Chapter Seven
Some of her pleasure had faded away with the realities of the cook’s questions. As she had left, she’d asked Moira to ask all the staff to gather at nine the following morning in the kitchen. She didn’t know if she had anything to say that they wanted to hear, but at least she could introduce herself and if they had something to say to her, they could say it to her face. She didn’t imagine there were many job opportunities around here, and a new broom might indicate redundancies.
Back home, it was easy to grab a second shift somewhere. There was always a hotel that needed its loos cleaned, a pub that needed the floors hoovered, kitchens that needed someone to scrub the dishes. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t career progression, but it did pay the bills. What the hell would you do up here?
As she turned off the main road, she drove down the long drive until the castle came into view. She stopped the car and had a proper look at it in the daylight. So far, she had only seen it when she arrived last night and this morning when she had driven off in a rage. Now she could take it in properly and it was like something out of a film.
In the first place it was huge. It dwarfed Hiverton Manor. The solicitor had included a detailed pack about the castle including an old photograph from a Country Life feature, but nothing quite prepared you for the overwhelming scale. There was a central block that looked like an ancient high rise: it seemed to be five storeys high, with only a few meagre windows and was then topped off with castellations and a few smaller turrets on each corner. They looked like party hats on a really aggressive bouncer. To the right of the block, later owners had added a prettier extension. By Clem’s reckoning, the extension was early Victorian. Three storeys high, it still had turrets but the proportion of the building was longer, the windows were larger and it was altogether more pleasing on the eye. Combined with the intimidating tower, the two parts of the building were at the same time welcoming and threatening. She nodded to herself; she liked a building with teeth.
A wall ran from either end of the building enclosing a large courtyard area in front of the castle, and Clem now drove through a second set of gates and parked in the courtyard. Built into the wall were various outbuildings but she decided to explore them later. Leaving them behind her, she hauled the rest of her luggage out of the car and into the hallway. Kicking off her shoes, her stockinged feet protested at the cold stone floor, but there was nothing else for it if she didn’t want to mark the floorboards. However, after three freezing steps she dashed back to the entrance and slipped her feet back into her shoes. She’d just walk on tiptoes until she could work out how to switch the heating on.
She headed back into the room she had slept in last night and, sure enough, her overnight bag still sat beside the sofa. Keeping her coat on, she rummaged around in her bag until she found what she was looking for: the property description.
Ruacoddy Castle.
Ballroom, six reception rooms, ten principal bedrooms. Eighty hectares. Railway station, line defunct. Fishing lodge. Various cottages…
The list ran on.
She rummaged through the paperwork but realised it didn’t contain a floor plan. Digging out a pencil and a drawing pad, she decided that was where she would start. She would draw a floor plan of the property and also try and marry up the insurance inventory list. Not that she would recognise a seventeenth century vase from an eighteenth century one.
Happy that she had a plan of attack, she decided to start with the boot room; a room just for her boots sounded positively civilised. However, the very first thing she was going to do was find somewhere to sleep. Dragging one of her suitcases behind her, she lumped it up the main staircase and then turned right along a wide corridor, pulling her suitcase along. She tried the first door and was relieved to find it was indeed a bedroom.
The room was the largest bedroom she had ever been in. All around the room were large pieces of furniture covered in sheets, but happily against one wall there was a large four poster bed made up and uncovered. On the opposite wall was a door and, opening it, Clem was delighted to see an opulent bathroom with a freestanding copper bath and views over some walled gardens and the mountains beyond. She returned to the bedroom and jumped on the bed. Thankfully, it had managed to avoid becoming dusty, and Clem looked around smiling. This room was fit for a laird. Or a lady. Laughing to herself, she headed back downstairs and lugged the rest of her suitcases upstairs.
As she wandered along the corridor, she open the doors to three more bedrooms. In each room the bed itself was also draped with dustsheets. With a dawning horror Clem realised that Miss Farano must have prepared that bedroom for her, stripping it down and putting fresh sheets. Now she was going to have to say thank you. Even the idea of it stuck in her throat; maybe instead of thanking her she would simply not fire her? She still hadn’t forgiven her for the sneery tone she had used to describe Clem’s mother.
She was about to continue exploring, when her stomach let out a tremendous gurgle and, checking her watch, she was astonished to see it was already three. Today she had had the sum total of two biscuits. A change of plan: the boot room could wait, her tummy couldn’t. The kitchen it was.
She was aware she was still in her large, black puffer jacket and high heels but the castle was freezing; after some food she would turn the heating on. Clem threw up a quick prayer to all the gods that she didn’t believe in that there had better be some central heating. The kitchen was where she had left it, and she pottered about making herself another coffee and finding something to eat. The cupboards were mostly bare but there were a few eggs on the side. Cracking them into a bowl, she whisked them up and then went in a fruitless search for salt, pepper and butter. She swore reflexively and decided she’d just make a very plain omelette, or scrambled eggs if it stuck to the pan. Which it almost certainly was going to do. Her stomach rumbled again in anticipation, and she put a pan on to heat up, and waited. And waited. After a few minutes, it became evident that waiting was not going to work. The ring was stone cold. She tried the others and then the oven itself. The entire lump of metal stood cold and useless, not so much as a light twinkled. Clem let out a sigh of relief: not broken just switched off at the wall. Leaning across the countertop, she flicked the large red switch and all the lights in the room went out.
She quickly flicked it back up again but remained in the gloom. She headed back to the door and flicked the light switches, still nothing happened. Although her stomach did rumble again. Returning to the cooker, she flicked the red switch again. Maybe it had a dodgy connection.
‘What on earth have you done?’
Clem spun round guiltily to see Miss Farano standing in the doorway scowling at her.
‘The cooker seems to have a dodgy connection. I think it’s just the lights though.’
‘It’s the entire castle.’
‘What?’
‘I was just listening to some music when the lights went out and silence descended. I thought to myself, surely she has not just tripped the entire castle. But there you are with your hand on the switch.’
‘Well how the hell was I supposed to know?’ said Clem. ‘Wouldn’t it have been a good idea to put a sign on the switch, or better yet, I don’t know, fix the bloody thing permanently?’
‘That repair apparently requires the entire castle to be rewired. The last quote came in at close to six figures and that was five years ago. Lord Hiverton didn’t consider that necessary. I suspect he was getting ready to put the castle on the market and didn’t want to waste any more money, having just upgraded the plumbing.’
‘Well how the hell do you cook?’ asked Clem.
‘I have a small stove in my apartment.’
It killed Clem to ask but she was starving. ‘May I use that?’
‘It’s an electric stove, so no, I don’t think that would be of much use right now.’
Clem was certain that the older woman was smirking at her. Her expression hadn’t changed an inch but Clem knew she was being mocked.
‘Right. This is ridiculous. Who do we call?’
‘What?’
‘The nearest electrician; who do we call to fix this?’
‘There’s a firm in Inverkeshen, but no one will come out today. It’s already almost four.’
‘Behave! Hold on, let me fix this.’
After a few phone calls, it seemed clear that all the electricians appeared to hang around coffee shops and neither were anywhere nearby.
Otto had stood and watched her the whole time. Her lips pursed, making Clem increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually she gave up and looked at Otto.
‘Well, what do we do now?’
‘We wait until tomorrow when I will call the regular electrician to fix it.’
‘And in the meantime?’
Otto pulled open a drawer and handed Clem a torch.
‘In the meantime, you’ll need this. I think it’s probably safer than a candle for you?’
Clem looked at her incredulously, letting the slur pass. She threw her arms wide, ready to let Otto know exactly what she thought of that suggestion, when the sleeve of her coat caught the mixing bowl, and whilst both women lurched to try and grab it, it smashed onto the stone flagstones and smashed. Shards of pottery and egg yolk covered the floor.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’
It was the first time that Clem had heard the older woman sound actually angry rather than exasperated or disdainful. She looked at the floor and felt bad.
‘I’m sorry about that. I will of course replace it.’
‘What?’ snapped Otto. ‘It’s your bowl, you stupid girl. Do what you like with it. But I suggest you clean up that mess before it goes hard. We don’t have cleaners here to run after you.’
Any further apology died on Clem’s lips. What a cow. In the morning, she was definitely going to fire her. In the meantime, she still needed her.
‘Can you at least tell me how to switch the heating on?’
Otto looked at Clem with a raised eyebrow. ‘The boiler is in the utility room, but it won’t do you any good.’
‘Oh is that broken too, like the cooker?’ snarled Clem, utterly fed up with Otto’s attitude.
‘No, but the starter switch runs on electricity. Good afternoon.’
And with that she walked out of the kitchen and back to whichever rafter she hung from.
Clem stared after her and then realised that her coffee had gone cold; the kettle was now simply a decorative piece of metalware and she had just trodden in the egg. She was about to get a cloth, but remembering Otto’s order, she decided to stick two fingers up at the old woman. She would leave it there and do it in the morning. So what if it went hard? It was her kitchen. She could do what she liked.