarding your ability to fulfil your side of the contract. I don’t care if you spent twenty years building up your company, Fitzpatrick. The fact is, it belongs to me now. You have until Saturday to sort this mess out.’

  There was a pause. ‘Don’t waste your breath. I said Saturday. After that, I’m stepping in.’

  Rosalie’s blood ran cold. If she needed confirmation of Petersen’s character, that was it. She put the poker back on the rack, and turned to face Petersen. ‘I’m leaving now.’

  She would sleep in her flat tonight. She didn’t fancy the idea of being alone with Petersen in the castle.

  Still frowning, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. ‘Why are there no live-in staff at Raventhorn? That’s unusual for a place this size.’

  ‘We like to keep the manor to ourselves … although we’re never really on our own.’

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know if I should mention this just before bedtime, but you did say you didn’t believe in ghosts.’

  She paused for effect, and was rewarded by the puzzled look on his face. ‘You see, we have our regular night-time visitors, here at Raventhorn. There’s Dughall McBride hopping about on his peg leg. He was the captain on a ship that was lost at sea sometime in the seventeenth century. There’s Old Finghall, who was slain by the McGunn clan and plays his bagpipes when the mood takes him. Then there’s Morag McBride who cries for the return of her man from Culloden. And Lady Isobel, of course.’

  ‘Really? Any other ghost I should worry about?’ He didn’t sound scared or worried at all.

  ‘No, that’s it. Most of our residents are harmless, if a little noisy at times. All except Isobel, of course. Not only does she take men to their death in the loch, but she is also known to play tricks with the lights and the doors. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her switching the electricity on and off earlier.’

  She made a show of checking her watch. ‘It’s late, and I bid you good night.’

  He smiled, and humour sparkled in his eyes. ‘So having told me that the place is riddled with ghosts, you are now abandoning me?’

  ‘That’s right. If you get too scared, you can always knock on my door. It’s the blue one, across the courtyard.’

  That would teach him to be mean to that poor man on the phone, and to upset her life. Between the howling wind, the creaking wardrobe in the Crimson Room and her silly ghost stories, Marc Petersen probably wouldn’t sleep a wink.

  ‘Lorna will cook your breakfast at half past seven. Our shift starts at eight thirty. I wish you sweet dreams.’

  The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted her. ‘Not again!’ Much as she wanted to ignore it, she couldn’t. It could be Lorna calling because she was feeling unwell, or the hospital with news about Geoff.

  It wasn’t Lorna, or the hospital.

  ‘Rosalie, lass,’ said a deep male voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘Fergus?’ Rosalie frowned. ‘You sound upset. What’s up?’

  ‘I’m afraid Duncan’s had a bit of bother,’ her switchboard operator answered.

  Rosalie’s fingers gripped the phone harder. ‘What kind of bother? Has he had an accident?’

  ‘Kind of … Don’t worry, he’s fine. His cab isn’t, though.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He had a pick up at the Duke’s in Kingussie. When his client didn’t show up, he went inside to see if he could find him. He had no luck, so he went back out, only to find that the cab’s windscreen had been smashed.’

  Rosalie exhaled slowly. ‘All right. I’m going to the Duke’s right now to talk to him.’

  ‘There’s no need. He notified the police and phoned Niall who arranged to have the cab towed back to the garage. He said he’d fix the windscreen tomorrow.’

  ‘Where is Duncan now?’

  ‘Brenda came to collect him. He wanted to call you but I said I’d do it, and that he should go home. He told the police about the other incidents too,’ Fergus added, ‘and they’re on their way to talk to you.’

  Guilt tightened Rosalie’s chest. There had been a lot of prank calls these past few weeks. Perhaps she should have called the police before. She asked Fergus if there were any more bookings for the evening, but he said that there weren’t, so she told him to lock up and go home.

  ‘Problem?’ Marc asked.

  Yes, two, and you’re one of them, she almost retorted. Instead she put the phone down and nodded. ‘My taxi driver has had his cab’s windscreen smashed.’

  Petersen frowned. ‘Was he injured?’

  ‘Thankfully, no, but the police are on their way to talk to me.’

  They only had to wait half an hour for the police to arrive.

  The two officers didn’t believe that robbery was the motive for the attack on Duncan’s cab.

  ‘He left his takings inside the car when he went into the Duke’s, and it was all there when he came back. So it was probably an act of random vandalism. However,’ one of the officers said, turning to Rosalie, ‘we have been told that you’ve have a few incidents recently.’

  ‘They weren’t really incidents as such,’ she protested. ‘They were only prank calls. All taxi drivers get them.’

  ‘Can you give us any details?’ he insisted.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really … Last Sunday night, for example, I was called to Loch Morlich, but there was nobody there. Then again on Monday afternoon, I drove all the way to Laggan but the client never showed up, and later that day the same thing happened at Loch Insh Nature Reserve. It really annoyed me because I wasted over two hours driving for nothing. Yesterday evening I went to Carrbridge Trekking Centre …’

  She shivered, recalling how frightened she’d been in the deser
ted car park. ‘It was closed for the winter, and no one was waiting for me there either, so I didn’t hang about.’ She didn’t add that the sensation of someone lurking in the shadows, watching her, had given her goosebumps. Luckily Niall had turned up in his tow truck just as she’d been about to leave. He’d been on his way back from a call-out when he’d spotted her in the empty car park. She’d been so happy to see him she’d given him a big hug before he’d insisted on escorting her back to Irlwick.

  ‘Duncan told us he’s been getting similar calls these past few weeks,’ the policeman remarked. ‘The calls may be unrelated to tonight’s incident but you should keep a log from now on, and contact us if you are worried in any way.’ He closed his notepad, slipped it back into his pocket and he and his colleague took their leave.

  Rosalie watched the red tail lights of the police car disappear into the night. ‘Lorna will be devastated when she finds out the taxi was vandalised. She might even want to postpone her trip to Norwich.’

  There would be another, unwelcome consequence. Niall would propose again. Rosalie’s shoulders sagged. Her world had been turned upside down in the space of one evening. The only place she’d ever called home now belonged to a stranger. Geoff, the man she loved like a father, had betrayed her and Lorna. And Love Taxis was as good as finished …

  Chapter Four

  ‘How is Duncan?’ Niall leaned against the door of his tow truck and dug his hands into the pockets of his oil-stained work overalls.

  ‘Shaken, and blaming himself for what happened. I spoke to him after the police had been to see me last night.’

  ‘Do the cops have any leads on what happened to the cab?’

  Rosalie shook her head. ‘Not yet. There’s no CCTV at the Duke’s and you know how packed and noisy it is in the evenings. Nobody saw or heard anything. I still can’t believe anyone smashed Duncan’s cab on purpose.’

  ‘I told you what I thought about your taxi driving a long time ago. It’s not a safe occupation, especially for a girl as bonnie as you.’

  ‘I’m not exactly a girl any more, Niall.’ She sighed as a lump formed in her throat. She knew exactly what he would say next. Sure enough, he stepped closer.

  ‘You know what I mean … and you know how I feel about you. You used to feel the same, not so long ago.’

  ‘Niall, please. It’s over. It’s been over for years.’

  ‘It could still work.’

  He raised his hands to touch her cheek but she shied away. ‘Don’t! You have oil on your hands,’ she added quickly, when hurt flashed in his blue eyes.

  He looked down and sighed. ‘Sorry. Any news from Geoff?’

  ‘The doctors are keeping him in for observation. He was lucky he wasn’t badly hurt.’

  Niall rubbed his chin. ‘The Porsche is in a bad way. It’s a shame. I only serviced it recently and advertised it in a vintage cars auction in Edinburgh. Now I’m going to have to withdraw it from the catalogue.’

  Surprise made Rosalie gasp. ‘What? Geoff is selling the Porsche?’

  Niall nodded.

  ‘But it was always his favourite car! I thought he would never part with it.’ Then again, she could not imagine that he would ever sell Raventhorn.

  ‘Either he needs money, or he wants another car.’ Niall opened the door to his truck. ‘Anyway, I’d better get back. I left Kian to open the garage but I have rather a lot of work today.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Kian Armitage? Can you trust him with customers?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ He frowned and looked worried all of a sudden.

  ‘I don’t know. I find him sullen, borderline unpleasant. But perhaps it’s just me he’s like that with. I remember his mother used to snarl at Mum and me because we lived here with Geoff, their “ancestral enemy”.’ She drew quotation marks in the air with her fingers. ‘His dad even picked a fight with Geoff one St Andrew’s night when he’d had too much to drink and shouted all kinds of horrible things at him.’

  ‘Aye. It’s the old clan rivalry between the McBrides and the Armitages. I believe there’s been quite a bit of trouble between the families over the years, but it’s all over now, and Kian’s all right.’

  ‘Of course he is. Forget I said anything.’

  ‘Duncan’s windscreen will be ready later this afternoon. He can come to the garage to pick the cab up.’

  She stood on her tiptoes and pecked a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks for that, and for coming here this morning to check I was all right. You’re my hero. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘No worries.’ His face flushed with pleasure, he climbed into his truck and started the engine. ‘By the way, who’s the big guy in the kitchen with Lorna? A tourist?’

  ‘Kind of.’ She was unwilling to lie, yet reluctant to tell him the truth. Until Geoff explained why he had sold Raventhorn, nobody needed to know who Petersen was. There was something else too. It may be cowardly of her, but as long as nobody knew the truth, she could pretend nothing had changed.

  She waved goodbye to Niall and went into the kitchen.

  ‘Poor sweetie, come here,’ Lorna said as soon as she walked in. She enfolded her in her arms, and Rosalie breathed in the comforting scent of her lily of the valley cologne, the same she’d worn the day Rosalie had arrived at Raventhorn, clutching her mother’s hand, exhausted after a long train journey, and in awe of the beautiful castle and its dashing blond and blue-eyed laird.

  Lorna released her and turned to the stove where a plate was warming up.

  ‘Eat your breakfast now,’ she said, placing the plate of crisp bacon rashers and golden pancakes on the table. ‘Mr Petersen said he was going out with you today. Is that right?’ Her eyes shone with curiosity.

  Rosalie nodded.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit strange?’

  ‘Perhaps he is fulfilling a childhood fantasy. Don’t boys always dream about driving a police car or a fire engine?’ Rosalie stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. Lorna didn’t need to know that she might have to shut down Love Taxis. Not yet anyway. ‘But enough about Petersen,’ she said before Lorna could ask any more questions. ‘You still look pale this morning. Are you sure you’re feeling all right? I could take you to the doctor’s later.’

  ‘I’m fine, love. Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Are you going to see Geoff today?’

  ‘I have to say goodbye since I won’t be here for the next three weeks.’ Lorna hesitated. ‘I wish you could come with me, sweetie. He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘I fully intend to see him and ask what exactly is going on, but I’m fully booked today.’ Plus today she had to convince Petersen that he should keep Love Taxis open for business.

  She drained her cup of tea, finished the last bite of pancake and stood up. ‘I’ll wait for Petersen in the cab,’ she said as she slipped her pink anorak on. It was time to make a start.

  ‘The toddler group is called Little Angels,’ Rosalie explained as Petersen returned to the passenger seat after helping a young mother fold her buggy up. She waved when Rosalie set off, but he hardly glanced her way. In fact she even wondered why she bothered to smile at him so much since he’d hardly said a word during the short journey.

  ‘Seriously?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘There is nothing angelic about the children you have had in your cab,’ he said in a cool voice. ‘They have done nothing but scream and yell.’

  Rosalie cast him a sideways glance. ‘That’s because they know it’s the best way to get what they want, and you must admit that it worked, even with you.’

  One of the toddlers had taken a fancy to Petersen’s scarf and he had let him play with it to keep him quiet.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Petersen wrapped around his neck the scarf he had managed to prize from the toddler’s sticky fingers after a brief tug-of-war.

  ‘So what’s next?’ he asked. ‘Don’t tell me we have to ferry any more screaming babies.’

  ‘Not until h
alf eleven. Now it’s time for the Stitch and Bitch group.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The local knitting group or “Knit and Natter”, as they are formally known,’ she explained. ‘They are a gathering of self-righteous women who delight in spreading malicious gossip. Elaine McBride is the self-appointed president of this small, but powerful, female gathering. She is also Geoff’s cousin by marriage – and together with her son, the last of the McBrides. As such she expects to inherit Raventhorn, the ancestral seat of the McBride clan – a fact she makes sure none of us forgets, even for a second.’

  Rosalie parked in front of Elaine’s large detached house. Elaine immediately came out of her front door. She hooked her handbag on her arm, pulled up the collar of her cashmere coat, and smoothed her short hair with her gloved hand. She looked immaculate, as usual.

  Marc got out to open the back door. ‘Thank you, Mr …’ she frowned at him enquiringly.

  ‘Petersen. Marc Petersen,’ he finished with a curt nod.

  Elaine sat down and tapped a finger on her watch. ‘You’re late again, Rosalie. I’ve been waiting for over five minutes.’ The woman’s voice was so acidic it could have melted holes in the cab’s bodywork. Rosalie muttered an apology and started the engine.

  ‘I heard about Geoff’s accident,’ Elaine said. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later, the way the foolish man drives. He is getting too old for that Porsche. I’ll tell him to give it to Rupert next time I see him.’

  Her face hot with indignation, Rosalie turned to glare at Elaine. ‘How can you be so callous? Geoff is in hospital and all you’re thinking about is what Rupert can get out of him.’

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, you silly girl!’ Elaine screeched and pointed a finger to the windscreen just as a car changed lanes and sneaked in front of the cab. Rosalie slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding ramming into it.

  ‘I see Geoff isn’t the only one who drives like a lunatic,’ Elaine spat.

  Rosalie glanced at Marc, waiting for him to remark on her bad driving again. ‘Sorry.’

  She was pale and her eyes glistened with tears. She bit her lower lip but he could see it was trembling.