Chapter 16 Tilda #2
Flora scrambles down from the back of the Land Rover and pauses. Finn’s spaniels clearly know Edie’s dogs well, and they gallop off in excited circles. My poor girl looks the way I feel – more than a little bit out of her depth.
“Oh my god,” says Edie, noticing Flora for the first time. “Is she yours?”
She bends down onto her knees, the MacBook sliding out from under her arm and onto the grass. Finn stoops down and picks it up with a resigned expression on his face.
“This is Flora,” I say as Flora waddles up to her and nudges her leg hopefully.
“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she Finn?”
He makes a vague noise of approval. “She’s growing on me. Like lichen.”
“You could just admit she’s adorable,” Edie says, beaming up at us. “Can we take her for a walk down to the loch? Will she be okay leaving you?”
Flora, my disloyal hound, answers the question by marching over to Finn and sitting down heavily at his feet.
“She’ll be fine,” I say, laughing. “She’s made it pretty clear she’s got a crush on Finn.”
Edie grins. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“It is not interesting,” says Finn flatly. “And it’s simply because I made the mistake of giving her an extra Bonio one morning. Now I can’t get rid of her.”
Edie looks at Jake, who raises his eyebrows.
“Shall we start with the rose garden?” he says, motioning to his right.
And just like that, I’m reminded that I am staff, and Finn is family. I watch them walk away together – Finn, Edie, and the dogs – their easy laughter carrying across the lawn. He doesn’t look back.
My cheeks prickle and I tell myself that it doesn’t matter, but I feel oddly uncomfortable as Jake leads me down a neatly manicured path towards the rose garden.
He’s genial and friendly, with the kind of tan that suggests he’s worked outside all his life.
He leads me through the rose garden where they’ve planted a collection of David Austen roses, and then down paths where the borders spill over with spring colour, bright tulips still holding on as the greenery of the summer planting is starting to fill out and take shape.
In a shady garden there’s a collection of hostas starting to unfurl, and a little clearing in the woods hosts six beehives painted in pretty pastel shades.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jake’s pride is justified.
“It’s—yes. Unbelievable.” I want to take notes and a million photos, save it all in my head for inspiration, not only for Benruar, but for future gardens I might work on when I get back to Glasgow and set up the business. I feel dazed with it all.
The kitchen garden is an acre of perfectly kept order inside high stone walls – neat lines of freshly planted lettuces and bean shoots starting their careful climb up hand-tied wicker wigwams that are smooth under my palm.
Metal archways crisscross overhead, with wisteria twining around to create an arbour.
In the huge wooden-framed greenhouse that lines one side of the potager, the air is warm and fragrant with the scent of fresh compost and the green, peppery tang of tomato plants that have been potted on.
I breathe it in greedily, ignoring the part of me that feels jealous of how easy it seems here. Jake chats happily about companion planting and soil rotation and I find myself half-listening, wishing I had even a fraction of this order in my own life, or in the gardens at Benruar.
I wonder what Finn’s doing, whether he’s thinking about me at all, or whether I’ve already slipped from his mind now he’s back with his family where he belongs.
I push the thought away. It doesn’t matter.
“So, I gather you’re having dinner here at the big house?” Jake says as we walk down the gravel path between raised beds towards a door surrounded by a rose arch.
I look up at the castle and feel another wave of panic.
“I—”
“Och, don’t you be worrying. It’s not that kind of place.”
I shoot him a grateful smile. “I hope not or I’m going to be seriously under-dressed.”
Jake leaves me at the steps of the castle with a cheerful wave, and I’m left staring at my reflection in the window beside the heavy studded door.
My hair is wind-whipped, my cheeks are pink, and the jeans I thought looked relatively respectable now look faded and old in comparison to the luxury of this place.
And then Finn and Edie reappear, laughing and chatting, the dogs at their heels.
“Have you had the grand tour?” Edie pulls a scrunchie from her wrist and ties her red hair back in a ponytail, opening the door so all the dogs pour through like a canine stream.
“I have. It’s incredible.”
Edie gestures for us to go ahead of her and we walk into a huge hallway with stone floors and a massive fireplace. Ahead there’s a vast staircase and a wooden banister which glows with the patina of centuries of beeswax polish and good care.
“It’s a bit OTT, I know,” she says, flicking on a lamp against the sudden darkness. “This weather is bonkers. It’s gorgeous one moment, stormy the next. Even for Loch Morven it’s a bit weird.”
“What time is dinner?” Finn cuts through her chatter abruptly.
“Seven? Is that okay with you two?”
“Perfect. I’ve got some work to do.” He disappears outside and I’m left standing there feeling like a spare part.
“The first time I saw this place I nearly fainted,” says Edie, leaning in as if someone might overhear us.
“You don’t—I mean you didn’t grow up in a place like this?”
She bursts into peals of laughter. “I grew up in a council house outside Edinburgh.”
I feel my shoulders dropping about six inches in relief. “You did?”
She nods cheerfully. “It’s a long story.”
Finn returns, carrying our bags.
“If you take Tilda’s bag up, I’ll give her a castle tour while you’re doing whatever it is you have to.”
He looks at me, a brow lifted in silent query. I give a quick nod to say that yes, I’ll be fine. His concern surprises me, but before I have time to take it in, Edie has hooked her arm through mine.
“I’ll give you the guided tour and tell you the whole saga. But you must be dying for a cup of tea or something, aren’t you?”
I nod gratefully.
“Okay, let’s take this load of canine delinquents through to the kitchen and find something to eat. If the coffee shop had any left, Gregor will have nabbed some cardamom buns.”
After coffee and cake, Edie takes me on a tour of the castle, explaining that it’s all new to her as well and she’s still finding her way around.
I relax a bit realising she’s from my world, not the landed aristocracy.
I still haven’t met Rory, though, and my stomach contracts with nerves.
Finn’s scary in his own way but Rory Kinnaird is an actual duke.
“Here we are,” says Edie as we somehow end up back at the door to my bedroom. I frown in confusion.
“I know, this place is like a rabbit warren. Rory says they used to play hide and seek in the dark here, can you imagine it?” She shudders in horror. “I still get freaked out at night if he’s not here.”
She pushes open the door and gestures for me to go through.
“Come down about half six and we can have a drink before dinner. The door to the right of the stairs,” she adds, noticing my look of panic.
I’m taking it on trust that they’re as informal as Jake says.
I dress after a shower in a pair of clean jeans and a black sweater with a v-neck, pinning up the top half of my hair in a clip and putting on some make up – tinted moisturiser, a smear of blush cream, and some mascara.
It’s so unusual for me to wear any, that even this feels like a mask, but maybe it’ll help me get through tonight.
Downstairs, I hesitate at the door. She did say the right of the stairs, didn’t she?
I put my hand on the solid brass doorknob and push.
It’s everything I expected – a book lined sitting room with huge leather sofas and a fire burning in the grate, despite the late spring sunlight that’s still filtering in through the windows.
Finn’s standing with his back to me, a broad shape with a casual arm draped over the mantelpiece, a glass of whisky in his hand. He turns and surprises me with a smile.
“Ah, there you are.” He steps forward. “Rory, this is Tilda.”
His brother walks towards me with a matching smile, his hand extended. “How do you do.”
There’s no mistaking them as brothers but Finn’s broader and more rugged, with a longer scruff of dark beard and his habitual plaid shirt and jeans.
Rory’s casually dressed as well, but he’s in jeans and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up.
He’s a couple of inches shorter – six three to Finn’s six five – and would be well muscled and broad by normal standards, but Finn’s like a giant, his shoulders and back broad from years of hefting heavy whisky barrels and sacks of barley.
He looks like he’s come down from the mountains for a night.
“Hello,” I say to Rory, pasting what I hope is a polite smile on my face. I’m reeling from the sudden realisation there’s something about Finn that feels solid and safe in this unfamiliar situation.
“I understand you’ve had the grand tour,” Rory says, looking down at me.
“Yes.” I nod. “Your gardens are incredibly beautiful.”
He ducks his head with an endearing grin. “Nothing to do with me, I’m afraid. But Jake’s a genius. We’re lucky to have him to look after the place.”
“My brother sees himself as a guardian, not an owner,” says Finn. “Don’t get him started or he’ll be off on a roll for hours.”
“The alternative being a diatribe on the merits of Loire Valley French-sourced oak for casks,” Rory jibes back, laughing.
“Are you two off already?” Edie walks into the room and Rory’s face changes instantly. The look they share is so unguarded that I feel I should turn away and give them a moment.
Finn catches my eye and rolls his heavenwards with an almost invisible shake of the head and a smile that makes something in my stomach twist.