Chapter Eight
Ophelia
T ucked under the front wiper of Ophelia’s car was a folded piece of paper. She pulled it off and read the message.
I hope you remembered to lock the door of the worker’s cottage yesterday, because you never know, a local car thief might break in and clear the place out.
She narrowed her eyes and flipped the note over. The message she’d written to Brann about meeting her at the cottage was on the other side. What did he mean by this? She frowned. Had she locked up yesterday? Not that it mattered. What was worth stealing from there? If a thief had got in and taken something, then they were doing her a favour. But hang on. Was that what he meant? Surely he hadn’t cleared the place out already. She had to find out, even though she was already running late for her appointment with the financial advisor. She jumped in her car and whizzed down the track to the cottage.
The door wasn’t locked. Bugger. She pushed it open and ducked inside. All the old furniture had been removed, the floor swept and, although it still had a dated look with the dull wallpaper and the ancient kitchen and bathroom, it was a lot better than it had been yesterday.
‘Wow.’ She let out a sigh. Brann must have spent the whole evening doing this. With a quick time-check of her phone, she went to return to her car. As she got to the door, she saw another note nailed to it.
Dearest, fanciest heiress Ophelia,
I’ve cleared out the cottage as requested (got an awesome price on the black market for all the crap too!). Also checked out the electrics and plumbing while I was here. Looks sound to me, but obvs I’m not a sparky or a plumber, so you might want a second opinion.
Enjoy decorating the place.
All my undying, devoted, and passionate love,
Brann (your most favourite builder in the whole wide world)
A small smile crept onto her lips. She kind of wished she could be annoyed about something in the note, but how could she? Sure, it was sarky and cheeky, but beneath the smart words was something else… The fact he’d done it at all.
She must thank him, but there wasn’t time. This appointment was too important. Barbara was meeting her there, and she didn’t want her arranging anything without her – not after the last time. Brann would have to wait.
Spring sunlight reflected in the loch as she drove towards Glenbriar. What might the advisor’s prognosis be? Her stomach churned a little. Hopefully he wouldn’t serve up bad news and tell her the estate was terminal and only had a few months left to live. Selling it had to be a last resort, but she couldn’t deny it had crossed her mind. Money didn’t grow on trees and finding it would be impossible… Unless she tried harder with James Charlton. Perhaps his family believed the Chattan-Blythes were as rich as them. Maybe they thought this would be a financially beneficial arrangement.
She ground her teeth at the thought. Why was her life so irritating?
Barbara was in the waiting room of Astral Finance when Ophelia strode in.
‘Ah, you made it.’ Barbara dropped a magazine onto the glass coffee table and sat back.
‘It’s such a nightmare parking in the town.’ Ophelia had been very careful in her choice of space this time. She sat down next to Barbara.
‘The tourist season is starting up,’ Barbara said. ‘They’ll all be flocking back.’
A door opened off the waiting room and a tall man with dark hair came out. ‘Morning. I’m George Wylie.’
‘Hello.’ Ophelia stood quickly and slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m Ophelia Chattan-Blythe and this is Barbara Strachan. We’re here about the Glenvorneth Estate.’
‘Of course.’ George nodded at them both. ‘If you come into the office.’
Ophelia went in first. Her stomach unclenched slightly when her gaze landed on the homely furniture and flowers on a side table. Not the austere, typical office she’d expected. It was the kind of thing she might have designed.
‘Please, take a seat.’ George closed the door behind Barbara, and it snapped rather ominously.
Ophelia sat but couldn’t relax. She leaned forward, resting her wrists on her knees.
‘So,’ Barbara said. ‘What’s the verdict? May as well give it to us straight. Are we doomed?’
George took a seat opposite them at the low table and opened an iPad.
‘It has taken a while to go through all the documents and get any kind of projected figures.’ He put the iPad on a stand and angled it so they could all see it. ‘There seems to be a lack of consistency over the past few years, which means it’s difficult to work out what the income for the estate will be. It also seems that some of the income generated from the cottages and the stables will be missing, as they’re no longer working. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’ Ophelia nodded and the knot in her stomach tightened. She didn’t require George to say anymore. All the tiny hopes she’d had that he might have spotted a loophole or some way to save them were dashed against hard rocks. He kept on talking, reviewing the documents they’d sent him, but it was all worthless. The bottom line would be the same no matter what.
‘So, all in all, the estate isn’t bringing in even forty per cent of the needed expenditure. And that’s basing it on generous calculations that would allow only the bare bones of these projects to be completed. Once you add all the proposed extras, you’re talking about figures that exceed your income by a percentage so high you’ll struggle to get loans to cover them, and I would caution against even trying.’
‘Right.’ Ophelia glanced at Barbara.
‘Oh dear,’ Barbara said.
‘What can we do then? How do we finance projects that are meant to bring in more money if we don’t have the money to start them in the first place?’
‘Good question.’ George pulled up a screen on the iPad. ‘Firstly, you have to narrow down the places that will make the biggest income. I’ve listed here where I think you should start for the best profit. Take small steps. Before the closure, the stables seemed to be a steady earner.’
‘We’ve started work on that already,’ Barbara said.
‘That’s good. The cottages haven’t been let for some time.’ George checked his notes. ‘So those figures will be vastly different as rates have changed. Rental income could be good, but I imagine there’s a lot of work needing done to them before they can be used again.’
‘There is.’
‘The other options are to find investors, though I suspect that would be very difficult in this case. Or you could sell the estate cottages and land. There are two substantial properties mentioned on here: the Factor’s House and the boathouse. They seem to be of reasonable size and in a sought after location like Glenvorneth, they could be worth something.’
‘The Factor’s House is in a terrible state,’ Ophelia said. ‘And the boathouse isn’t much better.’
‘I think it would be a wonderful place to live.’ Barbara smiled rather sadly and cocked her head to the side. ‘We got a builder to look at it, but the cost is against us.’
‘If there’s a dwelling place already there, it’s easier to get planning permission for a new building,’ George said. ‘You might be able to sell it as prime real estate. The other option is that you sell your business, Timeless Butterfly Interiors, as a going concern. That would raise substantial funds you could use to finance the estate.’
Ophelia’s heart almost stopped. ‘No way. I can’t do that.’
‘Understandable, but I have to give you all the options.’
She let out a sigh. How could she sell the business she’d worked so hard to build up? Was it the only way to save Glenvorneth that didn’t involve marrying James Charlton? Convincing her father and Jacinta to sell land would be almost impossible. Her father was so possessive of it.
‘What do you make of that?’ Barbara asked as soon as they’d left.
‘I need to fully digest it. But do you want to be the one who tells my father he has to sell part of the estate?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That’ll go down like a lead balloon.’
‘Don’t I know it? I wouldn’t mind getting the land around the Factor’s House valued though. Can you organise a land agent? But say nothing to my father yet. Once we find out how much it’s worth, we can present figures to him and that might soften the blow, rather than slapping him with an airy-fairy idea.’
‘Good idea. I’ll get onto that as soon as I’m back. What about the boathouse?’
‘Let’s not touch that for now.’ She’d always liked that place, more than the main house really. As a child, she’d cycled up there with stolen food, had picnics and fed the ducks. Selling it off would mean it wasn’t hers anymore. And she was precious about it.
She wasn’t going straight home. She had errands to run in town. One of them involved going to Wood ’n’ Chic, the upcycled furniture store. She still hadn’t paid it a visit. Today was the day. She waved goodbye to Barbara and headed off up the street.
As she approached it, she passed The Drip Drop Coffee Shop, another place she really must try. The scent of coffee wafted from the door as some people came out. She could murder a cup after the gruelling morning she’d had, but maybe later.
Wood ’n’ Chic had large glass windows showcasing the repurposed treasures. As Ophelia peered in, she smiled. She’d quite happily go and live in the window display. The collection of vintage suitcases stacked artfully to form a makeshift coffee table was so up her street. Glenvorneth had heaps of cases like that in the attics. She was skilled at using designs in arrangements and loved the artistic placement. Her Timeless Butterfly shop sold soft furnishings that complemented this stuff to a T.
The refurbished dressing table next to the packing-case table was stunning with ornate details and perfect teal paintwork. So unusual but eye-catching. It would look amazing in the bedroom at the cottage, though it possibly wouldn’t fit; the rooms were tiny.
She pushed open the door and spotted a corner adorned with hanging plants in teacups and pots. Trellises were fixed to the wall beneath, and smaller items hung from them on little hooks. A woman with a mass of curly blonde hair pulled into a messy updo smiled at her from behind the counter, which was also an upcycled table.
Ophelia approached her. ‘Hello. I wonder if there’s someone who can help me?’
The woman put down a small box she seemed to be attaching fabric to and gave Ophelia her full attention. ‘I can do my best. Is there something particular you’re after?’
‘I’ve actually bought a lot from here in the past, though only online. I run Timeless Butterfly Interiors in Edinburgh.’
‘Oh. Are you Ophelia Chattan-Blythe?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve spoken by email so often and I’ve always wanted to meet you. You’re a very good customer. I visited your shop when I was in Edinburgh a couple of weeks ago. It’s stunning.’
‘Thank you so much…’ Ophelia wasn’t used to that kind of compliment from anyone around here. ‘Are you Stella Wylie?’
‘I am and it’s so lovely to have you,’ Stella said.
‘What a coincidence that your surname is Wylie. I was at the financial advisor earlier and that was his surname too.’
Stella smiled. ‘It is a coincidence, but he’s also my husband.’
‘Really?’ Ophelia blinked away her surprise. ‘Such a small world. Anyway, while I’m here to look around in person, I should also say, there’s a ton of old furniture kicking around Glenvorneth, some of it in better condition than others. If you were interested in having a look at it with a view to buying, repurposing and selling it yourself, then I’d be happy to let you see it before I do anything else with it.’
‘Sounds right up my street. I’d love to.’
Ophelia smiled. ‘Wonderful. I might end up buying it back once it’s all done up.’
Stella laughed. ‘If it’s something you particularly wanted repurposed, I could do it on commission. I do that a lot.’
‘I don’t want to overstep, but I can see lots of ways we could work together.’
‘I agree,’ Stella said.
‘Maybe you would like to arrange a time to come for a chat and have a look at what we have?’
‘Just let me pull up my calendar.’ Stella got out her phone and Ophelia glanced behind the counter to a door into what looked like a warehouse. That must be the section backing onto the industrial quadrant near to the horse feed store. What an Aladdin’s cave of furniture; some unfinished, some partly done and other bits maybe waiting for collection or to be moved into the main shop. She could use so much of it at Timeless Butterfly Interiors, but that had taken a backseat in her life. After spending so long building it up, she was little more than a glorified admin assistant at present. Lucinda and the others in the office were doing the consultations and visits. Ophelia’s work was remote, doing the books, schedules, etc. and using photos and building designs on the computer if she needed direct involvement with projects.
A movement in the backroom caught her eye: a woman with burgundy hair and a very bright floral dress. Her thick boots, choker, piercings, and wrist cuffs didn’t really match the look. She shifted her position as she painted a different section of the piece she was working on, and Ophelia caught her eye. That was some make-up she had going on. Gothic or heavy metal? That kind of thing anyway. She gave Ophelia a brief smile and carried on painting.
‘Do you employ a lot of people here?’ Ophelia asked Stella.
‘No. It’s just me and Kristalee. She’s just started. She’s covering Nina, my regular assistant, while she’s on maternity leave.’
‘Must be difficult to get people who can do this kind of thing. It’s so tricky.’
‘Yeah, it’s not easy finding people with the right skills. Nina was great. She turned up one day as a customer and everything aligned. I’d been advertising for a long time before that. Kristalee, too, was in the right place at the right time. She’s a very talented artist, but she’d never worked in the industry before. She underestimated herself.’
‘Did I hear my name?’ Kristalee looked around the door. She was tall, curvy, and kind of scary. The sort of person Ophelia would normally give a wide berth and not want to cross. A smile softened her features, and she was actually quite beautiful in a striking way, but with the thick eye make-up and burgundy lipstick that matched her hair, it was almost impossible for her not to appear intimidating.
‘I was just saying how you underestimated your skills before you started working here.’
Kristalee pulled a face and ran her ringed fingers through her hair. ‘I’m still not sure I can do half the stuff as well as you. I give it a go though,’ she added to Ophelia.
‘You do just fine,’ Stella said with a little smile.
‘Ta.’ With a little grin she returned to the backroom.
‘Now, I have some dates I’m available.’ Stella held up her phone.
‘Thanks.’ Ophelia checked her own phone until they found one that aligned. ‘I look forward to seeing you again.’
When she was back outside, she buttoned her jacket and headed for the Drip Drop Coffee Shop. Cradling a steaming mug, she sat at a high barstool at the window, looking out at the bustling main street of Glenbriar. With everything that had happened that morning, she’d almost forgotten about Brann. He’d cleared that whole cottage out for her. The thought started a tingling buzz inside her. She should get back to Glenvorneth and find him. Thank him.
She made her way back and went directly to the stables. A clattering, blended with low singing, reached her ears before she got to the door. Stopping, she leaned on the frame. This must be what watching porn was like. Those muscly forearms made her jaw tense. His too long hair fell forward as he sawed a thick plank on the workbench, crooning an almost sad melody with a deep, clear tone. He was a hot bastard alright. With a slight cough, she let her presence be known. He stopped singing and sawing and looked up.
‘Oh, it’s you. Is it time for the daily inspection? Shall I rally the troops and get them to stand to attention?’ He raised his eyebrow.
She slow-blinked, then beckoned him over. How tempting was it to kiss him again in all his rugged, sweaty glory? But she wouldn’t. She could master this.
He dropped the saw on the bench and came forward. ‘What? Is there something else you want? Perhaps the daily kiss instead of the inspection?’
‘No.’
‘What then? You want to inspect my wood, or are you missing a good screw?’
‘You’re not funny.’
He chuckled.
‘You have a good singing voice,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’
‘You should try busking.’
‘Tried it before. I’ve even sung at festivals.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘The cultured builder.’
‘Just one of my many talents. So, is this why you’re here? To compliment me?’
‘No. I want to thank you.’
‘Good god.’ He let out a long, whistling breath and gently placed his fingertips on her forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling ok? Should I call an ambulance?’
‘Seriously, Brann.’ She pushed his hand away. ‘I appreciate what you did at the cottage. I didn’t expect you to do it so quickly.’
‘Do you know how many tea breaks and donuts I had to sacrifice for that?’
‘I can only imagine.’
He smirked. ‘Well, I’m glad it’s to your liking.’
‘Very much.’ She eyed him over. Yeah, it was to her liking, but not as much as him. Crazy! Because she didn’t go for men like him. This was a passing phase of lust, and she was dealing with it.
‘I better get on,’ he said. ‘My boss is a tough one to please and I wouldn’t like to get caught slacking on her watch.’
‘Agreed.’ Her eyes took a detour over his chest again. ‘We wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. I hear the punishment is very harsh.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m almost willing to risk it.’
‘Me too, but we really can’t.’ She shook her head and left him to work. The force of desire urging her to look back was so strong she almost couldn’t bear it, but she fixed her eyes forward and carried on towards the house.