Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
ROBBIE
“Christ, Drew, not like that.” I reach over and take the trowel from his hand. “This whole section will collapse if you keep at it that way.”
Drew steps back and wipes sweat from his brow with his forearm. “Didn’t realise there was a wrong way to slap mortar on a wall.”
“There’s a wrong way to do everything.” I demonstrate the proper technique.
It’s another scorching day, and the sun beats down mercilessly as we work on repairing a section of the low stone wall that borders the main pathway leading to the resort entrance. It’s the kind of heat that makes your clothes stick to your skin and your patience wear thin. But at least the sprawling branches of a nearby sycamore cast enough shade to keep us from roasting alive.
“Sorry we can’t all be master craftsmen,” Drew mutters, but there’s no real annoyance in his voice. He watches as I smooth the mortar with practised strokes. “Where’d you learn all this stuff anyway?”
I shrug. “Here and there. Picked things up.”
The truth is, I’ve always been good with my hands. Even as a kid, I could take things apart and put them back together again. It’s the one thing my da has never complained about—my ability to fix what’s broken. Everything else about me, though? Fair game for criticism.
“Well, you’re bloody good at it.” Drew accepts the trowel back. “No wonder Craig keeps you around despite your... extracurricular activities.”
I snort. “You make it sound like I’m running a drug ring, not occasionally shagging a guest.”
“Speaking of which...” Drew grins and his eyes gleam with mischief. “Any new prospects on your radar?”
“Nah.” I shake my head and lift another stone into place. “I try not to make a habit of it, but sometimes it’s hard to resist.”
Even as I speak, my mind flashes to yesterday, to Cat McIntyre appearing out of nowhere astride that chestnut mare. Her auburn hair escaping from her braid... her hazel eyes sparkling in the sunlight... and those jodhpurs hugging every curve of her arse and legs.
I had to look away when she bent over to drink from the tap, the fabric stretching tight across her backside. And, oh man, the way those dimples flashed when she smiled, the light catching the tiny stud in her nose...
Fuck.
Cat McIntyre is off limits for about a dozen different reasons, starting with her being Alasdair McIntyre’s wee sister. Pretty sure he’d murder me if he so much as caught me looking at her sideways.
“You’ve gone quiet.” Drew nudges me with his elbow. “That means you’re thinking about someone.”
“I’m thinking about how this wall won’t fix itself while you stand there yapping.”
Drew rolls his shoulders, loosening them up, and grins at me. “All right, forget guests for a moment. Have you ever thought about dipping your pen in the company ink?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Not my style. Too messy. The thing about guests is they check out. Other staff members? That’s a whole other story.”
Drew chuckles. “C’mon, are you really telling me you’ve never looked at someone here and thought, ‘Aye, I’d give that a go?’”
I shrug, focusing on my task. “Nope. Don’t shit where you eat, Drew.”
He smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “What about Samantha? She’s always giving you the stink eye. Maybe she’s just mad because she wants you. Ever thought about that?”
I consider the head of housekeeping—always immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, lips perpetually pursed like she’s just tasted something sour. “Samantha? No way. Not if she were the last woman on earth.”
“Why, she too old for you?”
“It’s not that.” Sure, she’s in her forties, but age has never been a factor for me. I’ve been with women older than Samantha.
“Why then?”
“She’s too stuck-up for my taste,” I say, tamping down a stone.
“Fair enough. She does have that whole ‘I’m better than you’ vibe going on.” Drew pauses, a strange little smile playing at his lips. “Still, I bet she’s got a wild side under all that starch.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“And she was divorced recently. Got to let all those emotions out somehow, right?”
I’m about to respond when I spot Johnny walking across the lawn towards us, his usual easy smile nowhere to be seen. My younger brother is dressed in the resort’s front-of-house uniform—crisp white shirt, dark green waistcoat with the Glen Garve Resort logo, perfectly pressed tartan trousers, and a matching tartan tie. His dark hair is neatly tucked behind his ears, though a few strands have escaped to fall across his forehead. Compared to him, I must look like something the cat dragged in—covered in dust and mortar, sweat-stained and dishevelled.
“Robbie,” he says, his voice tight. “Da wants to see you.”
I straighten and wipe my hands on my already filthy trousers. “Now? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Now,” Johnny confirms. He glances at Drew. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Drew shrugs. “No worries. I can handle this. Try not to get fired, aye?”
“As if,” I scoff, though something about Johnny’s expression gives me pause. I know my wee brother well, and right now he’s wound tighter than a spring.
I cast a doubtful glance at the wall, wondering if it’ll still be standing when I get back, then fall into step beside Johnny as we cross the manicured lawn towards the main building. The silence between us is unusual—Johnny’s typically a chatterbox, always filling the air with stories about guests or gossip from the staff room.
“So,” I say, trying to keep things light, “how’s David? You two do anything fun last weekend?”
Johnny blinks, like he’s having to drag his mind back from somewhere else. “What? Oh, aye. We, er, went to that new restaurant in Inverness. The Italian one.”
“Any good?”
“Aye, it was... David wore that bright orange shirt, you know the one. Said he wanted to make sure the waiter could spot us in a crowd.”
I chuckle. That sounds like David all right. Johnny’s boyfriend has never met a colour he didn’t want to wear, preferably all at once. “Subtle as ever, then.”
Johnny attempts a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
We’re halfway to the main building now, and his unease is starting to get to me. “All right, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Has word got to Da that I slept with a guest?”
Johnny’s eyes widen. “You did what ?”
“Oh, so it’s not that, then? I figured Samantha might have gone running to Da about it. She overheard Drew and me talking the other day.”
Johnny pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nope, it’s not that. And Robbie, as I really don’t want you getting into any more trouble, maybe don’t go into this meeting offering Da a list of other transgressions.” He gives me a pointed look. “I didn’t know you’d slept with a guest, and I’m immediately going to forget about it. For your sake.”
“Well, if it’s not that, what is it?”
Johnny stops walking and turns to face me, his blue eyes troubled. “It’s serious, Robbie. I don’t know all the details, but...” He pauses, searching my face. “I hope it’s not true.” He looks even harder into my eyes. “No, I know it’s not true.”
Before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, Johnny steps forwards and pulls me into a tight hug. As a matter of principle, I never let other guys hug me, but my wee brother? That’s the one exception.
I awkwardly pat his back. “Relax! Whatever it is, I’ll sort it. I always do.” Pulling away, I clap him on the shoulder.
“Hmm.” Johnny doesn’t look convinced. “I hope so.”
We enter the main building through the staff entrance, the cool air a blessed relief after the scorching heat outside. The corridor to my da’s office feels longer than usual, each step bringing me closer to whatever storm is brewing.
Da has been the general manager of the Glen Garve Resort for as long as I can remember, and he’s always been more devoted to this place than to his family. While other fathers were teaching their sons to fish or taking them to football matches, mine was here, making sure the resort ran like clockwork. Not that I’m bitter or anything.
When we reach Da’s office door, Johnny takes a deep breath. “Just... stay calm, all right? Because losing your cool isn’t going to make things any better.”
“You worry too much. I’ll be fine.”
Johnny isn’t reassured, but he nods and leaves me standing there, the weight of his concern settling on my shoulders like a physical thing.
I knock twice then enter without waiting for a response, a small act of defiance I can’t seem to shake, even after all these years. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Take a seat.”
Like Johnny, Da wears a serious expression, though in his case it’s his default setting, so nothing new there. At fifty-eight, his hair is more grey than black now, but his jawline is still sharp, his posture impeccable. He has the same piercing blue eyes he passed down to both his sons, although the years of responsibility have etched permanent lines around them, and there’s a rigid set to his shoulders that comes from decades of maintaining standards at a five-star resort. Even his tie sits perfectly centred, so neat I wouldn’t be surprised if he measures it with a ruler every morning.
Da does know how to laugh and smile. He does it when he’s schmoozing with rich guests. It’s just not a side of him I often get to see.
I lower myself into the chair opposite him, a familiar tension settling between us. His office, as always, is spotless: polished mahogany desk, awards and certificates displayed on the walls, not a paper out of place. Everything about the room screams control, just like the man himself.
“Well.” Da folds his hands on the desk. “Let’s get to it, then.” He pauses for a few moments, studying me. “You’ll remember that ten days ago Mr Ashford reported a watch missing.”
Of course I remember—the damn thing was supposedly worth twenty-five grand. Not exactly pocket change. An older gent from London, Mr Ashford believed he locked it in his room safe but admitted he wasn’t entirely certain. After tearing apart his luggage and scouring the room, he reported it missing to the front desk the next day. We were all told to keep an eye out for it, but there’s been no sign of it.
“Did someone find it?”
Da shakes his head. “But three days ago there was... another incident.”
I arch a brow, my curiosity piqued. This is news to me.
“A Ms Laurent in room 207 reported a pair of diamond stud earrings missing, and she was adamant she put them in her safe. Their value is, apparently, around ten thousand pounds.”
I blow out a breath. “Jesus.”
This kind of thing doesn’t happen here. The Glen Garve Resort prides itself on its security and discretion, especially given the calibre of guests we host. In all my years working here, I’ve never heard of anything like this. And it’s not exactly easy for some random chancer to waltz into a guest’s room, let alone crack their safe.
“As you’re aware,” Da continues, his voice taking on the rehearsed quality he uses when addressing staff meetings, “the resort’s reputation is paramount. If word gets out that guests’ valuables are... disappearing, it could devastate business. I managed—just barely—to dissuade Ms Laurent from contacting the police immediately. I offered her compensation and promised an internal investigation. But she made it very clear: if nothing comes of my investigation, she’ll be calling the police.”
There’s tension in his shoulders as he speaks, a stiffness that reminds me how much he thrives on control, and how much he hates even the slightest hint of disorder.
“As it turns out, she won’t need to make that call—because this morning there was a third incident.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. “A Mr Harrington in room 203 reported a signet ring and two thousand pounds in cash missing from his safe.”
My stomach tightens. Three incidents? What the hell is going on?
Da watches me closely, like he’s studying my every twitch and breath.
“Well, shit,” I say, because what else is there to say?
Da nods grimly. “It’s clear I have no choice now but to involve the police and hand over my findings. But first I wanted to have a quick chat with you.”
The way he says it makes my skin prickle. I straighten in my chair. “Why?” When he doesn’t respond straight away, the penny drops. Crap. “You don’t seriously think I did this, do you? Bloody hell, Da!”
His expression hardens. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve stolen something.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Christ.” My laugh is bitter and humourless. “It doesn’t matter how many years pass, does it? You’re never going to let me live down the things I did as a teenager. I’m thirty-one now!” I shake my head, fury rising hot and fast in my chest. “So that’s it? Items go missing from guests’ rooms, and your first thought is it must be your own son? That’s why you summoned me here? Jesus. You really do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”
I’m on my feet now, though I don’t remember standing. My hands are clenched at my sides, my pulse hammering in my throat.
Da holds up a hand like he’s silencing a child then fixes me with a look so cold it could freeze fire. “Sit down, Robbie. And I can assure you I was hoping beyond hope that you had nothing to do with this. You can imagine my disappointment, then, when I discovered evidence connecting you to each of the thefts.”
For a moment it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Evidence? What bloody evidence? I didn’t steal anything!