Chapter 12
12
C ally stepped into the front entrance, slipped her shoes off on the mat, and popped them in a panelled closet-cum-boot area directly to her right. Walking over the hallway, she pushed the door open to a sitting room and didn’t quite know where to look first. She did know she wanted to hibernate under a tartan rug with a book and not come up for air for a very, very, very long time. Maybe for her whole life. A rich, earthy scent of wood and smoke mingled with beeswax, lavender, polish, and pine circled her. The smell seemed to whisper history and care and made her feel instantly at home. Come to Mumma. A beautiful old fireplace with an ornate wooden mantelpiece intricately carved with Scottish motifs dominated the far wall. A slightly wonky model sailboat with delicate fabric sails sat on top next to a carving of a deer’s head. Beautiful old navy-blue tartan wallpaper lined the walls on either side of the fireplace and framed sketches of local scenes were dotted all over the place. A little Tiffany lamp to the left of the mantelpiece glowed, an ancient, slightly drunk-looking chandelier hung from the ceiling, and somewhat worn velvet cushions appeared to have been plonked on top of anything and everything that didn’t move. Cally was in decorating and for that matter, life, heaven.
Moving further into the room, she stepped over a beautiful old rug and stood for a minute, taking in all the bits and bobs on the shelves beside the fireplace. Neatly stacked piles of leather-bound books, an old clock ticking away to itself, a variety of glass cloches displaying finds, an old bamboo birdcage, and depression-era glass scattered here and there. Overstuffed leather armchairs were perched on either side of the fireplace, and a deep peacock blue, slightly faded velvet sofa adorned with muted colour cushions beckoned for guests to sit and relax. She looked around with her chin dropped and counted five neatly folded tartan rugs in various blues and reds on the backs of chairs. The room spoke of heritage, Scotland, and comfiness all at the same time.
'Oh, my,' she whispered to herself. ‘I could get used to this.’
She ran her fingers along the mantelpiece and looked up at an imposing stag portrait hanging above. Its antlers reached towards the ceiling, and she wondered who had painted it. Oh, to be able to paint.
Logan came in and stood beside her. ‘All good? What do you think? Do you think you’ll be okay here? I thought you’d prefer it to being at the house.’
‘Will I be okay? Oh, wait, I’ll just think about that. I love it, duh.’
Logan looked relieved. ‘I thought you might like it.’
Cally turned, plonked herself down, and sank into one of the overstuffed armchairs. 'It’s so cosy and, I don’t know, rich and warm at the same time. Like being wrapped in a hug or something. It’s just so… what is the word? Comfy. Quiet too.’ She pointed to the bookshelves lining the walls, the stacks of magazines, and neat rows of old encyclopaedias. 'I could just stay right here all weekend and read. I don’t even need to go out.’
Logan nodded. ‘I think some of those have been in the family for generations.’
‘I bet.’
Logan moved towards the door. 'Tea? I'll put the kettle on.'
‘I’d love one. I need a cup of tea after that long journey. I don’t want to move from this chair, though. It’s so cosy in here.'
As Logan disappeared into the kitchen, Cally took in every inch around her – the gorgeous tartan wallpaper, the little details here and there, and the lovely throws neatly folded on the backs of the chairs. The sound, or lack thereof of the place, as if somehow the room was insulated from the real world. The old clock on the mantelpiece ticked away to itself, about the only sound she could hear.
A few minutes later, Logan returned with a tray with two mugs, a steaming teapot, and a plate piled with what looked like homemade shortbread. He popped the tray down on the coffee table, and Cally leant forward and raised her eyebrows. ‘Just what I need.’
'A proper Scottish welcome for you.'
Cally inhaled the buttery scent of the shortbread. Her mouth watered. 'Ooh, I love shortbread. Homemade?’
Logan poured the tea. 'Mrs MacPherson, the housekeeper, made it according to the note out there. It's her speciality – an old family recipe, apparently.'
Cally took a sip of tea. 'Ahh. Tea, shortbread, and feet up. We’ll just stay put here for the whole weekend, eh? You can serve me shortbread for breakfast, lunch and dinner.’
Logan eyerolled. ‘No such luck. We have the family dinner tomorrow night and various other things to go to. A family trip to the pub is always on the cards. What else do you fancy doing?’
'Ha, not much. I could sit right here and do nothing but stuff my face with shortbread, get cosy under a tartan rug and read all day long.’
‘Works for me.’
‘Joking. I'd love to explore. It looks absolutely stunning out there. What’s the weather forecast for tomorrow?’
‘Good, I think. We could pack a picnic and make a day of it if you like.’
‘I don’t mind, really. Up to you.' Cally smiled, reached for a piece of shortbread, took a bite and widened her eyes in surprise. 'Oh my goodness, this is amazing. I might need Mrs MacPherson's recipe before we leave.'
Logan laughed. 'Good luck with that. Her recipes are guarded as if they’re state secrets.’
Cally sat back in the chair and sipped her tea. ‘So, what sort of wildlife might we see?’
'There are deer in the hills, and as I said, if we're lucky, we might see some eagles. They nest in the crags up there. Otters, red squirrels in the woods.'
'It all sounds so magical. It’s much better than I thought it was going to be. You really undersold this “cottage” as you call it. Logan, it’s just so nice.'
Logan took another piece of shortbread. 'I was a bit worried you might find it all a bit, well, remote and boring. It's quite different from Lovely Bay.'
Cally shook her head emphatically. 'It's like stepping into another world. A quieter, wilder world.'
‘You wait until we go walking.’
‘It feels restorative already, or am I just imagining it? Do I sound odd? It’s just much, much better than I thought it was going to be.'
Logan nodded. ‘Yup. That's why I love coming up here.’
Cally tucked her feet under her, leant forward, and took another slice of shortbread. ‘Hello to a weekend of relaxing. No work and no blasted chatbot customers. Hooray.’
'There is one thing we should probably discuss, though. The family dinner tomorrow night.'
‘What should I expect?'
‘It's a bit of a tradition when any of us come up to the estate. Nothing too fancy, but put it this way – there won't be any chowder.’
‘Right. Who will be there that I don’t know?’
‘My cousin James and his wife Sarah will be there. They might bring their kids. Let's see, who else? Ah, Aunt Agatha will probably be there. Just nod and smile, and you'll be fine. I’m not sure who else but there’ll be quite a few of us.
‘Right.'
'It's usually just family when we're up here. Though fair warning – Aunt Agatha will go on about her stamp collection. It's her pride and joy.’
'Noted.'
‘And then of course we have the delightful Alastair. Mum, Cecilia, and Reg.’
‘Is Alastair bringing Octavia?'
Logan nodded. ‘Yep. They're practically inseparable these days. It’s all happened quickly.'
‘It has.’
Logan took a sip of his tea. ‘Alastair's already talking about rings.'
Cally nearly choked on her shortbread. 'Rings? As in engagement rings? But they've only been dating for a while.’
‘You know Alastair. When he sets his mind on something, he doesn't hang about. I guess he’s no spring chicken these days. Doesn’t want to hang around getting shrivelled is what he said.'
Cally shook her head in disbelief. 'Wow. That's quite something. And Octavia? How does she feel about all this?'
Logan shrugged. 'From what I can tell, she's just as keen. They seem to be very much on the same page. Remember when I had dinner with them the other week when you were feeling poorly? He mentioned it then. Sorry, I completely forgot to tell you.'
Cally sat back, processing this information. She'd met Alastair’s partner Octavia a few times at various events in London and at the manor, and while she'd found her pleasant enough, she hadn’t warmed to her much. 'Octavia's from quite an old family, isn't she?' Cally asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
Logan nodded. 'The Fitzwilliams. They've got estates all over England. Octavia's father is an Earl.'
Cally felt the familiar flutter of insecurity in her stomach. 'Right. Of course. Because everyone has an Earl for a father.'
Logan raised his eyebrows. ‘Ouch.’
Cally sighed. ‘Sorry. I forget how different your world is from mine. Earls and estates and whirlwind romances. Honestly, it really is very different. I’m still getting used to it…'
'We’ve had this conversation. Don’t even go there. Your world, my world – whatever.’
Cally internally rolled her eyes. It was alright for him to say that. 'I know. I don’t want to go down that road again, but yeah…’
'I get it.’
Cally nodded. You really don’t , she said in her head.
Logan continued. ‘I'm pretty sure Octavia feels the same way sometimes. She might come from an old family, but she's still finding her feet, just like you.'
'Really? She always seems so composed and...' Cally wanted to add “full of herself” but didn’t. There wasn’t any point. She’d keep Octavia at arm’s length and leave it at that. She searched for a word. ‘Calm.’
Logan chuckled. 'I reckon it's all an act. The story goes that she’s been head over heels for Alastair for years and now she’s got her chance. She hates the stuffiness of her upbringing, apparently. I think that's part of why she and Alastair get on so well. I think he enjoys shocking the Fitzwilliams with his casual approach to, well, everything.'
Cally raised an eyebrow. 'And Octavia's okay with that?'
‘From what Alastair's told me, he's giving her permission to be herself, in a way.'
Cally nodded slowly. ‘Right.’
‘So don't worry too much about Octavia being some sort of aristocratic ice queen. Maybe you can form a secret society for partners trying to navigate the madness of the Henry-Hicks family gatherings.'
Cally laughed. There was no way she was going to be even thinking about doing something like that. Maybe at some point she’d be friends with Octavia but really she couldn’t see it. She’d keep her distance, be civil and friendly but not get too close. ‘Ha. Yeah.’
‘So, that’s it really. The dinner is the least interesting bit of this weekend, but it is what it is. Has to be done.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Cally answered as she leant forward and helped herself to more shortbread. She hoped the dinner would be fine, but mostly, she was just happy that these days she was actually not absolutely terrified of the social gatherings of those with the surname Henry-Hicks. She was sure that she could survive a formal dinner. Couldn’t she?