Chapter Two
The light from a car’s headlamp swung across the walls of the old woman’s bedroom, waking her from a light sleep. After a few seconds, she heard the gravel crunching as a car drove up to the castle and then the slam of a door. For a moment there was silence and then Ottoline heard someone swear. She lay in her bed wondering what to do. At seventy, she didn’t feel like challenging burglars in her nightclothes. But then again burglars didn’t tend to signal their arrival or swear. At least not so loudly. There was probably only one person this could be. The new heir. Ottoline lay in bed and thought about her apartment; even in the dark she knew every painting on the walls, every piece of furniture, every rug and vase. So many memories all perfectly gathered around her. She’d be blowed if she were going to lose them without a fight. Sighing deeply, she dragged her legs out of bed and turned on the light. Walking over to her wardrobe, she decided which outfit to put on to greet the new owner. In the end, she went for speed over impact and selected a black wool dress, some court shoes, a pair of clip-on earrings and a simple pearl necklace. She tied her white shoulder-length hair up into a chignon, and looking in the mirror realised that she needed to add a touch of make-up as well. Who knew better than her that an old canvas needed a greater level of care? Applying some foundation, lipstick and mascara she looked in the mirror and was pleased with the effect. Elegant, calm, welcoming.
Well, probably not welcoming but then that was not a skill that she had any success with. If she was honest, she never saw the point. Do the job you’re employed to do. Get on with it and don’t whine about it. She had watched, flabbergasted, when girls with nothing between their ears but a pretty smile and beseeching eyes would sail to the front of the queue to get the best jobs, snaffle the richest men. What would they do when their looks faded and their waistlines got fat? She had been grateful that her skill set had meant that she was always in demand. People came to her and she picked and chose as she felt. In her world, she was feared and admired and no one ever thought to question her or worse, dismiss her.
Passing through her sitting room, she headed onto the landing. She had chosen this suite as it was large, close to the attic rooms, and away from the rest of the castle. It did, however, mean three flights of stairs. When she was younger, she had told herself that it would be good for her health and fitness levels. Now she was seventy and she wanted to tell the thirty-year-old self to put a sock in it. What thirty-year-old understood how slowly limbs moved, how simply getting out of bed was a long and uncomfortable process? That you had to uncurl the spine and straighten the limbs. What had once been done with a spring and a hop was now sore and sluggish. And painful. Who knew that waking up could be painful?
As she reached the first staircase, Abdul wrapped himself around her legs, his tail weaving in and out. Hissing at the cat, she pushed him out of her way. Fine thing if she announced her presence by falling down the stairs and breaking her neck. It didn’t matter how frequently she locked the cat out, he always found a way back into the castle, demanding food and company. After two years of his persistence, she’d named him Abdul as a joke on a previous Abdul. She wondered at the time if he would be honoured or insulted. Now she wondered if he was even still alive. She was old and tired, and the adventures of her youth seemed like a story someone had once told her.
Holding onto the banister tightly, she switched on the lights as she got to the next landing. The cat had disappeared, so had clearly given up on his plans to trip her up.
There was no noise from downstairs, but she could see the door into the drawing room was open, so she made her way down and entered the room. At first she thought there was no one there, but then she saw a figure sleeping on the sofa. Otto was dismayed to discover just how long it had taken her to get ready and then come downstairs. Long enough for the new arrival to come inside, settle down and fall asleep. She looked down at the stranger.
She was a small woman, maybe a teenager, with a shock of long, red, wavy hair around a small, pale face. Otto had never thought of the Hiverton family having any Scottish blood but this girl would blend in like a native. To the side of the sofa was a suitcase and a pair of ridiculously high heels. Otto hoped she’d had the common sense to remove them before she walked across the polished floorboards.
Annoyed that she had got dressed for nothing, she had a good mind to poke the girl awake. Common sense prevailed, though, as she pulled a throw from one of the armchairs and laid it over the girl. She switched the light off and gently closed the door behind her and began her slow climb back up to bed and a poor night’s sleep.