“No,” Syrie answered, peering over the rim of her cup. “Not the cottage. The cottage is nicely updated. The surroundings, though, other places nearby, are quite rustic. Plenty of that history you mentioned to get your teeth into. There’s an old castle on the grounds, in fact. Long abandoned and little more than a ruin, really, but a beauty in its day.”
A castle of her own came with her inheritance? Annie felt like clapping her hands in joy. No wonder her grandmother had loved to visit the place.
“Is it safe to explore?” she asked, already envisioning a full day of wandering the ruins.
“Of course it is,” Syrie answered. “Ellen spent a great deal of her time there, though I believe it was the old gated arbor beyond the original castle walls that she loved most of all. I suspect you’ll find it a fascinating place as well.”
“I’m sure I will,” Annie said, still shocked that her grandmother had neglected to tell her about castle ruins on her property in Scotland. Without a doubt, the place must be much larger than she’d expected. “Are there people living nearby? Neighbors?”
Syrie shook her head and offered a folded sheet of paper that she’d retrieved from the shelf next to the table. “These days, the cottage grounds abound in privacy,” she said with a smile. “Here’s a map I’ve prepared for you. One side is driving directions to the property and the other side is a rough drawing of the grounds’ layout so that you can get your bearing once you’re there and ready to explore. I’ve had the pantry stocked for your arrival, and here’s the key. I think that about covers everything I was supposed to remember to tell you.”
Annie accepted the little silver key hanging from a ribbon, and opened her purse to drop it inside. As soon as she did, she spotted the small box she’d brought along with her and set it in the center of the table.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot this. I think I’m supposed to give it to you,” she said, nudging the box closer toward her hostess. “The last time I spoke to Nana Ellen at the hospital, she insisted I take this. She said it was important that I return it to its home. I assumed from the way she talked about it that you must have given it to her. So, here it is, home again, just as she wanted.”
Syrie frowned, her brow wrinkling even more than Annie would have thought possible as she opened the box and lifted a silver pendant and chain.
“I remember this little trinket well,” Syrie said quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself before she looked up and placed the necklace back in the box. With a sad smile lifting the corners of her lips, she pushed the box back toward Annie. “But I’m afraid it’s not meant for me. This is not its home. I was not the one who gave this trinket to Ellen.”
Annie ran a finger over the pendant, a heart within a heart that had hung around her grandmother’s neck for as long as she could remember.
“If you didn’t give it to her, do you know who did? I promised her I’d see it returned home, and I can’t imagine not keeping that promise to make sure it gets where it needs to be.”
“I do indeed,” Syrie responded, rising from her seat and taking the necklace from Annie’s fingers to drape it around Annie’s neck. “His name was Aiden, as I recall. But it was a very long time ago when he gave it to your grandmother. In going to the cottage, you’ll end up taking the necklace home. There,” she said, fastening the clasp and then returning to her seat. “That’s exactly where I suspect Ellen wanted that little trinket to end up. If you really want to honor her wishes, you should keep it hanging right where it is now. That’s what I would do, if I were you.”
His name, Syrie had said. Aiden. A man so important to her grandmother that she’d never taken off the necklace he’d given her and yet she’d never breathed a word about him. A sigh escaped Annie’s lips, frustration building at having to pry every tiny piece of information from her only source. This woman was every bit as odd and secretive as Nana Ellen had led her to believe. But, apparently, no more secretive than her own grandmother had been.
“Aiden,” Annie repeated at last, fixing her gaze on the woman who delicately sipped tea across the table from her. “My grandmother never spoke of this Aiden. Can you tell me more about him?”
“I’m sorry, but I simply can’t,” Syrie said, not looking the least bit sorry. “I never met him. Perhaps…Ellen kept a journal when she was at the cottage. Did you know about that? If you can locate her journal, it will hold the key to all you need to know.”
Her grandmother had kept a journal? Another surprise.
An hour ago, before she’d ever set foot in this house, before she’d spoken her first words with Syrie, Annie would have sworn that she knew everything there was to know about her Nana Ellen. She would have bet her life on there being no secrets between them. And now…
“Everyone has secrets, my dear.” Syrie smiled and rose to her feet, extending a hand to Annie. “And one of mine is that I’ve kept my dearest husband waiting overlong as I enjoyed my afternoon, lingering here over tea and mysteries, with my dear Ellen’s granddaughter. I would so love to spend more time with you but, for now at least, our time together must draw to a close.”
Apparently, answers or no answers, their visit had come to an end. Annie stood to accept Syrie’s hand, and was drawn into the other woman’s embrace.
“I’m sorry our time is short, too. It’s a shame we can’t talk more. I’d love to learn more about my grandmother’s life here. But I do understand.” Annie shrugged and pasted on her best smile. “I only have two weeks here myself, so I guess time just isn’t my friend.”
Syrie chuckled, hugging her tightly before stepping back. “Oh, Annie, you really are so much like her. I’ll leave you with one bit of wisdom, if I might. Take advantage of the gift that has been given to you. Time is yours for the taking, my dear. It isn’t a river, flowing only in one direction. It’s a grand, swirling wind, blowing hither and yon. You’ve but to throw yourself into it to find where it would blow you. Your grandmother put a great deal of energy into planning for this time in your life, Analise. She gave up many things to make sure you would have this opportunity. Now that it’s come, do her proud. Jump in with both feet and make it worth her wait.”
“I’ll do my best,” Annie said, her response automatic as she walked toward the door.
She always did her best to do as everyone expected of her, regardless of what it might mean to her personal desires. In coming to Scotland as her grandmother had asked, it felt as if she was finally able to meet another person’s expectations while doing something for herself, too.
Syrie smiled as she ushered Annie out, but stopped just before closing the door, one delicate hand catching Annie’s arm. “This is one time when your best for others simply isn’t good enough, Annie. This is one time, perhaps the most important time in your life, when you must think with your heart, not your brain. Remember, dear, the heart is the key. You must follow yours if you’re to be truly happy, and, you know, you finding your true happiness is what drove your grandmother in all that she ever did. Oh, and one more thing, my dear?”
Annie looked up expectantly, waiting for whatever else this woman might ask of her. To her surprise, it wasn’t a request, but an offer.
“Whatever happens, I’m only as far away as a phone call. Should you run into anything…unusual, any problems, any questions, I might have the answer you need. Don’t hesitate to ring me up if you need me.”
“Whatever happens?” Annie still had the odd feeling that there was much more to know about the cottage that her grandmother’s best friend simply wasn’t sharing with her. “What unusual things do you expect I might run into that I’d need you?”
“Who’s to say?” Syrie shrugged, her eyes widening innocently. “But if you do, you’ll know, of that much I’m sure. And just as your grandmother was there for me in my time of need, I’ll be there for you, as close as the phone you use to call me. Now, off with you, sweetling. Enjoy your grand adventure!”
Chapter 2
In spite of
Annie’s concerns after meeting Syrie, the woman’s directions had been spot-on. They’d led her to turn off the paved country road onto what appeared to be a graveled driveway that circled through rocky rolling hills toward a forest, ending up in front of a small stone cottage that looked like something straight out of the movies.
The cottage was even lovelier than Annie had conjured in her imagination. This was exactly the sort of place where she could see her grandmother coming to escape the pressures of her everyday life. The wild tangle of flowers and plants surrounding the cottage only added to its beauty.
“Good job, Nana Ellen,” Annie said, stepping out of the car to admire the view.
No wonder her grandmother had come here every chance she had. Though Annie had yet to open the front door, she already knew escaping to this place was a tradition she intended to continue. And if Peter didn’t like it?
“Doesn’t matter,” she said aloud, defiantly, as if to challenge the world. “This will be my haven.”
And, unless her feelings about the upcoming wedding changed an awful lot in the two weeks she planned to stay here, she was going to need a haven to escape to in the coming years.
She twisted the gaudy diamond that sat on her finger, wishing once again Peter had consulted her on the choice of the ring. Perhaps that would have given her the opportunity she’d sought to back out of this horrible farce that trapped her.
From the back of her mind, her grandmother’s voice reminded her for perhaps the millionth time that she could call off the wedding.
Well, of course she could call it off. But that would mean thinking of herself instead of everyone else. How could she ever imagine being so selfish?
Calling off the wedding would mean upsetting her mother and her father and Peter and his whole family. It would mean upsetting the plans of all those people who had already been sent invitations. It would mean returning gifts and canceling all the arrangements, all the flowers and the cake and the dresses and…
“I know!” she yelled, throwing her hands into the air before taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly in an attempt to calm herself. “I know,” she said more calmly. “There’s nothing I can do but go through with it.” She was trapped with no way out, like a rat on a sinking ship.
Guiltily, she scanned her surroundings, as if expecting her mother to be standing behind her, ready with her standard rebuke that Annie should behave like the lady she was supposed to be. Thank goodness she was out in the middle of nowhere with no people and no other houses nearby. Anyone who saw her talking to herself out here in the driveway, carrying on like a madwoman, would think their new American neighbor had totally lost it.
And maybe they’d be right.
Annie hefted her shoulder bag out of the car, trying not to think about her missing luggage. The airline had promised it would arrive by tomorrow, and worrying over it now would do no good. Things really could be much worse. At least she had her toiletries and a change of underwear in her shoulder bag, and there should be plenty of Nana Ellen’s clothing inside.
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder before digging in her purse for the little silver key that would let her inside Nana Ellen’s cottage.
“My cottage now,” she muttered as she stuck the key into the lock and turned it.
She stepped inside, and immediately tears began to prickle at the back of her eyes. Her grandmother had described this room so many times, in such great detail, Annie felt as if she’d been here before. From the butter-yellow walls to the light-blue furnishings, the only thing missing was Nana Ellen herself.
The luggage strap slid from her shoulder as Annie sank down on the sofa, her fingers pressed to her eyes. It would be so easy to let it all out. So easy to give in to the grief that hung like a weight on her shoulders.
But that wasn’t the way a Shaw faced life, she heard her mother say in the back of her mind.
“Or a MacKail either, for that matter,” Annie added aloud, remembering with a smile how her grandmother would always add that last bit, drawing a frown of irritation from Annie’s mother.
Not that Ellen MacKail Shaw had ever been intimidated by anything her daughter-in-law did. Quite the other way around, if anything. Ellen had controlled the purse strings of the Shaw fortune for too many years after her husband’s death for Annie’s mother to have dared cross her. Annie’s father wouldn’t have allowed such a thing. And even if she had tried, Ellen had been a formidable woman in her own right. No one intimidated her.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t have left that ability to me, Nana Ellen,” Annie whispered, wiping her eyes as she rose to her feet.
Though she was exhausted after her long drive, there were things that needed doing, and her two weeks would be gone before she knew it. First on her list, she’d get settled in. Since she didn’t have to worry about unpacking much more than her toothbrush and deodorant, she decided to brew a pot of coffee. A little caffeine in her system and she’d be a new woman, ready to begin getting to know her new property.
But half an hour later, even after two cups of coffee, the siren call of the soft sofa was much stronger than her desire to explore. She yielded to the temptation, delaying only long enough to retrieve the e-reader she carried in her purse.
Curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a soft woolen throw that carried the scent of her grandmother’s favorite perfume, Annie prepared to lose herself in a story of romance and happily-ever-afters, her favorite kind of book.
It was only a matter of minutes before the thin electronic device slipped from her fingers as Annie gave in to the decadent lure of a late-afternoon nap.
* * *
Annie awoke to a bright shaft of light shining directly in her face. Disoriented, she pushed up off the sofa and looked around the room, trying to remember where she was. Her e-reader lay on the floor at her feet, while a cup of coffee sat on the table next to her.
She bent to retrieve the reading device to set it on the table before picking up the cup and lifting it to her lips. The big swallow she took very nearly gagged her.
Few things in the world were more disgusting than waking up to cold, stale coffee.
How long had she slept, anyway?
She dug through her purse to find her cell phone to check the time.
“Good Lord,” she said aloud to the empty cottage, double-checking that she hadn’t misunderstood what she’d seen.
Apparently the stress of the past month had caught up with her. She’d slept all afternoon and through the night, waking up to a bright new morning.
She padded into the small kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee. It should be ready by the time she had a quick shower.
The shower itself left a lot to be desired. The water took so long to heat up, Annie began to wonder if this might have been the lack of modern plumbing Syrie had mentioned. But once the water did heat, she stepped under the hot stream and felt her muscles begin to unwind. She’d just worked up a good lather in her hair when the warm stream turned cold.
“I guess Syrie knew what she was talking about, after all,” Annie muttered, hurrying to rinse under the cold water before drying off with one of the big fluffy towels stacked beside the tub.
First item on her mental list of changes she wanted to make? New hot-water heater. Cold showers were definitely not something she found enjoyable.
Wrapped in a towel, she headed back to the kitchen and the coffee she could smell brewing. There was nothing quite like that first morning sip of fresh, strong coffee to bring a smile to her lips. She lingered for a moment over the steaming cup, admiring the wild garden outside the window. What could be better? She was freshly showered and savoring her morning caffeine, enjoying a view that was like something straight off a picture postcard. Even the bright, blue sky, adorned with wispy vapor trails from the aircraft passing overhead, seemed to be decorated just for her.
After more than a few moments of happy contemplation, she decided she’d better get moving if she planned to actually
accomplish anything today. First up? Getting dressed would be a good start. She giggled at herself for behaving in such a lazy fashion, and stopped to refill her cup.
There was no way she was climbing back into the same outfit she’d worn for the last forty-eight hours, and that left only one option for her. With a fresh cup of coffee at her side, she returned to the bedroom and began to rummage through the closet to see if something her grandmother had left behind might fit her. Fortunately, she had inherited her height from her grandmother, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry that whatever she chose would look like she had stuffed herself into something that belonged to a child. And while her grandmother’s tastes in clothing didn’t include the jeans she found preferable, they did share a love of big, sloppy sweaters, so there were plenty of choices.
A gauzy floral skirt caught her eye, and she slipped it over her head, allowing it to fall into place down over her hips. Mid-calf wasn’t her preference, but it would do fine for now, since she was planning a day out exploring. A loosely knit pullover sweater in a solid pastel looked like just the thing to pair up with the skirt. It was a size too large, but she remembered the sleeveless undershirt she’d brought along in her shoulder bag, intending to use it as a pajama top. Once she retrieved that and slipped it on underneath the sweater, the outfit worked just fine. Loose and comfortable were the perfect ways to start her holiday.
She pulled her long, unruly hair into a ponytail and slipped on her shoes before returning to the main room of the house to take a seat at the table. After rummaging through her bag for the map Syrie had drawn of the grounds, she traced her finger along the lines to help her remember the paths. There were no distances or markings to indicate how far the cottage was from the old castle, but seriously, how far could it be? The property couldn’t be all that large.
All The Time You Need Page 2
