Chapter 31
By the time we wake up the next morning, after a night which is thankfully free of goings-on (unless we’re counting Zara’s surprisingly loud snoring), there’s a message on all of our phones from Sabrina, summoning us to a breakfast meeting in the orangery, and confirming that, after the chaos of yesterday, today’s theme is going to be back to business.
Literally, I mean.
‘Today’s theme is “Back to Business”,’ she’s written. ‘Last night’s plans might have been disrupted, but we can’t allow ourselves to be distracted from our mission to promote the Chrysalis. The competition has just one day left to run. Let’s all have our best content ready to upload.’
‘Today’s actual theme is “how the hell is anyone getting out of here anytime soon?”’ says Zara, pulling back the curtains to reveal a scene which is startlingly reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic movie.
The tree blocking the gates isn’t the only one to have been blown down in last night’s storm: the long driveway is littered with leaves and branches, plus what looks like quite a few of Ian’s baked potatoes.
As Zara said, it’s hard to see how anyone is going to get past the huge trunk that lies across the road, though, the sheer size of which I completely failed to appreciate while peering at it through the wind and rain.
In the cold light of day, however, I can see that Hunter wasn’t exaggerating when he said it would take him a while to clear it; and, until he does, the only way anyone’s going to be leaving the castle is on foot.
I quickly pop back to my own room to put on some clean clothes, then make my way to the orangery, which is filled with lush greenery and tasteful wicker furniture, giving it an almost tropical feel, in stark contrast to the grey skies that are visible through the window.
The rest of the influencers are already there, along with Sabrina and Luna, who are hunched together over a laptop.
Daniel is wearing a pair of sunglasses and wincing in pain every time a weak shaft of sunlight filters through the many windows.
Bex is in a soft cream jumper which looks like cashmere, and which I’d be totally coveting if it wasn’t for the large ketchup stain she hasn’t quite managed to remove from it.
It’s positioned right over her heart and makes her look like she’s been stabbed.
‘I can’t stay,’ says Dante, bursting importantly into the room.
‘I have a few dozen hungry guests to feed. Non-paying guests,’ he adds, glancing pointedly at me.
‘Then I need to figure out how we’re going to clear that tree and get them all back to the village, pronto.
So you’re going to have to deal with this contest on your own, Sabrina. Oh, Hunter, there you are – good.’
He addresses the last words to Hunter himself, who pushes the door open, looking rumpled and bleary – although still unreasonably gorgeous – as if he hasn’t slept at all.
Everyone except me stops what they’re doing to stare at him with open curiosity, all of them clearly struggling to recast him in their minds from handyman to heir.
I do my best to focus on the sugar cubes I’m busy dropping into my cup of tea, but, after a minute or so, I can’t resist a quick peek at him over the top of the steaming mug.
Hunter’s standing by a potted palm, talking to Dante, who keeps waving his hands at the devastation, as if he can’t quite believe it has the audacity to exist. He doesn’t look up, or in my direction. It’s as if I’m not even here at all.
Back to being invisible, I guess. Although the Laird certainly noticed me last night, didn’t he? Which reminds me . . .
‘Er, wait a minute, would you?’ I call out as the two men finish their conversation and head for the door. I get up and follow them, really wishing I could speak to Dante in private, but knowing there’s no way he’s going to agree to that; not with how much he still has to do today.
‘Dante, I, er, wanted to apologise,’ I begin, my entire body cringing with awkwardness as I feel everyone’s eyes on me.
‘For what I said yesterday. I got everything wrong—’ I allow myself a quick glance at Hunter here ‘—and I’m really sorry.
I shouldn’t have told everyone you were the Laird’s nephew.
I was just . . . well, I guess I was more freaked out by everything that’s been going on than I realised.
The ketchup attack felt like the last straw. ’
As apologies go, it’s not a great one, so I’m not surprised Dante looks uncomfortable rather than grateful for it.
‘Um, about that—’ he begins awkwardly, but, before he can go on, the orangery door opens and the Laird himself appears, Agnes hovering behind him with a tray of breakfast things.
‘Ah, Hunter, there you are,’ the Laird barks, waving his stick in the direction of his great-great-nephew once removed – or whatever Hunter’s relationship to him is. ‘Been looking for you everywhere. Damn place is overrun with people. I need you to send them back to wherever they came from.’
‘You know where they came from, Dougie,’ says Hunter patiently. ‘You invited them to stay here yourself. Or so Dante’s just been telling me.’
‘Yes, yes,’ says the old man impatiently, stopping next to the seat Daniel Foster is sitting in, and prodding him with his stick until Daniel takes the hint and reluctantly gets to his feet.
‘I said they could stay overnight,’ he goes on, taking the seat for himself.
‘It’s morning now, though. Time for them to go, I think.
And this one too,’ he adds, catching sight of me sitting opposite him, trying my best to sink into the cushions and out of sight.
‘I don’t know what she’s still doing here.
Didn’t I tell you to remove her last night, Dante? ’
‘I was just about to say—’ Dante begins, but Hunter cuts in.
‘What’s this?’ he asks, his eyes narrowing. ‘Why d’you want Rosie to leave, Dougie?’
He looks from the Laird to Dante, and then back again. The atmosphere is so tense that even Sabrina looks up from her laptop to see what’s going on.
‘So, it’s a funny story, really,’ Dante says, shuffling his feet on the tiled floor.
‘Remember a few weeks ago, when you’d gone down to Inverness for supplies, Hunter?
Well, the WanderNest rep called while you were gone.
They said they’d be sending a mystery guest. It’s like a mystery shopper, but, well, for hotels.
Anyway, they wanted to send someone to review the place as part of the process of deciding whether they wanted to make an offer. ’
He looks around at us all, as if to make sure we’re following this.
‘I don’t get it,’ says Millie, puzzled. ‘How’s that a funny story?’
‘I assumed it would be one of the influencers who were booked in to stay,’ goes on Dante, ignoring her.
‘So I googled you all, and I saw that Rosie Summers had just got a contract with WanderNest. Well, it was obvious it was her, wasn’t it?
It was obvious she was the mystery guest. And I, um .
. . I might have mentioned it to Lord Glenmuir. ’
‘There’s no “might” about it,’ the Laird says. ‘You most definitely did mention it; while you were bringing me my elevenses, it was. I remember it well. The toast was slightly burnt, as I recall.’
‘It was just a throwaway comment,’ says Dante desperately. ‘I didn’t think he’d remember it.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory,’ says the Laird, sniffing. ‘“It’s a girl called Rosie Summers,” you said. “She’s coming to review the hotel,” you said. “And if she gives us a good review, the deal’s as good as done,” you said.’
Dante stares rigidly at the floor and doesn’t bother to reply.
‘But Rosie Summers didn’t turn up,’ I say, the pieces falling into place at last as I turn to face Lord Glenmuir.
‘I came instead. And I guess you thought if you made my stay as difficult as possible, I’d report back to WanderNest that the hotel was awful, and they wouldn’t buy it.
That’s it, isn’t it? That was the plan. I guess you didn’t realise I was . . . well, the wrong Rosie.’
‘And a jolly good plan it was too,’ says the Laird staunchly. ‘Get rid of this Rosie person; save the hotel from the invading forces. Just like the war.’
‘And you didn’t think to mention any of this to me?’ Hunter asks Dante, his expression fierce. ‘You didn’t think a mystery guest was something I might want to know about?’
Dante shuffles his feet miserably.
‘I wanted to handle it myself,’ he admits, raising his chin defiantly.
‘My family’s been running this castle for generations, Hunter.
It means as much to me as it does to you.
And I would’ve told you about the mystery guest, but, of course, Rosie Summers was replaced with Rosie Winter.
And I knew Rosie Winter wasn’t likely to be the mystery guest, so—’
‘Why not?’ I blurt out. ‘I could be a mystery guest. Any one of us could be.’
‘I couldn’t,’ says Millie, blonde hair flying as she shakes her head. ‘I’m a terrible liar. And you probably couldn’t either, Rosie; you only have about two thousand followers, don’t you?’
Dante nods, confirming that this was, indeed, the reason he didn’t suspect me of being this mystery guest. I actually have 4,912 followers now, having gained some more thanks to Luna’s photos of me on the beach, but I don’t bother mentioning it; there doesn’t seem to be much point.
‘But what about me?’ wails Bex, who still looks like she’s been involved in something unspeakable, thanks to the ketchup stain on her chest. ‘What did I do to deserve my clothes being ruined?’