“Aye, that’s the truth,” Elspeth said. “Man’s a terrible gossip.”
Anna bit her lip. “I could ask Connal, I suppose. Quietly. If it’s JoAnne, he’d have to know sooner or later anyway.”
“I won’t have that poor girl losing her job over this.” Elspeth shook the rolling pin at Anna. “Not when you’ve no idea whether she’s guilty. Moira loves her to pieces, and JoAnne needs the work.”
“I’m not saying this has anything to do with how she takes care of Moira, Aunt Elspeth, and Connal wouldn’t be unfair to her. He isn’t like that.”
“The village would be. They’ve never liked JoAnne much to start with, and they won’t tolerate her meddling in the festival—if that’s what she’s been doing. So much as a whiff of accusation, and they’ll as good as convict her for it.”
“Which is all the more reason for us to find out who’s behind it before anything more serious happens. The longer we let this go, the greater the risk that she’ll do something more extreme.”
“If it’s her,” Elspeth said. “Which I doubt.”
“Yes, if.” Anna got up and poured Brando a cup of tea and brought it back to him while Elspeth turned to smooth the pie dough into submission. That, apparently, was easier to wrangle than a mystery. Or the village, for that matter, where everyone saw resistance as their duty and inalienable right.
Brando set the cup and saucer Anna gave him on the table. “Thanks.”
“I’ll talk to Connal at lunch,” Anna said, sitting down on the edge of the chair beside him. “If he’ll agree to loan us the camera, could you find time to collect it and set it up by the highway? We want that part to be quiet, obviously, but make a production of setting up the poster. Make sure everyone knows it’s the last one we have. Meanwhile, I’ll call in to the printer as soon as they open this morning and see how soon they can get us another batch.”
Once Brando had gone, she spent the morning helping Elspeth move display cases in the museum in an effort to turn it back—somehow—into a ballroom. Leaving Elspeth to handle the smaller pieces, she went back to juggling finances, making phone calls, and drafting another press release. The bills kept adding up, and the village fund was dwindling, and half the people she called from the long list of suppliers who were providing everything from the tent and the folding chairs to T-shirts and awards were out or busy and needed to call her back.
At eleven-thirty, she handed Elspeth an extensive list of notes about phone calls and helped her aunt lift down a few additional museum exhibits from the walls and tuck them beneath the tables. Then she left to have lunch with Connal.
She didn’t love the prospect of confronting him about JoAnne, but she had to admit she almost hoped Moira’s nanny was behind the sabotage. At least that way there was a chance Connal could make it stop.
Tangled Webs
Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .
when first we practice to deceive.
Sir Walter Scott
Marmion
The air was tooth-chatteringly cold. Occasional swirls of snowflakes drifted out of the gunmetal clouds only to melt before they hit the ground, adding to Anna’s worries. What if there was snow for the festival? Staring up at the blowing sky, she drew her hat lower and pulled her scarf up to cover her nose, hoping Connal wouldn’t want to go out walking in this weather, much less bring Moira with them. But she hated the idea of disappointing either of them, so she’d prepared herself by wearing Elspeth’s winter coat and bundling up in extra layers.
After a quarter mile, the path skirted around the high stone wall that surrounded Inverlochlarig House and veered off toward the carpark and the trail up into the hills. Anna turned the other direction and crossed through a thin wood until she reached a narrow side gate that led onto Connal’s property. Using the spare key he’d given her, she let herself inside.
The manor itself sat back from Loch Fàil and Loch Daoine amid landscaped grounds that ran all the way down to the peninsula between the two lochs where the Sighting would take place. The dark blue water on either side glowed like a jewel among the surrounding braes. It was the prettiest scenery in all the glen.
Anna locked the gate behind her and cut through the copse of pale-trunked birch trees, skirted a border of bare rose bushes, and crossed the lawn to the wide front steps. Her hand raised to ring the bell, she twitched in surprise when the door opened before she had the chance.
Erica MacLaren, as blond and pretty as her brother Rory was gruff and balding, took a step toward her, emerging from the darkness. Standing on the stoop, Anna blinked into the dim interior.
“Sorry,” Erica said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Lorna’s got me in to do the monthly deep-clean today. She’s in the kitchen if you’re looking for her, and Connal’s in the library.” Holding the door open wider, she stepped back again in invitation, a feather duster in her hand and the kind of half-smile on her lips that suggested she probably wasn’t sorry at all. Instead of relaxing into the role of Lysander as the rehearsals went on, she’d only gotten more resentful, and Anna decidedly was not one of her favorite people.
Anna took off her hat and unwound the scarf from around her head. “Is Moira up in the playroom with JoAnne?”
“No, they’ve gone out wandering somewhere, the two of them, before Moira has to go back to her lessons. JoAnne asked Lorna to pack a lunch.”
Anna glanced back out the open door, not sure whether to be annoyed, or worried, or grateful. But while the snowflakes were drifting down more quickly, they still weren’t sticking to the ground, and she reminded herself that Moira wasn’t as fragile as she appeared. Anyway, she had no business interfering with when or where JoAnne took Moira. JoAnne and Connal had done a good job with Moira long before Anna had arrived, and Moira was going to be fine once Anna was gone. She needed to remember that.
The thought still made her breath catch. Time was slipping away too fast.
Crossing to the left, she entered the great hall beyond the foyer. Lined by triple rows of long-dead stags, antique refractory tables, and equally ancient oriental rugs, the room was flanked by enormous drafty stone fireplaces on either end that made it feel even colder. She left her coat on and hurried to where a set of narrow stone steps led into the three-story tower that housed the library and Connal’s study.
Connal sat at his desk, backed by shelves of books and a cheerful fire. The bluish glow of a laptop screen framed his face, and he appeared lost in thought, chewing the end of a red pencil and frowning down at a stack of printed pages laid out in front of him.
Anna’s chest squeezed, a feeling on the cusp of pain and pleasure.
She stole a moment in the doorway for the sheer enjoyment of watching him, but as always, he seemed to know by instinct that she was there. A smile broke over his face, and he jumped to his feet to meet her.
“I didn’t hear the door,” he said, coming around the side of the desk.
“Erica saw me coming and let me in.”
He kissed her then stepped back to study her. “You look worried. Is something wrong?”
“Can we talk for a moment?”
His eyebrows quirked together into a question. “Well, that doesn’t sound at all ominous.”
“I’m not sure ominous is the right word. More like troubling.” Anna shed her coat, scarf, and hat and sank into the deep navy cushions of one of the armchairs that stood in front of the carved antique desk. It was a chair in which Connal sometimes sat to work himself, and it smelled like him: his shampoo and aftershave and the crisp scent of the wind sweeping across the loch and over the heather-covered hills.
She explained about the most recent theft of the posters before confiding the rest. “These latest things may have nothing to do with the posters at all, but taken together it’s made me wonder how many other small things that we’ve been dismissing as bad luck, or simple error, or blaming on kids were just part of a bigger picture. I wouldn’t have known about the canceled order for the toilets at all
if the company hadn’t assumed I’d gotten a better offer and called to suggest a discount. I’ve had to spend yesterday afternoon and this morning calling around to every vendor and making sure everything is still scheduled for the right dates. On top of that, I found two websites where someone called to have the festival listing taken down, and I haven’t even checked all the rest of the websites yet—Elspeth is sending out a follow-up press release today, and we’ll have to make more phone calls.”
“You have any idea who’s behind it?” Connal lowered himself into the chair beside her.
Anna glanced at him then smoothed her scarf out along her lap. “Elspeth suspected JoAnne—she won’t admit it, but that’s who she has in mind. And I have to concede that makes sense. Everyone else is at least involved in the festival or stands to benefit in one way or another. JoAnne’s the only one who still wants to stop it outright. Of course, we can’t accuse her now, and I’m not saying there aren’t any other suspects. I guess I’m asking for your opinion—that and I’d like to borrow the camera trap Logan has set up by the osprey’s nest and try to catch whoever is stealing the posters in the act. Hopefully, it’s the same person, and that would solve the problem.”
“JoAnne?” Connal shook his head.
“You’re saying it can’t be her?”
“My first instinct is that it isn’t—if I thought she was capable of anything like this, I wouldn’t dare have her around Moira, of course . . . ”
“But?” Anna twisted the scarf between her fingers.
“But she’s not the easiest person to know, and she can fly into a dither if someone so much as looks at her crosswise. Scared as a rabbit, sometimes.” Sitting with his legs spread, Connal leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees.
“So what do you want to do? Can we use the camera trap?”
“Of course, but for the rest, I honestly don’t know. I suppose the fact that I can’t dismiss her involvement outright means I have a problem. She’s protective of Moira, which is good, and maybe a little possessive, which wouldn’t be. She knew you were coming today, but she still wanted to take Moira out before the snow came down. I filed it away as something to keep an eye on. You think it’s more than that?”
Anna smoothed the scarf again. “I don’t know her, Connal. She’s barely spoken to me. Moira’s sweet and charming once she opens up. It’s not my place to meddle, so forget I said anything.”
“How can I forget?” Connal asked, his expression stunned. “All I’ve ever wanted is for Moira to be happy, to be confident. But you’re right. It still takes her time to open up when she meets someone. JoAnne doesn’t like people much, and I stay away from strangers. I hate the idea that the two of us could unconsciously be encouraging Moira not to trust anyone she doesn’t know.”
“We’ve talked about the festival—you know how much she wants to go.”
“And I gave in this morning when she pestered me again,” Connal said, smiling faintly.
“That’s fantastic.” Anna leaned toward him, beaming. “I’m so happy you’ve decided to go.”
“I can’t go.” Connal shook his head. “That hasn’t changed. I’m still not sure letting Moira go is the right decision. What if someone says something to her? What if something happens?” Connal stared down at the floor, his face reflecting all the what-ifs he’d already catalogued and feared.
Self-conscious watching him, Anna looked away. His desk was messy, the usual neat stacks of folders tumbled over, a pile of crisp white papers fanned out across the scratched leather blotter, red pencil marks visible on the pages. A name caught her eye, and she drew the paper toward her.
“Are these the final script changes that Vanessa Devereaux wanted?” she asked.
“No!” Connal’s hand shot out to grab her wrist.
But Anna had already pulled the paper close enough to see the rest of the title page:
THE RARE ENCOUNTER
AN ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
BY GRAHAM CONNOR
FADE IN:
EXT. BROWNSTONE APARTMENT (NEW YORK), STEPS - NIGHT
ANGLE ON apartment doorway. It opens and DELILAH CHAMBERS a
That was all that registered before Connal had jumped up to gather the pages together and slip them into a folder. He circled back around the desk, shoved the file into a drawer, and stood looking at Anna, breathing a little rapidly. His face was pale, and his lips twitched as though he was searching for words of explanation.
Anna’s heart shriveled as if he’d splashed it with ice cold water. Already part of her was drowning. Disappearing.
She pushed herself slowly to her feet. “So that’s why Graham Connor was so willing to be accommodating about the play, I guess. And why you don’t mind not having a creative outlet.”
“I was going to tell you. I simply haven’t found the right moment—”
“Really? What about when I asked you about going back to acting? Or whether you missed having a creative outlet? Or whether you weren’t bored rattling around here by yourself? When you confided in me about how much you’d lost your sense of self, how you and Isobel had started acting too young, how you’d been plunged into a world where nothing was real? Or when I told you how betrayed Henry had made me feel, how I’ve wondered all these years whether our relationship was ever real or whether he’d been acting a part from the very beginning?” Anna snatched her coat and scarf from the back of the chair. “You’ve been hiding yourself from me, Connal. You didn’t trust me. You didn’t believe in me enough to share the fact that you were Graham Connor, so how do I know if anything about you is real?”
Even as she asked, Anna realized that whatever Connal answered wouldn’t matter. How could she believe anything he said?
“Anna, wait. Please. What we have is real. I swear to you—”
“Anna!” Footsteps raced up the stairs, and Moira ran into the room, her hair fanning behind her like a streak of liquid platinum. She threw her arms around Anna’s waist with a lopsided grin that made her wind-reddened face look even more as though half of it had begun to melt. “I was coming to find you.” She turned back to her father. “Did you ask her yet?”
“Ask me what, sweetie?” Anna smiled. It was impossible not to smile at Moira.
“If you and Elspeth will take me to the games and the trimming of the May Bush and the Beltane Ball for a little while. Daddy said I could go if I went with you, but he won’t take me, and he says I can’t go to the bonfire because that’s past my bedtime.”
Anna turned toward the door as Moira’s nanny arrived and stopped on the landing outside. “What about JoAnne?”
JoAnne looked at her with startled eyes then quickly ducked her head. Not much taller than Moira herself and dwarfed by a flowing skirt and shapeless sweater, the woman always managed to look fragile and a little scattered. Even her hair, swept into a ponytail, was a corkscrew mass of curls that didn’t seem to know which way to go.
“I’m not about to have anything to do with that festival.” JoAnne’s breathy voice held a hard, sharp edge. “I’ve said as much to Connal, and I wish you wouldn’t go putting thoughts in Moira’s head.”
“Maybe this isn’t the time to talk about that,” Anna said.
Moira scowled at JoAnne. “I’ve gone every year. I want to go.”
“It was only the glen then,” JoAnne said. “Just us.”
Anna sighed. “The glen very much needs the festival to go forward smoothly. For that, we need everyone to pull together, including you.”
“You’ve no right!” JoAnne raised her chin and scowled at Anna. “You’ve no right to speak for anyone in the glen. All you’ve done is come in from outside and spoil things.”
“You moved here from Glasgow yourself,” Connal said firmly. “The rest of the village is grateful for everything Anna’s doing to help, and this isn’t the time to talk about it.”
“How can you say that? You know what could happen.” JoAnne put a hand on Moira’s shoulder. “You know how people a
re—”
“That’s enough, JoAnne,” Connal’s voice had gone grim and cold, “but just so that we are very clear: you are not to do anything to work against the festival either. No tricks or pranks, however mild.”
JoAnne’s face reddened, and her feet shifted toward the door as though she wanted to run. “I wouldn’t.”
“Good,” Connal said. “I hope I don’t hear otherwise.”
Anna wanted him to say more, to tell Moira that JoAnne hadn’t meant what she’d said about people—that it was all right for Moira to look forward to having fun. That wasn’t her place, though.
And she was tired . . . So tired of all of the holding back. The hiding. His. Hers. Because wasn’t she hiding, too? Hiding from her mother? From reality. From herself. What else had these past weeks of pretending there could be anything real between herself and Connal been other than a form of self-deception?
She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t pretend that things were the same between them. She needed time to think and process. What had she thought she was doing with a man like Connal—or Gregor Mark, or Graham Connor? Whatever he chose to call himself.
Who was he, really? Did she have any idea?
She’d always thought it was awful when television shows talked about women in bad relationships having a “type”—making the same mistakes over and over with the same kind of men. Was Connal any different than Henry? But what did it matter, when it came down to it? In just over two weeks, she was leaving. Better that she knew what Connal was like now. She’d have two weeks to shore herself up instead of spending all that time deceiving herself with who she wanted him to be.
Her throat ached, and her eyes stung at the thought. At the situation in general.
Still, she couldn’t let that show. Moira stood watching all of them with her eyes wide and hesitant.
Anna stopped in front of her and smiled with every ounce of conviction that she could dredge up within herself. “I’m glad you’re as excited about the festival as I am, Moira, and Elspeth and I will be happy to have you with us. We’ll have an amazing time, the three of us. We’ll watch all the games, and the dancing, and the piping competition. But we’ll talk more about that later, all right? For now, I need to get back and take care of some things. I was just about to leave when you came tearing in.”
Lake of Destiny Page 13
