26. Edie #2
“And she’s staying at the big house?”
“In the blue room, no less.”
“Fancy. At least she’s not sharing yours.” Kate laughs.
“Not physically,” I admit. “But she’s one of those friends who sort of narrates your life without asking permission. She’s already decided I’m dying to get back to civilisation and she’ll be telling anyone who’ll listen that’s the case, even though I’ve never actually said it.”
“Mmm.” Kate gives a slow nod. “I’ve had friends like that.”
I hold out my hand and one of the foals bravely stretches out to sniff my fingers.
I look across the little herd of ponies to the sweep of green paddock fenced with neat wooden posts and rails.
There’s something about this place, the way time seems to slow down.
It’s the light over the loch in the morning and the way the mist hangs in the pinewoods.
I ran away from Scotland when I left university and never looked back, but this place feels like home.
It’s just a shame it’s someone else’s.
We eat dinner together in the kitchen. Halfway down a bottle of red, Anna gets up between courses and wanders over to the window, looking out at the kitchen garden. Riots of sweet peas tangle on willow arches between raised beds nearly planted with rows of vegetables.
“This is all very nice, isn’t it?” She folds her arms behind her back and stretches her back. “Just what I needed.”
I line up the crumbs on my bread plate with a finger. Gregor’s left us to it, with instructions to leave everything for the morning. I get up and put our plates in the dishwasher, taking the minted strawberries from the side and carrying them back over to the table.
“He said leave it,” Anna says, turning back to me.
“He always says that,” I say, passing her a bowl. “And I clear up every time.”
Anna shrugs. “Well, I’m on holiday, so…”
I frown at her for a second. “About that…”
She raises her chin slightly and gives me a bright smile. “Oh, you know how toxic the paper was. Let’s just say I’m on gardening leave.” She pours some wine into her glass. “I’ve got something completely new lined up, anyway. Journalism is dead.”
There’s no sign of Rory for the next couple of days. Meetings in town, Janey mentions, in passing. I try not to look interested and instead take Anna on a tour of the world I’ve been pretending to be part of for the last two months.
The little coffee shop is strung with pink gingham bunting.
“Thought we’d push the boat out,” Ginny says from behind the counter, reaching up and adjusting one of the flags. “Now the weather’s getting nice the tourists are coming back again, so I thought we’d give the place a bit of a makeover.”
“Well, it’s a look,” says Anna, not quietly enough. She scans the menu. “No matcha? Not even a turmeric latte?”
I tug her by the arm over to the table in the window, hoping Ginny hasn’t heard.
“They do a very nice flat white.”
“2010 called,” says Anna rolling her eyes, “it wants its coffee order back. And its bunting. It looks like Cath Kidston threw up in here.”
“Stop it,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “I’ve got to live here.”
Anna shrugs. “Not for long. Christ, Edie, I bet you’re gagging to get back to actual civilisation.”
She takes out her phone and stares at the screen for a moment. “There’s no mobile service?”
I point to the Wi-Fi password written in Ginny’s neat writing on a little card on the table.
“Too cute,” says Anna, rolling her eyes again. “Like I said, not long to go.”
“I’m fine,” I say, firmly. Because I am. I like this place with its out-of-fashion bunting and three types of coffee and paninis with brie and cranberry sauce. “You have to try the Swedish cardamom buns, they’re literally the best thing ever.”
In an attempt to make up for Anna’s rudeness I order six of them to take away as well as some to eat at the table, pay a five-pound donation for some raffle tickets, and effusively praise Ginny’s bunting while I’m standing at the counter making my order .
“Excited for the ball?” Ginny beams, handing over a sheaf of raffle tickets.
“I’m not sure excited is the word,” I say, selecting a couple of sugar sachets. “Intrigued might be more like it. I’ve heard… a lot of stories.”
Ginny giggles. “The ice penis.”
Anna turns to look at us, her face a picture.
“Long story,” I say, laughing, as I carry our drinks over to the table.
And then I stop, because stepping in through the door with wind-ruffled hair and a suit that looks completely out of place in the cramped, cosy café, is Rory.
His gaze catches mine for a second too long and my heart flips over in my chest. He flicks a glance over towards Anna and his expression sets like granite.
He gives a brief nod and heads past me to the counter.
Anna gives a low whistle. “That man needs a massage. I’ve never seen anyone so tense.”
I stiffen but say nothing, clutching my flat white with a death grip.
“When you’ve finished entertaining, Edie,” he says curtly, a moment later, “I would like a word in my office.”
Anna collapses back against her chair and pretends to fan herself as the door bangs shut.
“My god,” she says, rolling her eyes yet again. “See me in my office.”
“It’s a job,” I say firmly. “One that’s paying my rent to you.”
That seems to do the trick.
I park round the back of the castle and grab the bag of pastries to hand out in the kitchen.
I don’t know what’s up with Rory, but I’ve got a whole herd of butterflies in heavy boots dancing about in my stomach as we go in via the back door, Anna taking little interest in the walled kitchen garden as we pass through on our way.
There’s nobody in the kitchen, so I leave the bag on the worktop. Anna heads upstairs and I brace myself and set off to beard the lion in his den.
The door to his office is already open. I’ve only been in once before – most of the time I’ve been here Rory seems to have done his work from one of the big desks in the library.
It’s dominated by an enormous oak desk with two huge Apple monitors and a massive leather chair.
In the corner there’s a sofa where the two dogs are snoozing, curled up on a folded tartan blanket.
It’s very minimal, very understated upper class, and very definitely masculine.
He looks up from a sheaf of papers, the expression on his face unreadable. “Close the door.”
I do, and then stand awkwardly, because he hasn’t offered me a seat.
“Is she staying long?”
“Anna?”
He looks at me briefly and his expression makes it clear that the question wasn’t needed.
“A few days. Jamie was here when she—” I contemplate choosing my words carefully, then decide against it. “When she invited herself.”
Rory closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a low groan. “She’s not exactly… subtle.”
“And you’re not exactly friendly.” The words escape before I can stop them. His mouth twitches, but it doesn’t become a smile. “You wanted to see me?”
I shift my weight, finding the silence that stretches between us oddly unsettling. Rory scribbles something on a piece of paper then puts the pen down on the desk, lining it up with the leather writing pad and still not speaking.
“There’s an old file that shouldn’t exist. My father signed off on a grant in 2002 for land we didn’t technically own. Nobody’s noticed—yet. I wondered if you’d?—”
“Oh… so this is where all the summit meetings take place.”
I turn to find Anna wrapped in a towel, her hair artfully knotted up in a sexy loose bun, long tendrils trailing on her shoulders. For fuck’s sake.
“Are you coming for a swim?”
I glance sideways at Rory and his face is completely impassive. It’s very definitely not the reaction that Anna was hoping for and I bloody love him for it in that moment.
“No,” I say, my hand on the doorhandle and my back straight. “I’m not coming for a swim . I have to work.”
“Thought I heard voices,” says Jamie, appearing from the library. “Either that or I was having an allergic reaction to all those bloody books.”
Anna looks at Jamie and lets her towel slip a little. “Hello,” she says, extending a hand. “Well, there’s no doubting you two are related. Are you the fun one, by any chance?”
Rory clears his throat and stand, hands pressed flat against the oak desk as he surveys us. With icy politeness that makes it clear he’d rather be doing anything else, he says, “Jamie, this is Edie’s friend Anna, but one assumes you already know that.”
“Anna?” Jamie scratches his head for a moment, having finally let go of Anna’s hand. “Oh yes. Hello. Nice to have some new blood to pretty the place up a bit.”
Anna preens at the compliment and actually catches one of her tendrils of hair and twirls it around a finger. If this is what old money does to normally self-respecting feminists, I’m horrified. At least I had the decency to mistake Rory for a bartender when I had the best sex of my life with him.
“Edie?”
I realise Jamie’s been talking and I haven’t heard a word. Rory shoots me another odd look.
“Sorry, I was thinking about work,” I lie, not meeting Rory’s eyes. I can feel my cheeks going hot.
“Very nice to meet you,” says Jamie.
“Likewise,” Anna says. “ Love the accent. And the cheekbones.”
He winks. “Both hereditary, I’m afraid.”
Rory makes a noise under his breath and moves past me, a look of irritation on his face. I’m not sure if it’s Jamie, Anna or me. Possibly all three.
Anna leans against the doorframe, long and slender in her not-quite-covering-everything towel. “It’s not easy being a duke, I take it.”
“Oh, Rory’s always like that,” says Jamie casually. “Duty first, second, and third. Honour and business after that. Pleasure somewhere very far down the line. You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m very adaptable,” purrs Anna. She’s smiling, but I know that look of old. She might have had her eye on Rory, but a lord in the hand is worth a duke in the bush, or something like that.
Jamie’s eyebrows flash upwards and he gives her a knowing grin. “Well, you can tell me all about it over a swim. Sure you won’t join us, Edie?”
I shake my head and try and look regretful. “I really must get on. I’ve been out all morning when I should have been working.”
“My brother’s a hard taskmaster,” Jamie says as Anna takes his elbow. “Come with me, and you can help me let the side down disgracefully.”
A movement outside catches my eye, and I watch as Rory drives away again, leaving me standing in the hallway alone.
Suddenly Loch Morven feels unfamiliar again, as if someone’s tilted the whole place on its axis.
Like I’ve been building something slowly and carefully, and Anna’s just walked in and rearranged all the furniture.