7. Edie
EDIE
“I’ll take it from here,” Rory says firmly.
“I was just going to show Edie her room and get her something to eat,” Janey says, but he’s striding across the room and showing her out.
“Leave it with me.”
My heart is hammering, and I genuinely think my knees might be about to give way from underneath me. He closes the door and turns to look at me. His expression is not exactly welcoming.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Me?”
“Unbelievable.” He shakes his head slowly.
“Sorry, what?”
“Tell me, Edie,” he spits my name as if it was a curse, “exactly what the hell you’re doing here in my house.”
“It’s not exactly a house.”
“You told me you were an investigative journalist.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “I lied.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re a ghostwriter now. ”
He’s completely still, like a lion facing down his prey. I’m suppressing the overwhelming urge to jump out of the window and head for the hills.
“I am a ghostwriter,” I protest.
“You’re a liar.”
“People change careers all the time.” It sounds completely pathetic even to my ears. I let out a brief sigh of defeat. “I… embellished.”
He strides over to the desk and pushes a heap of paperwork to one side, clicking open a heavy leather briefcase and frowning for a second. “So, I can assume you signed this” – he picks off the top sheet from a thick stack of papers and brandishes it at me – “with no intention of sticking to it?”
I recognise the fancy paper and the header at the top straight away.
“I signed that with every intention of fulfilling the contract. I’m a professional, and that’s what I’m here to do. And nothing more,” I say, lifting my chin and meeting his glare. Two can play at that game. If he wants to behave like an asshole, I can be one right back.
Rory opens his mouth to speak but closes it again as we hear a commotion in the library beyond. Dogs are barking – one shrill, one deeper – and I hear a woman’s voice.
“Edie, are you there?” I hear the clatter of heels on parquet flooring.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rory says under his breath as Annabel Findlay waltzes into the study, filling the room with trailing chiffon scarves and the overwhelming scent of Chanel No.
5. I notice the two spaniels for the first time as they appear from under the desk, their plumy tails wagging furiously as Annabel bends to say hello.
“Darling.” She kisses Rory on the cheeks in a motherly fashion then grasps my arms, holding me at a distance so she can examine me, before kissing me and exclaiming with delight.
“Edie, isn’t this fun?” She looks from me to Rory, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere. “I hoped I’d catch you. Popped in on the off chance. Isn’t this wonderful?”
Rory grunts a noise that passes for approval. I manage a smile, hoping she can’t read the situation.
“You’re going to be in such good hands with Edie. Isn’t she an angel ?”
He visibly grits his teeth and manages the thinnest of smiles.
“You said yourself she’d done a wonderful job on my memoir.”
“He did?” I lift a brow and look him directly in the eye.
Annabel nods. “Which is why it seemed like the perfect solution.” She hitches her bottom up onto the side of the desk and sits between us.
Janey hovers in the doorway, but she’s sussed that there’s something up. She looks from me to Rory and cocks her head thoughtfully.
“Shall I get everyone some drinks? Edie, you haven’t eaten. Annabel, are you staying for dinner?”
Annabel lifts an elegant hand. “I’d love to, but I must rush. I’ve got a flight booked from Inverness.”
“I’ll sort it,” Rory says and makes his way over to a tall wooden dresser.
Inside there’s a shelf of crystal tumblers and a tray of malt whisky bottles.
He pours three glasses and hands one to Annabel and one to me.
Janey slips back out of the room, leaving the three of us in a slightly awkward silence.
“Well, I think we ought to toast your father,” Annabel says, touching her glass to mine and then his.
“I’d love to be a fly on the wall while you’re writing this memoir.
As Rory’s godmother and friend of the family, I think I can say with impunity that Dickie was an absolute bugger,” she says, touching me on the arm with a conspiratorial smile.
“Adorable but completely ungovernable. I’m sure you won’t be able to hear yourself type for the sound of skeletons falling out of closets. ”
I watch Rory’s reaction. It looks like dread, or something close to it.
“You are not helping here, Annabel,” he says, still standing ramrod straight.
“If there’s one thing Edie’s good at, it’s seeing the wood for the trees. I know she’s got all this to sort through” – Annabel gestures to the chaos of the study – “but if she can turn my ramblings into a memoir, I’m sure she can sort Dickie’s diaries into some sort of sense.”
“It’s a ridiculous idea.” Rory shakes his head.
“You said the alternative was impossible. You can’t run the estate and the foundation, not to mention everything else, and fulfil the obligations of the will at the same time.” Annabel puts a hand on his arm.
“If he’d left the estate in any kind of state, I could have.
” His jaw tightens as he says it, like there’s more he’s not saying.
For a man who’s inherited everything, he sounds like he’s still fighting for it.
“Although if my father had kept his side of the bargain, he’d have kept his diaries up to date. ”
I’m trying to look like I know what’s going on. I sip my whisky and try and look focused and intelligent.
“What do you think, Edie?”
Uh-oh.
“I— ”
“Edie’s only just arrived,” Rory says tersely. “She hasn’t been briefed on any of this.”
Annabel puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh gosh and here I am putting my feet in it. Don’t worry, Edie, it’s not as terrifying as it seems.” She gives Rory a mock-disapproving look. “Nor, for that matter, is my godson, whatever you might think.”
She downs her whisky in one and stands up, tossing the end of her scarf back over her shoulder. “Right. Well, I must love you and leave you. Edie, best of luck. You know where I am if you need some moral support.”
With a flurry of kisses, Annabel disappears, and I’m left alone in the study with a no less furious Rory. He stands, hands braced on the desk, pinning me with a look of disdain that only centuries of noble breeding could produce.
“ You said you were a bartender,” I say, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“I said no such thing.”
I cast my mind back to the night of Annabel’s launch.
“But you gave me champagne.”
“You took champagne. It’s another thing entirely.”
How the hell did I ever think someone that crisply well-spoken was bussing tables in a bookstore? The same man who whispered filth in my ear, made me come three times, and vanished with the sunrise… the man I’d oh-so-confidently told I was an investigative journalist.
“Do you have any idea what kind of mess this is?”
I look at the desk scattered by papers and square my shoulders defensively.
“Annabel is right, you know. I’m more than capable of turning your father’s notes into whatever kind of family history you need.
” I might have lied about my job title, but I didn’t lie about what I can do.
This is my chance to prove I’m more than a hack filling space.
He laughs mirthlessly. “Do you think for a second I think you’re only here to write my father’s memoir? You’re a self-confessed liar and a fantasist, and I don’t trust a single word that comes out of your mouth.”
My pulse roars. How fucking dare he. “And yet here I am. Hired by your own foundation, no less. Signed off by your own expensive lawyer.”
His lips part and for a moment I think he’s about to let loose with some ice-cold retort, but instead he raises his chin and stares at me steadily, as if daring me to look away.
“If that’s all,” I say, “I’m going to find my room.”
“That’s all,” he says.
I feel his eyes on me as I walk out of the door and back into the library.
I’ve no idea where my room is, no idea where Janey might be, and no idea how I’m going to handle the next three months.
But I’m buggered if I’m going to let Rory Kinnaird get between me and this job.
I’m staying put this time and I’m going to prove him wrong.