Chapter 4
Stunned, Giselle gripped Freya’s arm. ‘Did you see that man?’ she demanded.
‘What man?’
‘The guy walking behind the coffin.’ She must have been mistaken. It was someone who looked like him, that’s all. It couldn’t possibly have been Rocco. Giselle rose onto her tiptoes to peer over black-clad shoulders. ‘Do you know who he is?’
Freya said, ‘One of the funeral directors, maybe? I didn’t really notice.’ She turned her attention to Mack. ‘Poor Cal. He’s devastated. Try to get him to talk about it, if you can – it might help.’
Mack, his wild sun-streaked blonde hair tied back with a black band and his beard neatly trimmed, said, ‘I’ll try, but I’m not holding my breath. He was closer to her than anyone except for Cook. Are you OK?’ he asked Giselle.
Giselle gave a vague nod and shuffled impatiently, desperate to squeeze past Freya and Mack and into the aisle, but she refrained, not wanting to draw attention to herself, so she waited until everyone else had exited the pew.
Emerging into the sunlight, she blinked and shaded her eyes with her hand, but all she could see was a vastly reduced funeral party, headed by the vicar, making its way towards a mound of bright-green fake grass under which undoubtedly lay a pile of freshly dug earth.
When she made to follow, a softly spoken woman wearing a top hat and a regretful expression prevented her. ‘I’m sorry, it’s family members only at the graveside.’
Giselle looked past her, but the man she wanted to see was partially obscured by a large stone angel on a plinth.
The top-hatted woman continued, ‘If we could give the family some privacy at this most distressing time, it would be much appreciated.’
Giselle felt a hand on her arm, and she jumped.
It was Freya. ‘Are you coming to the wake?’
‘I hadn’t been planning to, but I think I will.’ She could do with the company. The service had been even sadder than she’d expected, and she didn’t want to be on her own right now.
‘It was a beautiful service,’ Freya said, as she fell into step beside her. Mack slung an arm around Freya’s shoulders as she added, ‘I think the whole village has turned out for it.’
‘I’m going to miss her.’ A lump formed in Giselle’s throat. ‘The castle won’t be the same without Mhairi.’
She spied Avril, her friend’s face tear blotched as she waited for Giselle to catch up, and when she got close enough, Avril linked an arm through hers. ‘I looked for you earlier, but I didn’t see you.’
Giselle glanced over her shoulder at the small, intimate service taking place amongst the lopsided headstones and moss-covered monuments. ‘I was at the back.’
Avril said, ‘I’ve got some news. The castle’s new owner arrived last night.
I don’t know anything about him – no one does.
I know his name, but I only know that because I saw it on the register this morning.
He’s the castle’s only guest at the moment, although I don’t suppose he really is a guest, since he owns it. ’
Just then, the man in question glanced around and Giselle’s mouth dropped open. His gaze locked onto hers, his eyes widened and time stopped for several interminable seconds as memories swept through her.
It was him! The man who she’d spent one glorious night with in Venice.
What the hell was he doing here? Then suddenly it fell into place, even as Avril said his name.
Rocco was Coorie Castle’s new owner.
Surely not? Rocco’s eyes narrowed as he peered across the graveyard, wishing he was wearing his sunglasses, the light too bright to see clearly. It couldn’t be the girl he’d met in Venice, could it?
Then she was gone, and he reluctantly dragged his attention back to the vicar as he said some final words. An elderly woman, stout and with short, curly grey hair, was glaring at him accusingly. He gave her a tight-lipped smile.
When the funeral director had said, ‘Close family and friends only, for the committal,’ Cal had quickly introduced him to the woman as Coorie Castle’s new owner. She hadn’t been pleased.
Rocco didn’t care. He wasn’t here to make friends.
He was here to pay his respects to a woman he’d never met but who nevertheless had left him a substantial amount of money – albeit in the form of a castle – and to find out all he could about said castle in order to sell it.
Part one was complete, so now it was time for part two.
Maybe he should have arrived a day earlier, so he could have met Mhairi’s employees.
Being introduced to them at the graveside wasn’t ideal, but he was already taking enough time out of his busy schedule, and he hadn’t wanted to take any more.
However, if he’d arrived on Saturday evening instead of Sunday, he might have found out who the blonde woman was.
As he sat in the back seat of the funeral car for the brief journey back to the castle, his thoughts were on Giselle. He was convinced the woman he’d just seen was her.
Eager to discover if he was right, Rocco exited the car with unseemly haste for the recently bereaved and hurried inside. A guy on reception checked out his suit and black tie, assumed Rocco to be a mourner and directed him towards the great hall.
The hall was the size of a ballroom, reached via a series of interconnected rooms, and was thronging with people, most of whom had drinks in their hands.
A long table along one end bore platters of finger food.
Rocco would have flinched at the sight if he’d been footing the bill, but Mhairi had set aside a sum of money to cover her funeral expenses and the subsequent wake, so it wasn’t coming out of his pocket, thankfully.
As he wove through the crowd, he scanned the room for familiar faces, looking for one in particular. Even though he hadn’t seen Giselle for a decade, her face was indelibly imprinted on his mind.
He didn’t see her, but he did spy Fraser. Conscious of more than a few curious glances in his direction, Rocco made his way over to him.
The man looked surprised. ‘I thought you were giving the wake a miss?’
Rocco ignored the comment. ‘Do you know a woman of around thirty years old with long, white-blonde hair? She attended the funeral.’
Fraser blinked. ‘That sounds like Giselle.’
Bingo! Rocco nodded to himself. ‘Is she here?’
Fraser’s gaze roved around the room, curiosity rolling off him in waves. ‘I can’t see her. Avril might know; she’s one of our reception staff.’ He caught her eye and beckoned her over. From her cautious expression, Rocco assumed she knew who he was.
She said politely, ‘Hi, Cal,’ but her gaze was on him, her expression curious.
Fraser glanced at him, and Rocco gave a small nod. It was time people knew about him.
Fraser said, ‘Avril, this is Rocco Moore, Mhairi’s relative and Coorie Castle’s new owner.’
A professional smile appeared on her face. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Moore.’
Fraser said, ‘Do you know where Giselle is?’
‘Um…’ Avril’s eyes flickered. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Is she at the wake?’
‘She is. Would you like me to find her?’
Rocco broke in. ‘No need.’ He’d spotted a bright head of silver hair, a beacon amongst the sea of funereal clothes. Giselle scanned the room, then their eyes locked for a second time and he faltered.
He’d only caught a glimpse of her in the churchyard, but now that he could see her properly he realised she hadn’t changed a bit. And along with the realisation came a stirring which was entirely inappropriate, given the time and the place.
For a second, Rocco was transported back to a time when he’d been young, carefree, without responsibilities. A time when he’d met a shining elvish woman in a magical faraway land.
Real life, in the form of Fraser clearing his throat, brought Rocco back to earth.
Giselle hadn’t moved. She looked like a startled deer ready to flee. Then she seemed to shake herself, and he realised Fraser had gestured for her to join them.
‘Hi, Cal,’ she said, but like Avril, her attention was on him, not Fraser.
Fraser said, ‘Giselle, this is Rocco Moore. He’s the castle’s new owner.’
‘We’ve met, many years ago. How are you, Rocco?’
Her lips were as full as he remembered, pink and luscious, without the slightest hint of lipstick, and his gaze was drawn to them. She was even more gorgeous now, and desire stirred.
He turned to the estate manager. ‘Would you give us a moment? Actually, Fraser, is there somewhere Giselle and I can talk?’ He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to talk to her about, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to say it in front of this pair.
Giselle’s eyebrows curved upwards. ‘Fraser? He’s got a first name, you know.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Why don’t you use it? Or do you call everyone by their surnames?’
Fraser opened his mouth, but Rocco didn’t give him the opportunity to speak. ‘What’s your surname?’ he asked her. He couldn’t believe he didn’t already know it, but back then they’d had other things on their minds.
‘Ellis.’ Her tone was defiant, and a light blush infused her cheeks.
‘OK, Ellis, let’s go. Fraser, where can we go?’
The man said, ‘How about Mhairi’s parlour? Your parlour now, I suppose.’
Rocco took a step, but Giselle held her ground. ‘No,’ she said.
Fraser touched her lightly on the arm. ‘It’s all right, Giselle. It is Mr Moore’s parlour.’
‘It’s not that. Rocco, please call Cal by his first name and not Fraser.’
‘Giselle,’ Fraser warned, shaking his head slightly.
Giselle ignored him, not taking her eyes off Rocco. ‘We’re one big family here,’ she told him. ‘That’s what Mhairi used to say, and she was right.’
Rocco was tempted to retort that Mhairi was gone and as he already had a family, he didn’t need another, but he let it slide. There was no point in ruffling feathers; they would be ruffled enough when they found out that the happy family might well be disbanded when the estate was sold.