Chapter 5
S carlett did not need the distraction of a man, but the image of the incident earlier that morning remained imprinted in her thoughts.
The master of the estate was not some old decrepit gentleman, ageing and crumbling like some of the rooms Mrs Wilson had let her look in during their tour.
Instead, Laird Edward Cameron-Reid was a bit of a dish, and she found herself captivated by more than just what he hid beneath the sheets.
She guessed he was in his late thirties and despite his dishevelled appearance and ever so slightly receding hairline, there was a boyish and vulnerable charm to his face– the blend of deep blue eyes, thin yet still alluring lips, all set off by a strong roman nose.
He appeared tall and athletic, with toned arms she imagined came from days spent taking care of the estate. He wasn’t poster-boy handsome, but his features combined made him decidedly appealing.
Scarlett gave herself a mental shake.
Taking her mind off her train wreck of a marriage was one thing, but focusing on another man was not a healthy alternative, especially considering he was her new boss.
“Just no,” she said aloud.
“What’s that?” Mrs Wilson turned to look at her.
“Nothing, just a fly buzzing around my face,” Scarlett lied, swatting away the invisible insect.
Mrs Wilson looked about her, squinting her already small grey eyes hidden behind thin round glasses. She appeared ready for a similar fly attack, reminding Scarlett– not unkindly– a little of Moley from The Wind in the Willows .
Once satisfied it was gone, Mrs Wilson continued walking ahead, pointing to paintings and decor of particular interest and historical significance.
Scarlett only half listened; dates and names of people long dead were of no interest to her.
She enjoyed and appreciated the beautiful aesthetics of the building and its contents, but how the late Laird George Cameron-Reid was the twenty-third generation of the family to reside at the house, extended over the years by different lairds in situ, having survived various clan feuds, Anglo-Scottish civil wars, and, apparently, if one was interested, whose lineage could be traced all the way back to Alexander II of Scotland, all did very little to excite her.
However, the building itself and the various rooms, some filled with all manner of interesting artefacts and furniture, left her in awe.
Over the years Jason and Scarlett had visited plenty of stately homes, taking gentle strolls through sections of houses no longer inhabited by rich earls, dukes, and duchesses who now preferred sunning themselves in more appealing climates across Europe and the rest of the world.
Although impressive, Scarlett had never had the privilege of looking behind the scenes– not like this.
It was like entering a long-forgotten world, literally, with some rooms in the east wing having been closed off for decades.
According to Mrs Wilson, she would do a weekly walk-through, and a company would come in every six months to do a surface clean and maintenance check to avoid the closed-off parts of the building falling into complete disrepair.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t had the building listed and opened some parts to the public.
I imagine it would bring in a decent income.
” Scarlett inspected an antique dressing table in one of the unused rooms. The smell of stale polish and dust pinched at her nose.
“Seems a waste to have it all locked away,” she added.
“Edward, you’ll soon learn, is a very private man. He would baulk at the idea.” Mrs Wilson bent towards Scarlett and lowered her voice. “Besides, money really isn’t an issue. His mother has taken good care of that.”
Scarlett wondered why they were now whispering, as there was nobody around except the potential ghosts lurking in the walls.
“Trust fund, by any chance?” Scarlett asked.
“Let’s just say his American side of the family will never go hungry.” Mrs Wilson straightened herself back up. “But let’s not talk of such things. It’s not polite.”
“Of course, I completely agree.” Scarlett looked around her, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, wondering how one should conduct themselves in polite Scottish society.
She didn’t imagine it differed massively from the south of the border, everything appearing shimmering and golden on the surface, all nicely contained. But Scarlett was of the opinion it was usually a facade concealing thinly veiled family dramas, lies, and other seedy and questionable goings-on.
Although, she realised, she may be projecting– just a little.
It may be her own personal dealings with Bath’s self-nominated society darlings– aka Jason and his mother who undoubtedly behaved in that way– but she couldn’t imagine it was that much different north of the border.
Money and power seemed to breed these dynamics.
Scarlett stopped herself, unhappy with her bitter train of thought.
Money wasn’t the issue.
It was the actions and behaviour of those who thought that consequences were something that happened to other people, leading grown men to think it was entirely plausible to live in a house with their wife and young pregnant mistress.
Although not quite a trust fund baby, Jason’s family’s wealth had also blessed him. His father invested wisely whilst he was alive and his property portfolio across Bath, on top of his sizeable life insurance policy, meant that Tara would never be short of anything.
Scarlett also had to give credit to Jason, who was himself a respected author, which offered a generous standard of living.
But their lives, including the beautiful townhouse they moved into after their secret wedding abroad– much to his mother’s disdain– were owned solely by Tara. Livid and disgruntled that Scarlett hadn’t signed a prenuptial agreement, she refused to give her son the gift.
Still, Tara was always generous to her son, and in return, Scarlett helped look after the maintenance of the properties and boutique hotels scattered across the city. The arrangement satisfied everyone, meeting all their needs, and Scarlett, though grateful, had worked hard and requested little.
The realisation suddenly dawned on her that this was clearly her downfall, as now she didn’t own anything.
She didn’t even think they had a pension. The properties had been their safety plan, as Jason was the sole heir to his mother’s estate. But as she was quickly realising, it was a solid plan by Tara to make sure Scarlett wouldn’t receive a penny if she ever left.
A fresh wave of nausea flooded her.
Things just keep getting better.
“Are you alright?” Mrs Wilson’s voice pulled Scarlett out of her reverie.
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks.” Scarlett pasted a smile on her face. “Tired from the travelling, but nothing to worry about. So, how long have you been working for the family?”
Mrs Wilson seemed pleased with this question.
“Well now, let’s see. Must be coming up to forty years now.
My family are from Aberdeen, see, and a job for a kitchen hand came up when I was just fifteen.
Good God, doesn’t even seem that long ago if I’m honest with you.
” Mrs Wilson chuckled to herself and continued walking on, her memories leaving a trace of a smile for the rest of their walk around the house.
Scarlett looked forward to hearing stories about Mrs Wilson’s time with the Cameron-Reids. Over forty years, there couldn’t be much she hadn’t seen or heard, but she’d bide her time. She felt hesitant to ask more until she got to know Mrs Wilson a little better.
The tour took almost two hours, after which Mrs Wilson tasked Scarlett with polishing the oak balustrades on the wide carpeted staircase that snaked up to the first floor from the enormous entrance hall of the house.
Scarlett marvelled at the craftsmanship of the carved wood as she followed Mrs Wilson’s very precise instructions.
“He had this all restored, you know, using the original staircase and other wood derived from the estate, with the help of a local carpenter, mind. So, it’s important we look after it.”
Mrs Wilson laid out her paraphernalia of cleaning items, ranging from a homemade vinegar and lemon solution to various cloths for different purposes and beeswax made from the estate’s beehives.
Scarlett felt as if she were on an episode of Countryfile as Mrs Wilson rattled off a list of everything that was derived from the estate’s apparently plentiful land and surroundings. Instead of commenting, she listened, nodding and taking mental notes of everything she was told.
“So, all very easy, really.” Mrs Wilson looked at Scarlett to check she was taking it all in.
“I’d best be getting on with lunch prep.
Edward likes to have his dinner at lunchtime and a light supper in the evening– come find me when you’re done, and if you’re up to it, we’ll get you started on something else. ”
Smiling, Scarlett said, “No problem, and thank you,” hoping to convince her that she could be trusted not to damage the laird’s pride and joy.
“You’re very welcome. I shall see you soon.” The older woman smiled and nodded, taking herself off towards the kitchen.
Scarlett took out her earbuds and phone, looking for an upbeat playlist to keep her company– steering well away from the sleepier ballads she usually sang along to whilst doing the chores at home.
Crying into the beeswax would probably ruin the carefully balanced ingredients, which wouldn’t please Mrs Wilson at all.
She decided on Muse’s cover of “Feeling Good” and got to work, losing herself in the task at hand.
She’d not listened to the band for ages, remembering how, despite the track no longer being popular, she went through a phase of playing it full blast in her room and requested it at every party one Christmas period, driving all her friends at the time mad.
With a smile and thoughts of happier times, she put the song on repeat, shaking her head and shoulders along to the beat each time the song hit its crescendo.
After what she realised must be its eighth or ninth repetition, a large pair of Barbour boots appeared in front of her.
She pulled out her earbuds and hurried to her feet, using the banister as support whilst taking in the full length of the man standing on the staircase before her.
She couldn’t help noticing he looked as good dressed as he did half naked.
Scarlett blinked the inappropriate thoughts away.
“Sorry, was a bit lost in the moment.”
“I can see that.”
There was little emotion in his thick Scottish accent, but Scarlett was certain there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.