Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
F ear gave way to relief and then anger. I lowered my bag. ‘It’s you again. You’re the man who was hanging around outside Logan’s shop. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What do you want?’
He recoiled; shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Freeman. I didn’t know what else to do.’
I glowered at him and pulled my coat tighter around myself. ‘How do you know my name?’
He hitched up his coat collar against the cold. ‘I saw a piece about you in the local paper.’ His voice sounded educated, his modulated English accent containing just the faintest trace of a Highland burr.
He scratched at his beard, as though unsure of what to do or say next. ‘I’ve seen you with that young man. Burns.’ He hesitated. ‘I need your help.’
The lights from The Gorse beckoned me in, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued.
‘What with?’ I eyed him. ‘Are you Campbell Adams?’ I demanded.
He looked pained and took his time answering. ‘Yes.’ Now it was his turn to deliver an odd look. ‘Do you know much about me?’
Wanting a moment to decide how much to tell him, I glanced around myself at the streetlamps glowing like orange fireflies in the dark. I could hear the murmuring of the water from Portree Harbour just down the way, but otherwise we were the only source of noise in the darkness. ‘Logan told me a bit about you,’ I hedged.
Campbell Adams serious, dark eyes glowed with understanding.
I let out a weary sigh. I was still festering with confusion and a mish-mash of emotions after leaving Logan’s flat the way I had. ‘What do you want to talk to me about, Mr Adams?’
‘Campbell,’ he murmured through his wild, black beard. ‘Please call me Campbell.’ He entreated with pleading eyes. ‘Is there somewhere we can go to talk?’
I was curious about what he wanted to tell me, but another part of me was crying out to just sink into a dismal sleep and forget about fleeing from Logan’s flat. Like a faulty film recording, my mind kept playing Logan’s wounded eyes over and over again. ‘What about?’ I asked, shaking off my regret.
He shoved his shaggy hair away from his brow. ‘Have you heard of the Skye Lovers’ Cross?’
‘Yes. Well, Logan’s told me about it.’
He nodded.
‘That’s if it exists, of course.’
He examined me.
‘I mean, there are some people round here who do believe it’s real, but others consider it just an urban myth. At least, that’s what Logan said,’ I added.
Campbell took hold of my elbow and steered me up the steps of The Gorse entrance.
‘Hey. Hold on a second. What do you think you’re doing?! You can’t come in here!’
Desperation clung to Campbell’s face. ‘Please, Ms Freeman. I won’t take up too much of your time. It’s important. I’m desperate. I just need someone to listen.’
I let out an irritated sigh. Then I noticed him shiver.
I peered through the inviting glass door of the guest house, seeing the little hall lamp that threw out a warm amber beacon, the writing bureau and the framed artwork that welcomed guests. I couldn’t leave him out here, looking like a despondent puppy. Good grief. Had I lost all leave of my senses? I rubbed my face. ‘Come on.’
I creaked open the entrance door and beckoned Campbell inside. The air was warm and languid and everything was bathed in a sleepy, inviting light, from the watercolours decorating the walls to the burgundy stair carpet.
I realised what I was doing and hesitated.
I didn’t know this man. In fact, I didn’t know anything about him, apart from what Logan had told me.
I flung a look at him over my shoulder and steered us towards the entrance to the breakfast room, which was already set up for the next morning. The snow-white tablecloths were pressed and elegantly draped in position; the cutlery sparkled and the crockery gleamed, even in the dim light.
I couldn’t leave the man cold and desperate outside on the street on his own, but I also couldn’t invite Campbell up to my room. I was sure he was perfectly harmless, but still…
‘Ms Freeman? Everything alright?’
It was Julie. She’d materialised on the stairs.
I pinned on a rictus smile and spun round. ‘Oh, hi there, Julie. How are you? Yes, I’m fine, thanks.’
Campbell was lurking behind me and dropped his head, evidently keen on not being recognised.
She spotted him anyway and her brow creased.
‘Julie love, I need a hand with a couple of these invoices. Oh, hello, Ms Freeman. How are you this evening?’
Double shit. Now Kathleen had emerged out of the office further down the hallway.
Her attention drifted to Campbell’s lowered head and before I had time to think of something to say, Kathleen dashed up and was standing in front of us.
‘Did you have a nice time with Logan? He’s such a handsome young man. Clever too. A real catch…’ Her voice tailed off as she continued to stare at the self-conscious Campbell. Campbell avoided eye contact by studying the hall carpet, no doubt making himself look even more suspicious.
Kathleen’s eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. ‘Excuse me? Sir? I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but don’t I know you from somewhere?’ She took a step closer and studied Campbell’s long frayed coat and heavily scuffed boots.
Campbell kept his face averted and mumbled into his collar, ‘No, madam. I don’t think so.’
She squinted at him again. ‘Are you sure? You seem familiar.’
Now what should I do? Could I pretend he was one of my entourage from my agency, up for a flying visit? I took in his ramshackle outfit. No, that didn’t seem likely. ‘He’s…’ I began, scrabbling around for something to say. ‘He’s a…’
‘He’s Campbell Adams,’ Julie exclaimed excitedly. It was as though she’d come up with the answer to a difficult game show question. ‘It is him, isn’t it?’ They were both now examining Campbell with fascination.
Kathleen glanced at her daughter before turning back to us. ‘No, it can’t be.’ She frowned at his outfit. ‘That’s not Campbell Adams.’
‘It is,’ insisted Julie. She turned to me, animated. ‘He’s a local archaeologist who was famous for a while and then his career nosedived after all that Skye Lovers’ Cross debacle.’
Campbell flinched under his coat. His facial expression looked like his boots had become too tight for him.
Sympathy reared up inside me.
I wondered whether I should try to bluff our way out of this, but Campbell got there first. He raised his head with an air of defeat, like it was almost too heavy for his shoulders. ‘It is. I mean, I am. I’m Campbell Adams.’
Kathleen’s mouth dropped. She and Julie exchanged glances.
‘I told you, Mum,’ Julie whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
Campbell straightened his hair. ‘Can I stay for a few minutes please? I’d like a word with Darcie.’
Kathleen’s studious gaze travelled to the flapping, ankle-length hem of Campbell’s coat. ‘Of course. How are you?’ she asked, not managing to disguise her shock. ‘How long has it been since you were last here on Skye?’
Campbell looked pained. ‘Twenty years, give or take a week.’ He gave a small smile. “You haven’t changed much, Kathleen.”
Julie and Kathleen exchanged shocked glances. There was an awkward silence again.
‘You look cold,’ commented Julie. ‘Would you like some tea?’
Kathleen nodded. ‘That’s a good idea.’
I could still see the surprise registered on both their faces at the sight of Campbell shuffling from foot to foot in front of them in their guest house hallway.
‘Thank you,’ replied Campbell, running a hand through his hair. ‘Some tea would be very welcome.’
Kathleen recovered herself and beamed at us both. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea for two, strong enough for you to stand a spoon up in. You both head to the lounge. It’s empty at the moment.’
Julie guided Campbell towards the lounge at the far end of the hallway. Its panelled door was ajar, revealing dancing flames in the grate and checked, toffee-coloured armchairs and sofas huddled around it.
‘Och, the poor man,’ whispered Kathleen to me when he was out of earshot. ‘He looks like he’s had a rough time of it. I never would have recognised him.’
Kathleen gave her silver head a sorrowful shake. ‘If you’d only seen Campbell Adams years ago. He was a fine figure of a man.’
I recalled the online images that Logan had shown me; Campbell attired in tailored suits with a sharp haircut.
‘His wife was that local lass, Bonnie Naylor.’ Kathleen sniffed. ‘Very attractive, but always on the lookout for something better, if you know what I mean.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, watching Campbell ease himself into one of the armchairs.
‘She upped and left him years ago. Goodness knows where she went. Some say she was embarrassed by his obsession with the Skye Lovers’ Cross. I think it was more a case of thinking she was meant for better things than being married to a struggling archaeologist.’ Kathleen lowered her voice even further. ‘But I don’t think his preoccupation with that piece of jewellery helped their marriage either.’ She pinned on a smile. ‘Right. You go and make yourself comfy and I’ll be along with that tea in a jiffy.’
As Kathleen and Julie vanished, I made my way up the carpeted guest house hallway and entered the lounge. Campbell was basking in the glow from the fire.
I tugged off my coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa. I’d only just made myself comfortable when Campbell spoke from his squashy armchair. ‘I need your help,’ he rushed, still in his coat I noticed. ‘You and that young man of yours.’
‘He’s not my young man,’ I insisted.
Campbell carried on talking. ‘I know it really does exist. The cross, I mean. I’m sure it does. I always did, but even more so now.’ He let out a sigh. ‘I lost a friend recently. It was very sudden. I don’t want any regrets. I’m determined to give my search for it another go. Life’s too short.’
‘Och, that’s all just island folklore.’
We jerked our heads round at the sound of Kathleen’s voice. She was coming through the lounge doorway clutching a tray set with a pot of tea and two cups and saucers. She’d even included a plate of macaroons.
Campbell shook his head in disagreement. ‘It isn’t just folklore, Kathleen.’ He swivelled his attention back to me. ‘People think I’m a crackpot. That’s why I left Skye years ago. But I need to prove the Skye Lovers’ Cross is real.’
‘But … but…’ I began.
Kathleen set down the tray on the heavy wooden table in front of us, and as she poured the tea, she slid me a charged glance as if to say, ‘See? He’s obsessed!’
‘I think I might know where the cross is,’ rattled on Campbell.
‘Do you have proof?’ asked Julie, joining us in the lounge.
‘I’m trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.’
‘But that’s not concrete evidence,’ I said to him, the prospect of my bed becoming more and more appealing by the minute.
‘No, but it’s a start.’ Campbell’s eyes darkened with enthusiasm. ‘I heard a rumour you’re writing a book, Darcie.’
‘Who have you been talking to?’ The cup of tea stilled as I raised it to my lips.
Julie pulled a face. ‘You can’t keep anything a secret around here.’
‘A young lady who works in Logan’s shop told me. Blonde. Friendly,’ Campbell explained.
Iona.
‘It’s not a book as such,’ I muttered. ‘It’s more of a travel guide about Skye.’
The flames popped and sizzled in the fire.
‘My reputation was shot down years ago,’ said Campbell, clutching his cup on his saucer. He set it down on the table again and pushed himself to the edge of the armchair. ‘People laughed at me, scoffed, said that I was only going on about the cross because I wanted attention. Some even accused me of using the stories about the cross to try and secure research funding.’ He let out a sarcastic laugh. ‘Why on earth would I do that? It cost me friends, work colleagues…’ His face took on a distant look. ‘Even my marriage.’
Kathleen’s expression was awash with sympathy.
He leant forward, snatched up his cup and saucer again and took a few mouthfuls before continuing. ‘Now, I’m hoping I can finally prove everyone wrong. I’m determined to give this search everything I’ve got.’
Kathleen glanced at Julie and subtly tilted her head towards the door, as if to suggest they should leave us to it. Julie nodded and they quickly vanished out of the lounge, explaining quietly that they had admin to deal with.
‘My search for this thing robbed me of my professional reputation, but now I’ve a chance to rescue that.’ Campbell hesitated. ‘But I’ll need your help … and Logan’s.’ Campbell gazed into the flames, lost for a few moments. ‘I’ve done my homework. I’ve read up about Logan. He has an excellent reputation as a geologist. And as for you…’
‘Campbell—’ I started.
‘You have an amazing media profile, Darcie. You have a platform.’
Campbell’s expression twisted into one of sudden pain again. ‘I’ve lost so much professional credibility through looking for the Skye Lovers’ Cross and never finding it.’ His eyes echoed with memories. ‘My family thought I was looking for something I had no hope of ever finding.’ His mouth twitched into what could almost be a smile. ‘I bet you think I’m the local nutcase.’
I thought about Logan’s admiration for Campbell. The way he spoke about him in reverent tones. ‘No. I don’t think that at all.’
Campbell pushed himself further forward in the armchair. ‘In that case, Darcie, will you help me?’
‘I don’t see what I can do,’ I blustered.
His face collapsed with disappointment.
‘I’m a travel blogger and social media influencer, not a historian.’
‘You don’t need to be. You just need to support me, be my eyes and ears with Logan and feed out the information to your followers once we have all our ducks in a row. If I can prove that the cross is real, that would be one hell of a story for you to write about. Forget about travel guides. You’d have publishers breaking down your door to write a tell-all about the discovery.’
I stilled and digested what Campbell had just said. I took a thoughtful sip of tea.
Maybe he had a point.
The publicity would be one hell of a boost to my career and maybe Justine’s editor friend would offer me a multi-book deal? There could be a lot of opportunities that could arise out of this. Perhaps even a TV show documenting how I got involved in tracking down the cross?
That would surely boost my chances of getting a regular writing spot with Horizons ?
I was lost in rampaging thoughts as my imagination and excitement both took off like a rocket.
I could write a go-getting fiction series about a female archaeologist protagonist and her sexy colleague in search of hidden treasure around the globe. It could even be turned into a series on TV or film adaption! That would put River Banks’s snub nose in a sling.
Of course, Logan would have to agree to get on board with assisting Campbell too, but I was sure he wouldn’t refuse. We were talking about his childhood hero, for goodness’ sake! I was certain he’d jump at the chance.
I snatched up my cup and saucer and excitedly drained the remnants of my tea.
There was a faint rap on the lounge door and then Kathleen’s head appeared. ‘Sorry for interrupting, but I just wanted to ask: where are you sleeping, Campbell?’
He blushed under his fug of black beard. ‘In a tent just outside Portree, in one of the fields.’
‘A tent?’ echoed Kathleen in horror.
‘My sister and I aren’t on the best of terms—we haven’t been for a long time—and I didn’t check into any of the local hotels or bed and breakfasts because I was trying to keep a low profile.’ Campbell finally picked up on Kathleen’s stricken expression. ‘It’s fine.’
A zing of sympathy for Campbell butted me in the chest.
‘You’re not sleeping in that tent tonight,’ announced Kathleen, coming over to the table and beginning to bustle about, clearing up the teapot and crockery. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any spare guest rooms—that’s the effect of the spring booking season for you—but we do have the linen store room. It’s a decent size, it’s warm and I can pop a sofa bed in there for you.’
Campbell blinked up at Kathleen. ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t like to impose.’
‘You’re not.’
Campbell shot to his feet and pumped Kathleen’s ringed hand up and down. ‘Thank you, Kathleen. I appreciate it.’
Kathleen brushed away his gratefulness. ‘Just promise me that when you find the Skye Lovers’ Cross, you’ll send the media and tourists our way.’
‘I’ll go and sort out some nice, fresh bedding for you and a towel,’ added Julie from the doorway, before hurrying off up the stairs.
‘You can put on a pair of Peter’s pyjamas,’ added Kathleen, lifting the laden tea tray to return it to the kitchen.
‘Oh, how is Peter doing?’ asked Campbell.
Kathleen stilled. ‘I lost him sixteen years ago.’
Campbell closed his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Me and my big mouth. I had no idea.’
‘How could you?’ replied Kathleen, forcing a smile. ‘You haven’t been back here.’
Campbell observed Kathleen leave the lounge with the tray of dirty crockery. ‘I keep forgetting how long I’ve been away from Skye. In some ways, it feels like I never left.’
Another jab of guilt struck me that I had an ulterior motive for trying to help, but I pushed my creeping doubts about why I was doing this to one side.
‘Do you think Logan will agree to get involved?’
I forced my attention back to Campbell. ‘I’ve no doubt that he will.’ I eyed him. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep. After breakfast, we’ll go and talk to Logan together.’
Campbell’s mouth dropped. ‘Does that mean you’re on board too?’
‘Yes. I am.’
Images of Logan lodged themselves in front of me, while Campbell gave me his enthused thanks.
I’d made up my mind. I couldn’t allow myself to get involved with Logan. It’d be too complicated and messy.
But despite my inner promises and protestations, the thought of Logan kissing me, imagining those generous lips grinding against mine, shot out of nowhere. A torrent of sadness washed over me. OK. Enough. I was overtired.
Getting romantically tangled up with Logan could not happen— would not happen. I wouldn’t allow it. I had no room in my life for someone that way.
Still, the assertion couldn’t stop more pictures of the wounded glint in Logan’s eyes when I left from rattling around my head.
Well, at least I could make sure he came face-to-face with his childhood hero. And if the Skye Lovers’ Cross was real and Campbell did manage to locate it, it could benefit not only Campbell, but me too.
You’ll look back and realise you did the right thing about Logan, reassured a voice in my head.
I just wished my heart was telling me the same thing.