Apart from her ruined jeans and top there was little else to see. She looked round the wood store and found nothing except, curiously, the old crumbling sculptures she had thrown out from the second bedroom were missing. She knew she put them on the workbench, which proved somebody entered her premises and almost certainly set the paint can on fire.
But did she really put them there?
Should she tell Angus and get him involved? What about Mr Triggs, the solicitor? She was troubled—it was only to be accepted. Apart from the fire, she was puzzled about the missing childish sculptures. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was they were made by a child. But there was no mention of Susan ever having married, let alone ever having given birth to any children. According to the inquest, Susan took her own life. If she wanted someone other than Cassandra to inherit, wouldn’t Susan have changed her will?
Determination flooded through Cassandra’s veins. The cottage was hers. If Susan had intended someone else to have it, there was ample time to either give it away or to have sold it. Cassandra felt saddened. Ever since seeing Susan’s work, Cassandra was convinced that if they had known each other better, in time they would have become proper friends—kindred spirits, perhaps.
Thinking of Mr Triggs raised the question of who had made the first offer for the cottage. If it was Donald, wouldn’t he have said? Cassandra remembered back to when her mother died and her parents’ house, which she always loathed, became hers. She couldn’t wait to sell it and put it on the market at once. Cassandra recalled mentioning the old family house to Susan, but the older woman swiftly changed the subject, and Cassandra hadn’t wanted to upset her. She obviously still felt bitter and hurt.
Larchfield was never a home to Cassandra, with or without siblings for company. As a child she rattled around the empty rooms looking for something interesting to play with. There was little comfort to be found in any of the downstairs rooms; they were too formal and artificially decorated. If a young girl had dared and skated down the hallway or painted in any room other than the kitchen, all hell would have broken out.
Meals were often the worst times Cassandra spent with her mother and father. The talk was cold and false, bordering on argument and sarcastic comment. When Daphne Potter ridiculed her husband one more time, Cassandra wondered what on earth the pair had seen in each other, much less how they managed to conceive!
The tight bickering, veiled criticism and the final, “I don’t think I can take much more of this.”
The replied, “You don’t have to…you know where the door is, Daphne.”
A cold laugh like chips of ice, controlled quiet and clenched fists on the spotless white table cloth, thin lips, the smell of boiled cabbage and overdone roast potatoes.
Then, the ensuing stony silence as they both sat and thought, reminding themselves why they were there in the first place.
Cassandra wondered why their staff—not the housekeeper, just the maid—never stayed more than a few months. And why were they all from Ireland? She knew Liverpool had a huge Irish population, but why did they seem to gravitate to Larchfield? Who were these young girls with their strong accents and sad eyes? Why did they choose to live there?
It wasn’t until later, when Cassandra was a young woman herself and read the reports about the stolen childhoods, she understood why the girls became fatter, but it could have been worse. Cassandra learnt that over a period of seventy years, an estimated ten thousand young women were sent to the ‘Magdalene laundries’ in Ireland to carry out unpaid manual labour under the supervision of nuns.
At least her father paid them a wage. He had wanted to give them something other than just a house where they could hide their shame.
Shaking off her childhood memories, Cassandra returned to the present and looked around for a rubbish bag in which to put the ruined clothes and charred paint tin. She needed to put some more paint and rubbish bags on her shopping list. Damn it! Why couldn’t people leave her alone? Just when Cassandra was wavering in her resolve and considering abandoning the cottage and belting back down to the city, the telephone rang. She hurried into the house for her mobile.
“Julian!” she cried and immediately wished she hadn’t sounded quite so relieved to hear a familiar and trusted voice. “How nice to hear from you.”
“That’s good.” He laughed. “Are you missing me?”
“Yes, of course I am.”
“Excellent, so you won’t mind me staying for a few days.”
“Er…no, but when? What exactly do you mean?” She sensed something wasn’t right. “Julian! What have you done?”
“I got up very early and have driven through the wee hours to be with you. Take a look outside.”
Mouth open, Cassandra hurried to the front door and flung it open. Standing by her gate stood Julian, and for the first time ever she dashed down the path and flung her arms around him.
“Goodness me. I am indeed honoured. I must surprise you more often.” He looked down at her from his five foot ten inches. A broad, amused smile lit up his face as he bent his head and kissed her cheek. “Perhaps being apart does us good.”
Cassandra laughed. “I’ve only been up here for a short while, and besides, we’re not an item! You’re not my type.”
“So this is your unexpected inheritance,” Julian said a little later, after admiring the view from Cassandra’s garden. “I’ve always wondered what a Highland cottage was really like.” They stood just inside the dwelling; Julian nodded as he paced around the room. “Not overly large but plenty big enough for two people. You know you might have fallen on your feet for once. At first, I thought it was a daft idea of yours to scurry away up here, but seeing how quaint and peaceful it all is, I can’t blame you. This is an incredible setting and so Scottish! Talk about thistles and sheep droppings. Those hills are just calling out to be climbed and explored.”
Cassandra smiled. It really was nice to see him after she got over her initial shock. “Well, if you like, we can have breakfast, sort out your room, and then go for a long walk.”
“Splendid. Coffee and toast will be fine. I’ll just get my bag in while you make it.” As he left the cottage, whistling some favourite country-and-western tune, Cassandra filled the kettle and cut bread for toast. Julian’s arrival surprised her in more ways than one. Ever since she had known him, Julian was utterly predictable. To turn up without warning was completely out of character. It crossed her mind that Cynthia and Rosie might have put him up to it. She knew they worried about her, and more than once, both had tentatively asked where their relationship was going. She grinned. Nowhere! Julian was a friend and nothing more. It got her thinking. She hadn’t finished clearing the second bedroom, Susan’s old studio. If Julian wanted the privacy of a bedroom and to not have to doss down on the settee, she needed to get the room ready.
“So…apart from the marvellous walks around here, what else is there for recreation? What are your neighbours like?” Julian asked on his return from the car.
Cassandra smiled. “Not a lot, quite honestly. I did go to an art exhibition with a neighbour yesterday.” God, was it really only yesterday? Since then, there had been a fire and now this huge surprise with Julian’s arrival. “There’s a pub about two miles away, which we can walk to if you fancy a pint. The neighbours are a mixed bunch. One or two are okay, and I’ve met them all now.”
Julian eyed her with interest. “Was the exhibition anything to do with your sister?”
“It was. It was in Edinburgh.” For some reason, she didn’t admit she had gone with Angus. Even though it wasn’t a date, Cassandra loved spending time with Angus and wanted to keep it her secret. If she as much as mentioned to Julian there was a single male living in Inverdarroch, he would have made it his business to inform Cynthia and Rosie before the day was out.
“I looked her up on the internet you know. She was well thought of in the sculpture world. What was her work like in the flesh?”
“Pretty amazin
g. Susan seemed to specialise in animal art, using different mediums. Some of her pieces are quite lovely.”
“I don’t suppose you bought anything?”
“No, the prices were way beyond anything I could afford, and there were few for sale anyway. There was a self-portrait I admired and would have liked, but it was already sold. I have some of Susan’s smaller stuff here. Actually, it’s in the bedroom you’ll be using. I haven’t finished clearing it yet.”
“Are you going to show me the rest of the place after breakfast?”
“Before! It’s not that large, apart from the land, and it’ll only take a minute.”
***
“I think if it was me, I’d do up the kitchen and bathroom first. And you really need central heating— those bedrooms are particularly freezing.”
“I’m not sure I want to spend the money, Julian. After all, I’ve no idea how long I’m going to keep the place.”
“Well, done up, this could fetch a small fortune. Highland cottages are selling well these days, and being in this valley, it’s a dream cottage. A new bathroom and kitchen shouldn’t set you back more than about ten grand, max. It’ll be an investment. If it was me I’d do it and probably keep it for a few years at least.”
Ah! But Julian didn’t know about the little problems she had been having.
“Actually, I’ve had two offers for it, and it’s not even on the market.”
“There you go! What did I say? Hang on and let them better each other.”
“I don’t think they allow gazumping in Scotland.”
“Right, that’s the inside done. What about outside? I noticed an attached barn of some sort. Is the land out back all yours?”
Cassandra didn’t want Julian to look inside the outbuilding, but he was already opening the door and peering in.
“What’s that awful acrid smell? Jesus, Cassandra have you had a fire? You should be more careful.” He pointed to the tin she had left lying on the floor.
“What were you doing?” He hunkered down and pulled out a piece of burnt cloth. “Jeans?” Cassandra gazed at the back of his blonde head and wondered how much she should tell him.
When she didn’t answer, he stood up and turned round. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Julian guessed after looking at her face.
Cassandra took a deep breath. “Let’s go in and have breakfast, and I’ll tell you everything.”
***
So Cassandra described the scenes with the thrown paint, the sculptures, and the fire. She didn’t mention the decapitated hare or the face staring at her from the woodland, or the odd feelings of being watched half the time. She certainly wasn’t going to mention the watcher on the hill, either. She didn’t want him raising merry hell and telling the terrible twins. Between the three of them, they would have ganged up on her and dragged her screaming all the way back to Liverpool. After she finished retelling the escapade with the fire, she gazed at Julian’s handsome face which had undergone a shade paler during her telling.
“Bugger! You’re telling me, you believe someone came in here and actually set fire to that tin of rubbish during the night?”
Cassandra swallowed and nodded.
“And this was after they threw paint around? Why didn’t you mention it as soon as I arrived? Have you thought about telling the police?”
Cassandra felt stupid. “Apart from the paint throwing, I thought I’d caused the fire somehow...it was an accident. There’s plenty of linseed oil in the shed—Susan obviously used it. The tin was old and rusty. It probably corroded and somehow ignited. Oh, I don’t know!” She threw up her hands.
“Perhaps one of your neighbours wants to drive you out? Who the hell would do this? Has anyone been rude or threatening in any way?”
Cassandra shook her head. “Not really. The farm people are pretty weird. Mrs Campbell is downright rude, and her sons look and act like they’re a sandwich short of a picnic, but no one has threatened me.”
“There’s no passing traffic, no tramps up here at this time of the year—it’s too bloody cold. It has to be a neighbour! What about those two offers on the cottage? Who are they from?”
“One’s from Donald and Fiona…well, Donald really. Fiona’s his girlfriend, and I don’t think she has any money, but there again I’m only guessing. The other offer came through my solicitor, and we don’t know the identity of the person. It may just be a crank. Or it could of course be Donald, as he’s so keen.”
“There are plenty of cranks around. Could this Donald be trying to persuade you to sell?”
She shook her head. “He hasn’t come across as being malicious. He seems okay, a little slimy, but certainly not a cheat.”
“Well, who else is there living here apart from the nutters at the funny farm?”
Cassandra smiled at his attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “Angus. He lives alone, but he seems honest. Then there are the Blackmore sisters. Lorna Blackmore has had some sort of breakdown and is kind of pathetic and screwy but in a trivial sort of way. She’s hardly violent, and I don’t think she actually leaves the house. Her sister, Elizabeth, looks after her. She’s sensible and caring.”
“I bet you a fiver it’s the farming lot.”
“No. They’re sullen and rude, but they’re hardworking farmers. They’ve been here for years. Angus told me.”
“What about any strangers in the village? Don’t you think you should tell the police?” he persisted.
Cassandra sat and thought for a minute, her arms crossed, hands on her elbows. She suddenly felt weary of it all. “No strangers, apart from one man whom I bump into from time to time. And he seems pretty much harmless whenever we’ve spoken. Look, can we please just leave it for now? I told Angus about the paint, and he has no idea who it could be. Perhaps it’ll pass once I’ve lived here for a while. Some people just don’t like newcomers.”
Julian didn’t look convinced. “Well, it’s your decision. We’ll see how the next few days go. Remember, villages can be very insular, and in some places you have to live there for years before you’re accepted. But promise me this—if anything else occurs, you will get on the phone to the police at once?”
Cassandra nodded. Relief flooded through her. For the first time, she realised how nice it was to have company. She would sleep better while Julian was there. Surely, whoever was playing these nasty surprises on her would stop once they learnt she had outside help and support and wasn’t going to be put off?
Chapter 20 January 2013, Inverdarroch
After breakfast, Cassandra cleared the remainder of the stuff from the bedroom and made up the spare bed. Julian helped take some of the bulkier items downstairs, in between composing photographs of the cottage and surrounding land.
Cassandra poked her head outside the front door and peered up at the sky. The snow forecast for the week hadn’t yet arrived, and the day seemed calm. She thought it was a good time to take a long walk and blow away some of the gathered cobwebs.
Half an hour later, she and Julian were striding through the forest, heading for the highest hills.
“I think this whole valley is tremendous,” Julian enthused. “It’s like something out of a film. You know, I really think you’d be mad to sell. Keep it for a few years, do it up, and then make a killing. You only have to use your imagination to see what can be done with it. And it’ll be fun coming up here. We can stay for weeks in the summer.”
We? It was news to Cassandra. Julian was the one with the imagination. He was fun to be with (most of the time), good-looking, educated, and enthusiastic about a lot of the things she believed in. But there was no ‘we’. Julian didn’t make her heart sing or make her feel like spending the weekend in bed with him. She didn’t want to get dirty with him. There simply was no ‘zing’, no sexual attraction between them. She slowed her pace.
“Come on. What’s the matter? Surely you’re not tired already?”
“No, of course not.”
“You never told m
e what you’d been offered for the place. You’ll have to go back to your solicitor and tell him you’re not selling. It’ll work in your favour. Force the price up.”
“I never agreed to sell. Although I got the impression he thought I would.”
“That’s okay then. Have you thought about what needs organising? You know, repair work. There’s bound to be plumbing and electric jobs, before you consider the garden, fencing, ditching, and hedging…that sort of thing. Of course, we can do a lot of it ourselves, but the more heavy work will need a builder.”
There he goes again, she thought. We.
“You mentioned a fella named Angus. Didn’t you say he was a composer? What sort of music does he write?”
Cassandra’s face softened as she thought of Angus. “Classical.”
Julian looked disappointed. “Shame. Not modern then? “
“No.”
They walked on in silence for some time, the steepness of the hill made conversation difficult. Once they reached the summit, Julian threw himself down in a bed of springy heather and lay looking up at the sky. Cassandra sat down beside him, knees drawn up and leant back on her elbows. She stole a look at Julian and wondered why she felt nothing but friendship. Not a flicker of desire despite his blonde good looks. Somewhere, back in his bloodline, there must have been lusty Viking blood.
She tried to imagine what sex would be like with him. If he used his customary enthusiasm, he would almost certainly go at it like a ram. She pictured Julian with an arched neck, biceps flexed and bulging, buttocks pumping, and roaring his orgasm to the whole world. He would expect sex with him to be perfect. Christ, he looked perfect. Like a classical Norseman. She rolled over onto her stomach and tried hard not to giggle. She wasn’t being fair.
She felt his arm snake round her waist. “You know, you’re looking very good. I believe you’ve lost more weight, and I like your hair longer,” he whispered in her ear.
ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) Page 11
