Chapter Two
Ophelia
F og patches spread over the glen, obscuring Ophelia’s vision as she took the lochside road towards the estate. Her BMW cut a crimson slash through the gloom. Squinting ahead, she flicked the full beam on and off as she moved in and out of the misty sections. Low clouds hovered above the loch like steam from a boiling cauldron.
Her phone rang, making her jump. Jacinta. Ophelia pressed the speaker. ‘Hi.’
‘When you’re in town, would you pick up something for dinner, please?’
‘Sorry, I’ve already left.’
‘Can’t you go back? You’re not here, so you must still be close to the town.’
‘Not really.’
‘Please, Ophelia, help me out here.’
‘It’s not a case of helping out, I—’
‘Always an excuse.’
‘It’s not an excuse. I have an appointment.’ Ophelia ground her teeth. The fog had lifted a little and a white van was moving along in front of her.
‘Well, god knows what we’ll eat then.’
This was a straight section and without thinking it through, Ophelia sunk the pedal to the floor, racing past a van. Before she got by, a foggy patch engulfed her again. Unable to fully see, she held her foot down, a sudden panic gripping her. What if a car materialised through the fog? She would smash it head-on. Her fingers were numb, and she clenched the wheel. The van slowed, and she cut in front of it. Her grip relaxed, and she sped ahead, heart thumping. What a stupid thing to do. Shouldn’t let Jacinta get to me like this. Honestly, that woman was one of the few things that ever made her mad.
‘Ophelia! Are you still there?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Ophelia forced the words out, hardly able to breathe. ‘There’s another call coming in that I need to take.’
She wasn’t lying. Barbara’s name was flashing up. She shut off Jacinta, hitting the button with fingers still shaking. ‘Hello.’
‘Ophelia, hello. I’m glad I caught you. I’m running a tad late.’ The line was crackly and Ophelia screwed up her face at a metallic squeak. ‘I meant to say earlier, if you arrive before me, be careful…’ Barbara’s voice crackled off again, then burst back. ‘… scruffy man lingering not far from the boathouse…’ More crackling. ‘… Mhairi from the house down the way told me he stole a moped…’ The crackling continued. ‘…spare key in the flowerpot, but…’
‘What? There’s a scruffy man at the boathouse who stole someone’s moped?’
The call cut out before Barbara could reply. ‘Seriously?’ What was going on?
She hit the brakes and pulled up a side road. It rose steeply and wound around the back of the estate. At the back gate, she pulled in and trundled down a track to the small lochan. Mist almost fully obscured it and if she didn’t know it was there, she might have thought it was nothing but a big empty space. She steered the BMW into a gravelled layby beside a low wall. Ahead was the forlorn old building, long and low, with a curious tower looming on one side. Poor shabby old boathouse.
She exited the car, bleeping it shut, and slung her Dior saddle bag up her wrist. The cold air nipped her face as she scanned around. The surrounding tall trees were dark, and she shivered. Was someone watching through the low hanging mist? She recalled seeing something moving over there the last time she was here. Was this safe?
Giving herself a shake, she turned her attention to the dilapidated ruin. She hadn’t been inside for so long. Had Barbara said the spare key was in a flowerpot? A brief thrill gripped her as she lifted a pot by the door and saw the rusty old key. Not great security. She unlocked the creaky door. What if the scruffy man Barbara had mentioned was using the place as a squat? A stench of mould hung in the chill air. Fumbling for the light switch, she stifled a scream as she touched a cobweb. Yuck. She shook it off, then picked her way through a jumble of old furniture to the back room. It seemed like her father was using it to store piles of unwanted junk. From the windows should have been a stunning view on a clear day. Instead, layers of grime obscured everything.
An engine and a banging of car doors made her jump. What was that? Barbara? Her pulse quickened at a scuffling sound – mice, rats? Oh no.
A hefty clanging reverberated outside. What the…?
Ophelia rubbed a view hole in the filthy window with a tissue and saw a white van parked beside her car. A tall man with floppy, sandy coloured hair and a dusting of stubble was next to it. He bent and picked something up. Ophelia’s eyes goggled as she spied what he was holding. A crowbar. What the hell? Is he about to jemmy open my car? ‘No way.’ Without another thought, she ran to the door, grabbed an old set of antlers from the top of a cupboard, and stormed out. She marched to within three feet of the man, wielding the antlers like a shield.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ The chill wind snapped at her cheeks.
‘Whoa.’ The man turned around, no longer with anything in his hand, and gave her a quizzical look. His eyebrows were high on his face, and he held his muscly arms up in surrender, displaying the wide expanse of a muscular chest under his work-worn, faded shirt. Holy crap. A man like that could charm his way into anything with those inviting eyes and that crooked grin. Don’t be fooled . This could be the scruffy moped-stealing conman upgrading to car theft. And now she was standing in front of him, trying to take him on with a set of old antlers. Like that would do any good. She wasn’t short, but she couldn’t match his muscle power; he was built like He-man.
‘I saw you about to break into my car.’
His eyes held hers for a moment, and she didn’t move. Her tummy did a weird little flip.
‘What are you talking about?’ He seemed on the verge of laughing. Ok, so the antlers must look pretty silly.
‘I’m calling the police.’ She wrestled the antlers to one side so she could reach her mobile.
‘Listen, lady, put that away, and those things. They’ll take someone’s eye out. This is—’
‘I saw you.’
‘Saw what? I’m Brann Duthie the builder.’
‘Who?’ She blinked, trying to process what he was saying.
‘You called me.’
Her heart raced. His crooked smile didn’t fade as he waited for her to speak. Some women, even amongst her friends, would go for his type: muscly and rugged, with make-love-to-me eyes. But not me. Well-groomed, smart men were her thing.
‘I didn’t call you.’ Had Barbara? Was that what this was all about? ‘If you are who you say, then you better prove you’re bona fide.’
‘I’m boney what?’ He pulled a face.
‘Show me your I.D., please.’ She clung to the antlers, knowing how stupid she must sound as soon as the words were out of her mouth. If this guy was a thief, wouldn’t he knock her on the head and be done with?
‘Er.’ His brow furrowed. The van door opened, and a younger man got out, but hovered on the far side. Was this some kind of gang hustle? Maybe she should get in her car and go.
‘Um, ok. I’ve got my driver’s license somewhere. Hang on.’ He pulled a wallet from his back pocket. ‘My name’s also on the van, if that works.’
Her eyes darted to it, and she saw the words clear as day. Brann Duthie Builder.
‘Well…’ She gave a little shrug. ‘How do I know you didn’t steal that van and are just using the name?’
He let out a snort laugh. ‘Smart thinking. You should be a detective.’ Opening the wallet, he stepped closer. The fine hairs on her neck rose. Despite what should be a sense of impending danger, that wasn’t the only vibe she was getting. Something else built in her chest, a burning heat. It spread through her body. Perhaps she could attribute it to being annoyed or panicky, but that didn’t quite explain it. It seemed to have more to do with the proximity of his chest and the heady scent of citrus, spice and raw man. ‘Are you going to put those antlers down?’ He quirked his lips at her again.
She realised her knuckles had gone white clinging to them and she’d rather unfortunately aimed them at his crotch. ‘I.D. first.’
‘As you wish.’
Ophelia tightened her grip on the antlers, not sure if she trusted him or not.
A vehicle sound alerted her attention. She spun around to see Barbara pulling up. Dazzling headlights blinded her. Then Barbara, in her tweed suit, hauled herself out of the old Range Rover, grinning.
‘Good afternoon.’ She raised her voice as a strong gust shaved across her grey bob. ‘Ophelia, you made it. Excellent.’ She frowned at the antlers for a second, then turned to the man. ‘And you must be Brann Duthie.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘No,’ Ophelia said, at the same time.
‘Oh dear.’ Barbara laughed. ‘There seems to be a mix-up.’
‘Whoever he is, I saw him with a crowbar about to break into my car.’
Brann shook his head at the younger man who’d walked around to stand next to him. ‘Some tools fell as I was driving. I was about to tidy them up, but the crowbar fell out when I opened the car door, that’s all. I’m here because someone called Barbara phoned me to look at some work needing done.’ He glanced at Ophelia, and she had a strong sense that he was checking her out. Her hackles rose. ‘I assumed that was you.’
‘No, that’s me,’ Barbara said, ‘and yes, I called you both.’
‘So why did you call me?’ Ophelia turned to Barbara, blocking the two men. ‘You didn’t say why.’
‘Oh, gracious yes, let’s step inside and I’ll explain, it’s far too cold out here.’
Brann still had a trace of that annoying smirk on his face. He stood back to let her in. ‘Ladies first, and just in case you’re still in doubt.’ He held up a little pink card and Ophelia saw his name and photo on his driver’s license.
She gave him a stiff smile, feeling like a total idiot, still clinging to the stupid antlers. She dumped them back on the top of the low cupboard and tried to avoid Brann’s gaze. Why is he staring at me like that?
‘Now.’ Barbara clapped her hands. ‘This is Ophelia Chattan-Blythe, she’s the daughter of Rupert, the owner of this estate, but to all intents and purposes she’s in charge for now.’
Ophelia wasn’t sure that was true in any shape or form. Running Timeless Butterfly Interiors had been hard enough. But that had been a task she’d grown into alongside the business expanding. Being in charge of something as big as Glenvorneth was so much more daunting and not something she wanted to do alone – or soon. No wonder her father struggled. Perhaps that was why he’d kept Barbara on instead of a cook.
‘Ophelia has come to our rescue,’ Barbara went on. ‘She knows, as I do, the estate needs to diversify. Rupert doesn’t like that idea, or his wife doesn’t – but Ophelia understands. She’s our heiress.’ Barbara patted her arm. Brann gave her a definite once over, his crooked smile widening. What did that look mean? Why was he staring? Hell . Why am I?
‘There will have to be some significant changes,’ Barbara went on. ‘We need to make a start, and this place is in the perfect location for a holiday rental. Not that it looks it today, but it could be. You agree, Ophelia, don’t you?’
‘Well, yes, but…’ Much as she loved the place, it was low on her priority list. There were more urgent parts of the estate needing attention.
Brann peered around. ‘It’s definitely got potential.’
‘So you can do it?’ Barbara said.
‘Depends what it is you want. I could make it structurally safe, but if you’re talking about extensions or significant changes, then I can’t just start knocking down walls. You need plans and a building warrant. You might need a structural engineer. It depends how strong the structure is.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Barbara swept off his words. ‘Ophelia and I can sort all that.’
‘I… what? I’m only here for a couple of weeks.’ She didn’t want to leave Timeless Butterfly Interiors for too long. But then, this was her heritage and her future. Her beloved grandparents had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure the estate would come to her. How could she let them down? Especially when it felt like letting herself down too.
‘Well, it looks like a fairly stable old building.’ Brann moved closer to Ophelia and tapped on a wall. ‘Though I’d need to check it properly. And obviously there’s a lot to be cleared out.’ His eyes roamed over the mouldy furniture and piles of junk. ‘Those antlers should definitely be moved out of reach of some of us,’ he muttered sideways at Ophelia.
‘What? I—’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Barbara said, clearly not having heard fully. ‘I know a couple of lads who’ll clear this place out for a bit of pocket money.’
Ophelia ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes at Brann. Barbara rattled on. At first Brann kept his focus away from Ophelia, then slowly he turned to her, raised his eyebrow, and quirked a little grin.
‘Listen.’ Ophelia wasn’t sure what Barbara was talking about. She’d lost track and the heat in her neck was making her annoyingly flustered. ‘I can’t hang about.’ Not if she was to go back into town and get some food for dinner.
‘Me neither,’ Brann said. ‘I’m a busy man. Come on.’ He clapped his silent sidekick on the arm. Surely, that had to be Brann’s brother. The resemblance was too uncanny. ‘If I’m lucky, I might find another heiress to rob before dinnertime,’ he added in a low voice as he passed Ophelia.
‘What?’
‘Yes, yes, let’s sort a date for you to give this place a thorough inspection.’ Barbara flicked through her phone.
Brann winked at Ophelia before exchanging dates with Barbara.
What the…? Was he for real?
Barbara opened the door, and they filed out. ‘Gosh this wind. Let’s move. And thank you for coming, Brann. I’ll see you at the house, Ophelia. We can discuss this further.’ Barbara climbed into the Rover. The fog had blown away, and narrow rows of waves skimmed the top of the lochan. Brann Duthie’s sidekick jumped into the van and slammed the door. Icy rain drops pelted Ophelia. Brann folded his arms and blocked her. She couldn’t get to the car without sidestepping him.
Barbara drove off with a toot and a wave.
‘So that’s your BMW, is it?’ Brann examined it, seemingly unperturbed by the adverse weather, even though strands of wet hair were sticking to his rugged face. Ophelia shivered. Her riding jacket wasn’t waterproof. She wanted to get into the car.
‘Yes.’ She made to sidestep him.
‘That was a dangerous piece of driving earlier,’ he continued quietly. His face had a magnetism about it that held her eyes fixed on him. It gave her an electric shock. ‘Even more dangerous than letting you loose with those antlers.’
‘Seriously, that is already way too old. Just what are you talking about?’
‘You went past us at crazy speed on the road in the fog. You could have killed someone.’
Oh god. That was him? She stared at him, knowing fine what she’d done, but not about to dig herself in any deeper. He was right; she’d let Jacinta get to her and done something stupid. Of course she wished she hadn’t done it, but she had, and she didn’t need a lecture.
‘I’ve a good mind to report you. You nearly put us off the road. If someone was coming towards us, we’d all be dead. Fancy heiress or not, you’ve no right to drive like that.’
‘I really don’t need this. I’m not sure I want you working for us. We’re not… You’re not a good fit, for me… Us.’ The words almost jammed in her throat and a stupid little voice inside her tried to tell her all the ways he might be a perfect fit, but she ignored it and shut it down.
‘Sure. Have it your way.’
Jumping into the car, she slammed the door and drove off. Her ears buzzed, and her head spun. Guilt crept in and she cringed at the memory – Brann was right; she’d been driving like a lunatic. As she drove sensibly back, her breathing calmed a little and her eyes frequently strayed to the rear-view mirror. He didn’t catch up. Hopefully, she’d never see him again and she could erase this from her mind, but a part of her wanted to see him, and soon. It felt like they had unfinished business, though whether it was good or bad, she wasn’t entirely sure.