25. Rory
RORY
I don’t sleep.
I don’t want this. There is a very narrow set of priorities in my life these days and they do not include writers, especially not the sort of writer who could cause me to lose focus.
By morning I’ve convinced myself it was something and nothing. She’s here to do a job, as am I. And to prove it, I’m going to take her with me this morning on the site inspection for the safe houses.
I find myself knocking on her door before nine, still out of breath from my run down by the loch. The dogs wag with delight as she answers, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, face scrubbed clean .
“I’d like to show you something.”
“Sorry?” She blinks at me, surprised.
“You said you wanted an idea of how the estate works.”
The Land Rover rattles over the moor road, suspension groaning. Bramble and Tilly are hanging out of the back windows, their ears flapping in the wind. Edie’s sitting beside me, her denim-clad thigh a distraction I could do without. Every time I change gear I almost brush against the fabric.
“So where are we going?” she asks eventually.
“You’ll see.”
She glances at me, but I keep my eyes on the road, slowing as we rattle over a cattle grid.
I point out the plantation of young oaks that Jamie’s been working on with the community team, and we head up through the glen, the light dappling through the windscreen as we reach the old forest. We cross the stone bridge over the river and turn down the newly laid road through the trees.
We pull up outside a low white cottage. Sheep graze in the stone-walled field behind. In the distance there’s another cottage, safe and secure behind a wooden fence.
Edie climbs out of the Defender, and I watch as she takes it in, head cocked slightly to one side in confusion.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “What is it?”
“It’s a safe house.” I reach in my pocket for the keys, and beckon for her to follow me inside. “We have three of them – they were workers cottages, and we’ve renovated them.”
She walks to the door and touches the frame with her fingers, as if she’s trying to get a feel for the place. I open the door and gesture for her to go inside.
It smells of fresh paint and new carpet. Since I was here last the contractors have fitted the solid cast-iron wood burning stove in the fireplace, and the oak lintel has been given a final tidy up. It’s neutral and calm inside, which is what we wanted.
“You did this?” she asks finally.
I shrug. “The cottages were just sitting here. It seemed logical to put them to good use.”
Edie turns to face me, a strange expression on her face. “Logical?”
I nod briefly.
“You could have rented them out, made money from them.”
I give a brief laugh. “Despite what you might infer from my father’s diaries, we’re not in need of extra income.”
She flushes slightly and closes her eyes, clearly embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
I shake my head. “Didn’t think you did. But while the trust might be all about keeping things secure for future generations, the foundation is – well, to me it is – about making change right now. And we needed this.”
I watch her chest rise and fall as she takes in a breath and take a step back towards the window. I’m determined to keep a distance between us.
“So why a safe house in particular?”
“Let’s just say it was something close to home.”
“Janey.” She breathes the word out, like a secret.
I nod again, slowly. “Right under our noses. I had no idea what she was going through. And then one day she came to the house in tears. We moved her out that afternoon. Gave her the old gate lodge cottage, sent her husband packing, and?—”
Edie lifts a hand as if to stop me.
“I’ve said enough. So, we are working with a women’s aid charity in Inverness, and the cottages are here for anyone who needs them for however long. Rent free.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Least we can do.”
She perches on the edge of the dark grey sofa and looks up at me through her thick lashes. “You didn’t have to do any of this. You give the impression it’s all about duty, but you really do care.”
I look out of the window for a moment. A bird of prey soars overhead, circling in search of food.
“Can I look outside?”
I watch as she heads out through the back door into the garden, where there’s a wooden climbing frame and some raised beds full of compost. That was Janey’s idea.
“I couldn’t stand to be another in the long line who looked away,” I hear myself saying.
“Your father?”
I clear my throat. “My great grandfather took his duty seriously. I’d like to think I could emulate him, and make up for the way?—”
She raises her brows as I tail off midsentence. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re nothing like him. You’re rewriting the story of this place.”
I lean back against the cool stone of the wall, watching as she picks daisies.
“Janey says you’re writing?”
She looks up suddenly. “Only in the evenings.”
“It wasn’t an accusation.”
She colours for a moment then starts pulling petals from one of the daisies, letting them fly off on the breeze. “Sorry,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, there’s not much to do in the evenings, so?— ”
“Are we boring you?”
“Oh god, no—” She looks at me for a moment. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
I raise a brow and allow her the faintest hint of a smirk. “So, what are you working on?”
She drops the flowers and rubs both cheeks with her hands. “I don’t know how much Annabel told you.”
“You know Annabel. She tends to talk so much that one survives by pretending to listen.”
This makes her laugh.
“I wrote a book and submitted it to publishers. When it got turned down, I just stopped. Like that was my one and only shot.”
“That surprises me.”
“It does?”
I look steadily at her. “You’ve stuck at the diaries no matter what’s been thrown at you. God knows I haven’t made it easy.”
She gives me a sideways look as if she’s not sure how to take the compliment.
“From what I gather from the creative industries, it’s a case of keeping going with the bit between your teeth until someone listens. I’d have thought you’d be quite good at that.”
“I think you’ve got a better opinion of me than I do of myself.”
I laugh. “I think that’s generally the case. Human nature, and all that. So, what’s changed?”
“In what way?”
“You’re writing again. Something new?”
“The second book in the series. Janey wanted to know what happened next.” She looks up at the sky as the bird of prey calls into the silence. “The thing is I kind of thought life was going to stop at thirty-four, because my mother died at that age. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’d be surprised.” I pick up a loose stone and turn it over in my hand.
“So now here I am, and there’s just me. My grandmother brought me up and she died three years ago. I felt a bit unmoored—” She laughs. “I can’t imagine you know how that feels, when you’re responsible for all of this.”
I huff out a laugh. If only she knew. I’m one diary entry away from all of this ship veering out of control with nobody willing to take the helm.
“So now you’re going to have another go with another publisher?”
She shrugs. “Right now, I’m having fun writing, and despite my agent’s best efforts to force me into a corner and write what the market wants, I’m going to see what happens.”
There’s a long moment of silence.
Eventually I push myself back to standing. “Come on. You should see the view from the top of the ridge while we’re here. You can see all the way down to the shoreline.”
We’re back by late afternoon. The house looks deceptively peaceful from the drive, but I know that inside the frenzy of preparation for the ball will be reaching a crescendo. One week to go before some sort of normality can reign, and I can get back on with the job in hand.
“So Finn won’t be here for the ball?”
It feels like it’s the only thing on everyone’s bloody mind. I pull up the Defender round the back of the house and take the keys out of the ignition, turning to look at her for a moment.
“It’s not really Finn’s thing. ”
She smirks. “I kind of got that impression.”
“‘I’d rather remove my eyeballs with rusty spoons’ was the exact phrase he used this morning, if you want that for the records.”
“Luckily, it’s your father’s diaries I’m writing, not yours. But you’d better remember to make a note of that quote for the history books.”
“I shall note that I feel pretty much the same way, only I don’t have the luxury of ducking out.” I spot Janey beckoning from the library window with an eager expression. No rest for the wicked.
“It’s a hell of a thing, carrying a legacy.” Edie eyes me for a moment.
I look away and don’t reply.
Despite the imminent ball and everything it entails I feel lighter than I have in weeks, and I know it’s because of Edie. She makes everything easier, somehow.
Janey’s at the door by the time we make it round to the front of the house.
“Hello, you two,” she says with the sort of smile I’ve come to know means trouble.
“Surprise!” says a bright, polished voice from over her shoulder. A moment later Janey steps back and I sense Edie stiffen by my side.
A whippet-thin brunette with expensively blow-dried hair is standing in the doorway as if she owns the place.
“I changed my flight,” she says brightly. “So, I treated myself to a taxi from the airport as you didn’t answer your phone.”
Edie’s lips part as if she’s about to speak but the brunette carries on.
“Couldn’t resist. I have been dying to see the place.” She steps forward and pushes her hand towards me. “Anna Rasmussen, Edie’s friend. You must be Rory. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I manage a polite smile which doesn’t reach my eyes. Edie shifts by my side and I step slightly in front of her. I’m shielding her without even meaning to.
“Gorgeous place. Very Highland Vogue.”
Edie tries to interject, her voice tight. “I thought you weren’t arriving until Friday.”
Anna shrugs with a practised casual charm. “Surprise! I’ve come to see how the other half lives.”
I can feel the weight of duty settling on my shoulders.
The part of me that wants to ask her what the hell she’s doing, and why Edie clearly feels so uncomfortable is suppressed by centuries of indoctrination.
You don’t interrogate guests in the entrance hall.
Not even ones who turn up uninvited and smirking.
So, I nod instead and hold out my hand. Crisp. Civil. My temper contained beneath years of breeding.
“I’ll have Janey show you to your room,” I say, already turning towards the study. “Please excuse me. I have a meeting to attend.”
Anna beams at Edie, who looks discomfited. “I can’t wait to catch up properly. You’ll have to tell me everything. ”
Edie doesn’t move. She’s standing fixed in the doorway, thrown off-centre in a way I’ve never seen before. Her mouth is still open, but she says nothing. The silence speaks volumes.
I walk away before I say something I might regret.
In my office, I close the door behind me, clicking the latch against unwanted interruptions. I rest my hands on the desk and take a breath, long and measured. And then I let it out, and with it comes the doubt.
Edie’s flatmate is standing in the entrance hall, charming and full of questions.
She’s an unknown quantity and one I didn’t invite into my house.
Edie looks like she’s been caught with her hand in the drawer of a locked desk.
She thinks the financial stuff is out in the open.
Nobody realises that I’m still sitting on a secret that could blow this place apart.
And if she finds the final entry and pieces it all together, she might walk away, and I wouldn’t blame her.