Chapter Four
Ophelia
‘ O phelia! Ophelia!’
Ophelia ground her teeth as Jacinta’s voice got louder and shriller. Why is she calling me like I’m her servant? Feigning deafness was an option, but it would be quicker and easier to find out what Jacinta wanted. Leaving the smart oak and leather desk strewn with papers, Ophelia got up and crossed the hallway to the drawing room. When she was a child, this room had been the height of taste and style. Her grandparents had maintained the period glamour effortlessly. Now the estate was crumbling.
‘You called, milady.’ She gave an ironic curtsey.
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Jacinta laughed and flapped her hand. ‘Are you going into town this afternoon?’
‘I am, but not to the shops. It’s Mother’s birthday party.’
‘Oh yes. Is it at the Cross Keys?’
‘No. It’s at the Loch View Hotel.’
‘That pink place?’
‘Yes.’
‘I haven’t been there for years. It wasn’t that nice, as I recall.’
‘It’s been done up and by all accounts is very nice, so no need to stress.’
‘Oh, I never stress.’ Jacinta gave an airy little wave.
Ophelia barely held back a scoff. ‘Is that all you wanted me for?’
‘Francesca is running low on some horse supplies. Can you nip by the feed store and grab a bag of alfalfa?’
‘You want me to go to the feed store, which is nowhere near where I’m going, and get a large bag of alfalfa in my new car when I’m wearing my party clothes?’
‘Would you, darling? That would be so wonderful.’
‘Oh sure, milady, your wish is my command.’ She returned to the study, shaking her head.
It would be quite nice to tell Jacinta to stuff the alfalfa, but Ophelia knew better. She also happened to like the horses and hated the idea of them being short of food. Of course they wouldn’t starve but still. If she wore her coat and borrowed her father’s pickup, she could do it, though it would mean a detour into town.
The feed store was around the back of a furniture shop that Ophelia loved. It was named Wood ’n’ Chic and always had the most amazing upcycled pieces in the windows. She’d bought things from there online for work and she really must call in soon, but she didn’t have time today. She pulled into a concrete quad surrounded by industrial-looking buildings. The feed store was in one section next to a DIY-type outlet and a garage. The parking situation wasn’t great and there weren’t any free spaces except one right in front of the feed shop. How lucky was that?
She backed into it and jumped out. The store was busy, and she ignored the funny looks she was getting. Obviously she didn’t usually shop dressed in a red floaty jumpsuit and high- heeled silver sandals. Her coat was a padded Joules that didn’t match her outfit and made her look even more ridiculous.
‘I’m heading to a party.’ She tapped her card, feeling the need to explain.
‘Somewhere nice, I hope,’ the assistant said.
‘The Loch View Hotel.’
‘Lovely. Would you like someone to carry the alfalfa to your car?’
‘Yes, please.’
Ophelia opened the boot, and the assistant lifted it in, giving her an odd look before returning to the shop. As she went to close the boot, her eyes drifted past the assistant to two men who were chatting on the pavement outside the DIY shop.
Oh hell no.
One of them was Brann Duthie. Even though he appeared immersed in his conversation, Ophelia knew he’d seen her. She could tell from the expression on his face.
Eyes elsewhere! But it was impossible. Something pulled her focus. He glanced her way and when his gaze met hers, a little smirk grew on his lips.
Jesus Christ.
She slammed the boot shut and her eyes settled on the post behind her car. It had a disabled parking sign on it, a little faded, but still there. Crap . She hadn’t noticed it, but no doubt that assistant and Brann had made their own assumptions about her. Oh god. Time for a quick getaway. But before she’d got to the driver’s door, a female voice called her name. Frowning, she checked where the sound had come from.
A woman with short salt and pepper hair locked a white Mercedes close to the back door of Wood ’n’ Chic and waved to Ophelia. Help. It was the Countess of Dairvin, a second cousin of her father’s, someone who couldn’t be ignored.
‘Hello.’ Ophelia returned her wave. She tugged off her coat and tossed it onto the passenger’s seat, still with half an eye on the countess. Could she get in and drive off now she’d acknowledged her?
Apparently not. The countess beckoned Ophelia by waving her white leather bag. With a deep breath, she made her way over, shivering and rubbing her arms. Without her coat, it was Baltic.
‘Ophelia darling, wonderful to see you.’ The countess mock kissed her on both cheeks, then patted her arm. ‘You look exceptional, young lady. You always do, but you’re absolutely shining today.’
‘Oh… Thank you. I’m just on my way to my mother’s birthday tea.’
‘Lovely. I’m looking for some furniture. We’re doing up the sunroom and I adore the pieces in this place.’
‘Me too.’
‘Terribly difficult to park in town these days, isn’t it? I got this space just as someone was pulling out and I’m very glad because I detest public car parks. All this phoning numbers and using apps to pay. It’s quite ridiculous.’
‘Yes.’ Ophelia glanced back at the pickup. She needed to get back and move it out of the space.
‘I was talking to your father the other day. Wonderful news about you and James Charlton, the Duchan Fayre boy.’
‘What?’ Ophelia almost choked. ‘I haven’t even met him.’
‘Oh…’ The countess frowned. ‘How odd.’
‘My father’s plan is a little archaic. I’m not a commodity he can marry off to the highest bidder.’
‘No, that’s very true, though James Charlton is a delightful man from what I’ve heard. But if you don’t like him, there’s always Rafe Harrington. Do you know him?’
Ophelia wracked her brain. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘His father has a big business up here and Rafe has his own. He’s a very wealthy and eligible young man these days, so I’m told.’
Did anyone ever talk about her as a wealthy and eligible young woman because of Timeless Butterfly Interiors? Or did all her eligibility come from being heiress to Glenvorneth?
‘He has been married before,’ the countess went on, ‘which isn’t ideal, but there are no children to complicate matters.’
Ophelia kept her face dead pan as years of training had taught her. The countess was blunt, but in some ways, she was right. Being the child of a blended family herself, Ophelia knew it wasn’t always plain sailing, especially when she and her stepmother had such a personality clash.
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said. ‘But I’m not here for long.’
‘Pity. We were hoping to have you over one afternoon.’
‘If I’m still here, I’d love to.’
‘Wonderful. Now off you go, looks like someone’s interested in your vehicle.’
‘What?’ Turning, she saw a man in a uniform pinning something to the front of the pickup. She hastened over. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Parking fine, madam. This is a disabled badge-holder space, and I don’t see a badge on your vehicle.’
‘I was literally just leaving, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t see the sign. It’s a little faded.’ How cringe did she sound?
The man picked up his walkie-talkie. ‘Consider this a warning.’
Ophelia jumped in the car and took off. In her rear-view mirror she saw Brann still talking to someone, only he looked like he was laughing. Had he reported her? Double cringe.
She muttered to herself as she drove out of town to the Loch View Hotel. Why hadn’t she spotted the disabled sign? And that bloody builder. Why did he linger in her thoughts more than he should? And why was she always on the back foot every time she saw him? When she arrived at the hotel, she grabbed a short fur bolero and pulled it around her shoulders, ready to meet her mother’s friends. Who were they these days? When her parents had been together, they’d all moved in the same set, but her mother was so independent she made friends all over, in cookery classes, the choir, through volunteer work. But Ophelia had never met any of them.
‘Hello, darling.’ Her mother greeted her with a kiss. ‘Come and get a drink.’
‘Happy birthday.’ Ophelia handed over the gift card and scanned around the bar restaurant that was filled with women, mostly around her mother’s age.
‘Are you Ophelia?’ a short woman with an asymmetrical bob asked.
‘I am.’
‘Your mother talks about you a lot. We’re in the choir together. I hear you run Timeless Butterfly Interiors.’
‘Um… Yes.’
‘Your mother told me about it. I looked it up because I had no idea what it was. I see you have a shop now too.’
‘Yes, I do.’ She hired a manager and a retail team to run that, while she, Lucinda and two other designers oversaw the design part.
Edith pinged a glass, calling for them to go into the dining room. She was elegant and smart in a simple navy suit, with a large, handmade necklace. Her short hair was coloured a shiny chestnut shade. Ophelia half wondered why she’d never remarried, but didn’t complain or dwell on the idea. Her father’s second marriage had caused her quite enough issues. The other guests looked like some choice pages from a vintage JD Williams’ catalogue, sipping their cocktails in gold lamé, velvet trousers and patent Mary-Janes.
Ophelia took a seat opposite her mother.
‘Hello, I’m Nancy.’ The woman beside her smiled, adjusting large glasses. ‘You must be Ophelia. You look like your mother.’
Ophelia nodded in agreement. Edith glanced over at them somewhat contemplatively.
‘Are you enjoying being back?’ Nancy asked.
‘Not really.’ Ophelia wasn’t sure what had made her tell the truth and not spout one of her well-rehearsed replies. Possibly because Nancy had a down-to-earth face and a trustworthy air. ‘My father wants to marry me off to a rich man I’ve never even met.’
Nancy shook her head. ‘Edith told me about that. It’s quite appalling.’
‘I honestly think he believes it’s a good idea.’
‘And do you?’
‘Absolutely not. I want to choose for myself.’ But every night when she closed her eyes, she imagined herself walking down the aisle with a faceless, very rich young man. It was definitely one way to save Glenvorneth.
Except that night when her eyelids fell shut, the man had a face, and it wasn’t a stranger or someone resembling the photos she’d seen of James Charlton. It was Brann Duthie.
Bloody hell.
April
How had Ophelia ever thought two weeks would be enough time to sort of the Glenvorneth mess?
‘It’s fine,’ Lucinda said, when Ophelia called her to relay the news that she was staying on for yet another week. ‘We’re coping perfectly well here.’
‘I miss you all. Working from here isn’t the same, but I need to be here. Even making a comprehensive list of everything that needs done is taking forever. Barbara is nice, but she’s impatient and sometimes she doesn’t see the bigger picture. She wants to start itty-bitty jobs here and there.’
‘You’ve got more business sense than any of them, by the sound of things.’
‘Nobody at Glenvorneth thinks that. They all think I’m stupid, except maybe Barbara. My father is still determined I should meet this James person. I’m getting sick of hearing about him.’
‘You should meet him and at least make a proper judgement.’
‘I suppose. But if I don’t like him, I can see them still wanting me to marry him.’
‘What if you do like him?’
‘Oh golly, I don’t even know. I mean, I can’t just like him, then marry him. It’ll take time one way or another.’
‘That’s true. And you’re never one to rush into things.’
‘Oh, Lucinda.’ She sighed. ‘I miss having you and my other friends around. I don’t know anyone here.’
‘What about your mum?’
‘It’s not the same. She’s a busy woman and we don’t really have a lot in common.’
‘I think you should treat yourself. Get your hair or your nails done.’
‘I’m not sure the salon here is any good.’
‘Just get a style and blow dry to test it.’
‘I suppose so. I could do with getting out of here for a bit. It’s a big house, but it’s so claustrophobic with Jacinta breathing down my neck.’
‘Haven’t you been riding?’
‘Not yet. All my riding clothes have mysteriously disappeared. Jacinta has probably thrown them out. I’ve ordered some new jodhpurs and boots. Once they arrive, I’ll take Conker out. Hopefully, the weather will be a bit better by then too. It’s so grim just now.’
Taking Lucinda’s advice, Ophelia booked herself into a local salon with a stylist called Hayley McBride. The local salon, Cutting Edge, had a good name in the town and when Ophelia arrived, she checked in the window first. Seemed like a clean little place, with bright lights and lots of mirrors around the walls. She pushed open the door. A woman about her age with dark eyes and matching hair got to her feet from behind the reception desk and greeted her with a broad smile that put her instantly at ease.
Even before she spoke, Ophelia sensed this was someone she could like. Her face relaxed, and she returned the smile. The first genuine one she remembered having for weeks.
‘Hello. Are you Ophelia Chattan-Blythe?’
‘Yes.’ She ran her fingers through her hair.
‘If you just take a seat here, I’ll get your jacket safely away and fetch a gown.’
‘Thank you.’ Ophelia smoothed her hands down her white jeans and put her feet on the footrest. These long boots were smart, but they nipped a bit. She stared at her reflection. The immaculate face she put on every morning stared back. Who was the real Ophelia and where was she hiding? A bizarre question maybe, but Ophelia often felt like this. Like she didn’t really know herself, or that a part of her was missing and hadn’t been discovered yet. But how could she change that, when she didn’t know what to look for?
‘Are you just visiting the town?’ Hayley draped the gown over her.
‘Kind of. My family live nearby and I’m visiting them for a while.’
Hayley started combing through her hair, and it calmed Ophelia. She allowed the stress of the past month to drift away. The salon bell rang and a woman with short, dark hair and glasses came in with a large bag. She chatted at the door with another stylist. Was the delivery person Nancy? The woman from her mum’s birthday party? Before Ophelia could be sure, the woman turned and left. The stylist carried the bag towards the back of the salon. As she passed Hayley, she muttered, ‘It’s for you from the flower shop. You got a secret admirer?’
Ophelia caught Hayley’s eye and saw the trace of a blush on her cheeks. This was intriguing.
‘I don’t know,’ Hayley said.
‘I think you should find out,’ Ophelia said. ‘It’s not every day a girl gets sent flowers out of the blue. Not in my experience anyway.’ No one had ever done anything remotely romantic for her. Her past boyfriends had all been so flat they’d have fit through a letterbox. Somewhere deep down she wished she could let go of the public front and do something more spontaneous – have some fun, some passion, and not just date the same type of man over and over.
‘I should finish your hair first.’
‘You’ve hardly started yet and I’m curious.’
‘Well, ok.’ Hayley put the comb away in her pouch and pulled open the bag. Inside was an enormous bouquet of roses and a card.
‘Shall I read this?’ The other stylist pulled it out.
‘Seriously?’ Hayley stared at her.
The other stylist handed it to her and smiled. Hayley read it and Ophelia watched her sucking on her lower lip, then smiling.
‘Well?’ Ophelia said. ‘Do you know how invested I am in this?’ It was so enjoyable compared to the tension in the house she’d had at home since her return.
Hayley giggled and passed her the card.
Ophelia read the note from someone called Oliver, who was clearly mad about Hayley.
‘Wow. Sounds like you’re onto a winner.’ Ophelia handed the card to the other stylist, who read with her mouth open.
‘Oliver? Isn’t he that grumpy divorce lawyer guy you hate?’ she said.
‘The very same.’
‘You hate him?’ Ophelia watched her in the mirror. This was like being on the set of a soap opera.
‘We used to not get on so well.’
‘Oh my god,’ the other stylist said. ‘This is hilarious. Are you dating him?’
‘Yep.’
‘Good for you,’ Ophelia said. ‘And he’s a divorce lawyer?’
‘Yes, but I’m trying not to hold it against him.’
‘Does he do prenups?’
‘I don’t know.’ Hayley frowned at Ophelia in the mirror. ‘I could ask him. Do you need one?’
‘If my father has his way, then I might.’ And she wasn’t kidding.
Rupert and Jacinta had shown no let-up in their plan to introduce her to James Charlton, and perhaps she should go along with it for now. At least until she discovered what he was like. No point discarding him without even meeting him.
She arrived home later with beautifully styled hair, thanks to the wonderful Hayley, and almost dropped dead at the sight of a police car in the driveway. Was this something to do with Brann the builder? Had he finally reported her for speeding? But two months had passed since she’d had the run in with him. How has time flown so fast? And surely, he wouldn’t have waited this long? If he had, she would seek him out and disembowel him. That would give the police good reason to come after her.
She headed inside and found a large policeman sitting in the drawing room, looking totally out of place, speaking to Jacinta and her father.
‘Everything ok?’ she asked, hoping she sounded casual.
‘Fine,’ Rupert said. ‘We’ve been hearing about a couple of thefts in the neighbourhood. Some strange things have been going missing. A moped and a lawnmower.’
She raised an eyebrow, and a wicked thought crossed her mind, nudging her to suggest Brann was behind it, but she didn’t. That was Jacinta-level of mean and she wouldn’t stoop that low. ‘Barbara mentioned the moped, but that was a while back, wasn’t it?’
‘We have reason to believe the thefts might be related, and they both took place near here. You should be vigilant,’ the policeman said.
Ophelia nodded with an internal sigh of relief. Moped thefts were a lot less to worry about than being done for dangerous driving – even if she deserved it. Apparently, Brann hadn’t reported her after all. But she’d quite happily run him over with that moped if it got him out of her thoughts. Why the hell did she keep thinking about him? It was beyond annoying.