Chapter 5
Giselle tore up the lane and dashed into the castle, only slowing when she entered the great hall.
There were even more people here now than there had been fifteen minutes ago, and it took her a moment to locate Avril.
Her friend had a glass in one hand and a plate in the other and was talking to Jinny.
‘Psst!’ Giselle hissed in Avril’s ear.
Startled, Avril jumped, almost spilt her drink and had to do some nifty handwork with the plate to prevent the canapes from tumbling to the floor. She stared at her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘No,’ Giselle said. She took the glass and the plate out of Avril’s hands and put them on a nearby table. ‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘My studio.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get there. We’ll go out the side door. I don’t want to risk bumping into him.’
‘Rocco Moore?’
‘Shh!’
Avril lowered her voice. ‘What’s he done?’
‘Nothing yet. It’s what he’s about to do.’ Giselle grabbed her friend’s hand and towed her out of the room towards the kitchen. The castle was a rabbit warren, but both knew their way around it, Avril better than Giselle.
Once outside, they skirted around the castle’s eastern wall, Giselle bringing them to a halt as she peered around a corner.
There was no sign of Rocco, but the route to her studio was across the car park.
Easily spottable. But there was no choice.
She didn’t feel safe in the castle, knowing he could appear at any moment.
After all, the place belonged to him now, and he’d have every right to go delving into rooms. Even the guest bedrooms, since there weren’t any guests at the moment, not with Mhairi’s funeral taking place.
And although the ladies’ loos should be safe enough, Giselle didn’t want to risk being overheard.
There was nothing for it: they’d have to make a run for it.
‘One, two, three, go!’ Giselle cried, tugging Avril into the open.
‘Hang on, not so fast!’ Avril protested. ‘I’m wearing heels.’
Giselle showed no mercy, only letting go of her when they were safely through the studio door. She locked it behind them and wished there was a blind or something she could draw.
However, without the lights on, it wasn’t easy to see inside, and the window display provided a decent barrier to curious eyes. Giselle didn’t think Rocco would come looking for her, but one never knew. After all, he’d wanted to speak to her alone, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.
‘What happened?’ Avril asked, dropping onto a low stool and easing off a shoe. She massaged her toes with a wince.
‘He’s selling Coorie Castle,’ Giselle blurted.
‘He told you that?’
She nodded. ‘He said, and I quote, “I have no use for a castle in the backend of nowhere”, or something along those lines.’
She was still in shock and wished she hadn’t taken the glass of whatever it was away from Avril.
They could have shared it; she could do with a drink right now.
Whisky would be good. Several glasses should do the trick.
And it wasn’t just the shock of the castle potentially being sold.
The shock of seeing Rocco, and the intense physical reaction she’d felt, had knocked her for six.
Every part of her thrummed with remembered desire, and she was thoroughly ashamed for feeling that way on the day of Mhairi’s funeral.
Avril slipped her shoe back on. ‘We kind of expected something like that, though, didn’t we? That whoever inherited the castle might want to sell it. It’s not a total surprise that he does.’
‘It’s who he’s thinking of selling it to which worries me,’ Giselle said, her gaze flicking to the window and the castle beyond. Still no sign of him. Maybe he’d fallen off the jetty and drowned. It was a nice thought, but they wouldn’t be that lucky.
‘Who?’ Avril demanded.
‘An American.’
‘Which one? There are a good few million of them.’
‘Very funny – not. One with loads of money. One who wants to pretend he’s a “Scottish laird”.’ She mimicked Rocco’s posh English accent. ‘One who wouldn’t want tourists traipsing all over his property. He said that the craft centre will probably close.’
‘What?!’
‘Exactly.’ Giselle slumped into the plastic chair she sat in when she did her paperwork. It was hard and uncomfortable, which might be why she disliked VAT and tax returns so much.
Avril’s mouth was open in shock. Closing it, she said disbelievingly, ‘He isn’t going to sell it as a going concern?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘But the business is doing OK, I think. I mean, Mhairi seemed happy. Not that she ever discussed finances with me, but I never got the impression there was any reason to worry.’
‘The first couple of years were a bit dodgy,’ Giselle reminded her.
‘But that was before the craft centre was properly established,’ Avril replied. ‘It’s a real draw for tourists now.’
‘Yeah, that’s what Rocco doesn’t seem to like.’
‘How well did you know him? Where did you meet? Why haven’t you told me any of this?’ The last bit came out as a wail of indignation.
‘Not well at all. Remember me telling you that I went on holiday to Milan with Izzy and some of her friends when we were nineteen? While they were doing the rounds of the fashion houses, I took the train to Venice. I met Rocco there and we explored the city together.’
And they’d also explored each other. That night was seared into her brain.
Well, it would be, wouldn’t it, she thought.
A girl does tend to remember her first time, especially when her virginity is taken by an incredibly handsome man in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
Nothing since had compared to that experience, which was probably why she was still single.
None of the dates she’d been on had been half as romantic as that.
Nor the men half as… Charismatic? Sexy? Handsome?
It had been a fairy-tale encounter with a gorgeous stranger, full of magic, mystery and lust. For a first sexual experience, a woman couldn’t wish for anything better – unless you added love into the mix.
Then it would have been perfect. But it had come pretty close, even without the emotional connection.
Afterwards, Giselle had worried she’d been too hasty, too easy, which was why she hadn’t confided in Izzy.
She felt guilty for not telling her sister, but they’d never been joined-at-the-hip twins, and besides, she’d had a kind of feeling that talking about it would diminish it somehow. Then there was the sea glass heart…
‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’ Avril squinted at her accusingly.
Giselle sighed. ‘I slept with him.’
‘Och, I don’t blame you! He’s hot. Unless he wasn’t hot back then, but was weedy and spotty, with a basin haircut and jam-jar glasses.’
Another sigh. ‘He was gorgeous.’ It was her own fault she compared every man who’d ever asked her out to him since, and had found them wanting.
I mean, she thought, who could compete with Rocco and the red sea glass heart he gave me?
Inadvertently, he and the heart had been the beginning of the start of her adult life.
When she’d returned to East Kilbride, she’d had renewed purpose, renewed faith in herself and the determination to follow her dreams.
Avril continued to study her. ‘There’s something else. You’re not telling me the whole story.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth and gasped. ‘Don’t tell me you fell in love with him? Or—?’ She paused dramatically. ‘He got you pregnant?’
‘Neither of those.’
‘He gave you a nasty disease? Stole your money and your passport? Had a wife?’
‘He was only twenty-one!’
‘So? He might have settled down early. That makes him… thirty-one now,’ she added thoughtfully.
‘And to think you worked that out without a calculator.’
Avril glowered. ‘Tell me.’
Giselle rose and went over to the cabinet of slim drawers and took out the red heart.
‘He gave me this. We were on the island of Murano, where the famous Venetian glass comes from, and we were sitting on some steps at the base of a lighthouse. We’d just eaten a picnic and were waiting for the ferry to take us back to San Marco, the main island. ’
‘It sounds so romantic,’ Avril said dreamily.
‘It was.’ Giselle could almost feel the hot sun on her skin, smell the brine, hear the chatter of the people in the bars and cafes behind. Feel his lips on hers…
‘Then what?’
Giselle blinked. ‘He found this in the rocks near the lighthouse. There was no beach, just rocks and pebbles, and not a lot of those. This is my very first piece of sea glass.’
‘And?’ Avril prompted.
‘It’s because of him I knew I wanted to make sea glass pictures.’
‘Is that it?’
‘It’s enough,’ Giselle snapped. ‘If it hadn’t been for Rocco and the sea glass he gave me that day, I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘He who giveth can taketh away,’ Avril murmured. ‘Or something like that. How ironic.’
‘It’s not ironic – it’s awful. You’ll be out of a job too, you know.
’ Giselle felt sick. How on earth would she manage if the craft centre closed?
Her mortgage was eye-wateringly high, and although she was able to keep her head above water by selling her pictures in the gift shop, if she no longer had that option, where would she sell them?
The thought of trawling around all the shops on the island, trying to persuade them to carry her stock, made her stomach churn.
Avril’s expression was equally concerned. ‘I’m going to have to update my CV, aren’t I? Unless…’
‘Unless what?’
‘You could persuade him to change his mind about selling the castle.’
‘How do you suggest I do that?’
‘Make him fall in love with you and beg him to give you the castle as a wedding present?’
‘There isn’t going to be a fairytale ending, you know.
He isn’t Prince Charming and I don’t have a glass slipper or a fairy godmother.
’ Giselle slumped back in her seat, close to tears again.
‘It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been late, I might have been able to save Mhairi, and none of this would be happening. ’
‘Giselle, you’ve got to stop blaming yourself. Remember that Cal said she’d been dead for at least an hour. If anyone should blame themselves, it’s me.’
Giselle stared at her through watery eyes. Avril’s were equally damp. It didn’t matter what Avril said, Giselle couldn’t shake off her guilt. And now she had an additional load of it to carry: Rocco and his plan to sell the estate.
To think that for all these years she’d been measuring boyfriends and potential dates against an idolised version of a man she’d known for less than forty-eight hours! What a waste. And what a disappointment. They say you should never meet your heroes, and they were right.
She’d thought of Rocco as a romantic, in love with beauty and history, but from the brief chat with him today, he clearly wasn’t interested. For goodness’ sake, he hadn’t even noticed the breathtaking scenery when she’d taken him to the jetty just now!
He was still handsome – more so, if that was possible – and she still felt a visceral draw to him that had everything to do with her hormones and nothing to do with her intellect and common sense, but at least Giselle now knew one thing with absolute certainty: she could never fall in love with anyone who didn’t love Skye, Duncoorie and this wild Scottish loch as much as she did.