Chapter 1 #2
The woman uttered a resigned sigh. ‘You’ve found something on the beach, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, and it wasn’t a man.’
‘Sea glass?’
‘Of course.’
‘Will we see you in the pub tomorrow?’
Friday evenings in Duncoorie’s one and only pub were a tradition. Not everyone managed every Friday, but there was usually a good turnout.
‘Probably,’ Giselle replied.
She had nothing else planned, but that wasn’t unusual.
However, she liked it that way: she wasn’t exactly a social butterfly.
She didn’t do parties or late nights, preferring peace and early mornings.
Izzy teased that she was old before her time, more sixty-nine than twenty-nine, but Giselle didn’t care.
She was sublimely happy with her life the way it was.
And she was also used to being urged (gently, for the most part) to find herself a man and settle down.
The idea of being in a relationship didn’t give her the heebie-jeebies, but neither was it a burning ambition.
She simply wasn’t interested. Izzy did enough dating for the both of them.
Sometimes Giselle felt sorry for her parents, and her mum, especially.
Mum had hinted on more than one occasion that it might be nice to be a grandma at some point, but with no fella on the horizon for Giselle, and far too many of them for Izzy, neither daughter would be producing offspring anytime soon.
Both were happy as they were, even if their lives were so vastly different.
Anyway, Giselle’s body clock had yet to start ticking, so she had plenty of time to find someone to settle down with, if that’s what she wanted to do.
And she wasn’t entirely convinced she did.
Giselle knew that if she took her breakfast back to her studio she’d end up working as she ate, so she sat in the cafe instead, taking a table at one of the large picture windows with stunning views over the loch.
It was a view she would never tire of, and as she slowly consumed her meal, she let her gaze drift across the water to the hills on the opposite shore.
Giselle had lost count of the number of times she’d recreated this scene out of sea glass and other found items, and no two pictures were ever the same, just like the ever-changing vista in front of her.
Breakfast polished off, she had an hour before she was expected at the castle, so she returned to her studio to work on her latest piece.
This one was fun and light-hearted. She’d already created the sky and the sea background with a wash of blue and aqua watercolour paints.
Now she arranged several bits of driftwood on the canvas to look like a rickety old fence, then placed some tiny pebbles, along with the odd shell or two, across the bottom of the picture to signify the shore.
Finally, she added the seagulls using white and black glass, and used more white glass for the clouds, before drawing a pair of little legs and an eye on each bird.
The whole thing took about an hour, and when she was done, she set it aside. Once the glue was dry, she’d frame it.
Checking the time, she realised she’d better get a move on. She was late. Mhairi was one of the kindest and most generous people Giselle knew, but she was a busy woman, and she disliked tardiness. If she said eleven a.m., she meant eleven a.m., and it was already five minutes past.
Leaving her workbench in a bit of a mess, Giselle hurriedly washed her hands, picked up the more interesting morning finds then dashed out of the studio.
The castle was on the opposite side of the gravelled car park, white and luminous in the late morning sunlight.
Arched windows with mullioned glass adorned each side, an impressive porch sheltered the enormous wooden front doors, and four turrets, one at each corner, reached into the sky, one of them sporting a flag.
Each time she saw Coorie, Giselle was amazed anew.
The castle had been built in the thirteenth century, but there’d been a fortress on the site even before that, and everything about it screamed history, from the wide wood-panelled hall, the sweeping staircase, the coat of arms over the door, and the ancestral portraits and faded old tapestries on the walls.
The smell of beeswax hung in the air, mingling with the scent of the fresh flowers on the reception desk.
One of the receptionists, Avril, was behind the desk and her friendly professional smile widened into genuine pleasure when she saw Giselle.
Avril had worked at the castle for almost as long as Giselle and was her closest friend.
Avril ‘got’ her, like few other people did.
In the past, Giselle used to wish she was more like Izzy, but not now.
She was happy in her own skin. Not everyone could be the life and soul of the party.
The world also needed quieter people, and Giselle’s preference was to let others waltz in the spotlight while she enjoyed a solitary dance in the rising sun.
‘Go through,’ Avril said. ‘Mhairi’s expecting you. I’ll bring a tray of tea in a minute. I expect she could do with a cup. She hasn’t rung for one this morning.’
‘Lovely. Thanks.’
Avril beamed and Giselle waggled her fingers as she headed towards Mhairi’s parlour.
The parlour was a sitting-room-cum-office where the old lady held court and spent most of her time.
The door was closed, as it usually was (Mhairi wasn’t an open-door person – she liked her privacy), so Giselle tapped gently before going inside.
The room was large and sedate, stuffed full of antiques, with a huge mirror above a marble fireplace, several chairs set at right angles to it with an ornate coffee table between them and a heavy wooden desk next to a tall window.
Mhairi was seated in one of the upright wingback chairs by the unlit fireplace. A tall woman, she was slim and regal looking, with styled white hair and an English-rose complexion. She had a notepad on her lap, but she wasn’t writing in it. She was taking a nap.
Oh, bless her, Giselle thought, wondering whether to creep out and let Avril know that she’d pop by and see Mhairi another time.
But just as she was about to turn around, something made her hesitate.
Mhairi was very still.
Too still.
Giselle swallowed hard. Her heart in her mouth, she said, ‘Mhairi?’
No response.
Louder now, she called her name again. ‘Mhairi!’
Still nothing, and even before Giselle screamed for help and began CPR, she knew Mhairi was dead.