Chapter 10
Was this a good time?
Bex stood in her doorway, utterly silent. The truthful answer she wanted to give was that, no, this wasn’t a good time. She was shattered, hungover, and had just promised herself an afternoon lying on the sofa watching trash on the TV. Something she hadn’t done for weeks, if not longer.
And yet, she knew that wasn’t the response she could give.
With a slight inhale, she glanced past the pair to confirm what she’d already suspected: there was no extra car on the driveway, meaning they had walked here from the village.
Which wasn’t a short walk, and not one they were likely to want to do immediately if she turned them away. Not now they knew she was in.
‘Lady Duffy?’ The woman spoke again, breaking Bex’s stream of thoughts.
‘Sorry,’ she replied, blinking herself back into the moment. ‘Yes. It’s fine – although I’m not Lady Duffy. Not yet.’
She was reminded of her conversation with Claire only that morning. Clearly, her friend had been right – the title would need some getting used to. At that moment, it felt utterly alien to her.
‘I realise that.’ The woman smiled. ‘But you will be. And “Miss Barker…”’ She visibly shuddered as she said Bex’s actual name. ‘It’s a wee bit informal for the laird, don’t you think?’
Bex was certain that the woman hadn’t turned up merely to tell Bex about her own name, but it was still a matter she wished to put straight.
‘Duncan’s the laird, not me,’ Bex said, only for the woman to frown.
‘No, dear. This’ll be yours too. When you get married, this’ll be your land too, you’re the laird; that’s the way it goes.’
As if the pressure Bex had been feeling wasn’t already enough, her stomach did a full somersault.
‘Oh,’ she replied, feeling like that was something she should have known. Having a title like Lady was daunting enough, but being a laird. ‘Well. We’re not married yet, so my first name is just fine. Bex. Or Rebecca if you’d rather.’
The woman’s smile tightened nervously. ‘Oh, I don’t think I could… Miss Barker,’ she said.
Bex felt her jaw tighten. Her hangover was definitely back. It had to be. Otherwise this little old woman was the cause of her headache, and that just didn’t feel like a nice thing to consider. ‘I’m sorry, can I help you with something? You said there was something you wanted to discuss?’
‘Ach, yes. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know when the right time to call would be. You work so very hard, dinnae want to disturb you during the week, and then, well, Sunday’s Sunday, so that’s out, and I thought that perhaps if you were—’
‘Sorry,’ Bex cut in, needing to get to the point. ‘Could you just explain why you’re here? Who you are?’
‘Sorry. Aye.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I’m Marjorie, and this here’s Donald. And we’re this year’s chairs for the summer gala.’
‘Right.’ Bex kept her groan internal. Of course it was to do with the summer gala.
Everything was to do with the gala. Never had she thought she’d be a person who looked forward to the colder months, but if this was what it was like every year, then there was a good chance it’d end up going that way.
‘Now, I know you’ve spoken to some of the folk who’ve asked you to judge, and we’re e’er so grateful, but we were just hoping to talk through some of the logistics of the day with you. Or the laird. Whoever is available.’
‘Well, Duncan’s out at the minute…’ Bex said, thinking through her next reply.
Duncan was out. She could use it as her excuse to get out of this conversation.
Tell them they needed to come back when he was home.
But that didn’t seem fair. He had enough to deal with, and she was sure that, whatever it was, she was perfectly capable of handling it.
‘But I’m free for the next half an hour. ’
Putting a time limit on the conversation felt like a good idea, even if she didn’t have anything for afterwards. It meant she wouldn’t feel bad about telling them she had to draw the conversation to a close.
‘You’re sure?’ Marjorie checked. Her partner, Donald, was still silent at her side. ‘We dinnae want to intrude.’
Bex smiled. There was nothing else she could do in the situation, not without coming across as miserable. And so she stepped back into the hall.
‘Of course not. Come on in.’ She gestured to the doorway. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on.’
‘Inside? We don’t want to trouble you—’
‘No trouble.’
As Bex walked into the house, the woman stopped and let out a gasp.
‘Ach, the pup! She’s got so big.’ Rather than continuing through the house, she crouched down to stroke the dogs. ‘Such a gorgeous lass. My nephew, he’s got one of the pups too. One of your Ruby’s. He’s a stunner. Most well-behaved dog he’s ever had.’
‘Is that right?’ Bex shot Rosie a look just as the dog’s jaw locked around the woman’s bracelet. As the two made eye contact, Rosie slunk back guiltily. ‘Maybe I should’ve picked that one instead,’ Bex muttered.
‘What was that, love?’ Marjorie asked, straightening up.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Bex replied. ‘Come into the drawing room.’
‘Of course. Come on, Donald.’ Marjorie ushered the silent man forward. ‘You heard what the laird said. The drawing room.’
Bex gritted her teeth. The old woman didn’t mean anything by the moniker. If anything, she should have been flattered by it.
She swallowed down the annoyance and pointed to the sofa. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll just fetch us a pot of tea.’
‘We really don’t want to put you out.’
‘It’s fine,’ Bex replied. ‘I need the caffeine.’
The woman didn’t object again.
One of the impracticalities of having such a big house was that the nearest kettle was a two-minute walk away, which was fine when Bex was prepared for visitors, like Amanda, and could put a pot on ready.
But with drop-in guests, it was far more of a pain.
Although Bex wasn’t sure how she’d rectify it without putting a kettle in the drawing room, which felt a little…
lazy. Still, it didn’t take long before she’d set up the pot and was seated with her two unexpected guests.
‘So, you said you wanted to talk about the logistics of the gala?’ she said. ‘What exactly does that mean?’
For the first time, Marjorie didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked to Donald.
‘It’s the marquee,’ he said.
Bex waited for more to come. What logistical complications were involved with a marquee, for instance? But it turned out that Donald really was a man of very few words. And as the silence began to take hold, Marjorie stepped in again.
‘Yes, yes. Like Donald said, we’ll be needing to put up the marquee in the next week or so. We like to put it up a few days before the gala itself. Gives us a chance to sort the lay of the land, where the tables will go, the podium and the like.’
There was a podium? Wow. Just when she thought the event couldn’t get more insane, they dropped another bombshell.
‘I can’t see any problem with it being up for however long you need it up,’ Bex replied.
‘Well, that’s grand, then.’ Marjorie’s smile widened for a heartbeat before she continued. ‘Then we need to check where it’d go.’
‘Right… well, where does it normally go?’ Sure, it wasn’t a question Duncan would’ve had to ask, but it didn’t feel like a particularly difficult one.
Not with the chairs of the gala sitting right in front of her.
And yet, rather than responding, Marjorie exchanged a brief look with Donald, although his face gave away as little as his words.
‘Well, that’s the thing, you see,’ she said. ‘Back when I was wee, it was always held down by the loch. On the paddock? The flat field, with the large oak. I’m sure you know the one?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Bex nodded. Although in truth, there were a lot of fields with oak trees on their land.
‘Well, since Winny died, the old laird, bless his soul, hadn’t wanted folk travelling up and down the land so much.
Not the whole village. So, we moved it closer to the castle.
Which has been perfectly grand. But we were wondering…
if it would be all right with you… if we were to put it back down by the loch.
Like it used to be.’ The woman’s wide eyes pleaded with her.
This was more than a casual request. ‘It would mean ever such a lot to some of us old ones. Who remember how it used to be.’
A pang of nostalgia struck behind Bex’s ribs. She may not have been from LochDarroch, but she knew it was traditions like this, and people who valued them, that made the place so special. And if she could do something to help maintain that, then why on earth would she say no?
‘I can’t see that being a problem,’ she said.
The old woman’s eyes lit up as she grasped Donald’s knee.
‘Are you sure? It’s a wee bit more work. We have to take the marquee down on a truck, but we’d use the lane behind here, you know the one. But as long as there’s nothing blocking the way, it shouldn’t be any trouble at all.’
‘It’s fine,’ Bex replied. ‘Honestly.’
The woman looked like she was about to burst. Although as she opened her mouth to speak, a sudden look of worry crossed her face.
‘Are you sure the laird won’t mind?’ she said. ‘I know how it is with the pair of you – equal partnerships and all that – but still, I don’t want to go doing anything that’d upset him.’
‘I’m sure the laird will be fine with it.’
‘And if he won’t, you’ll let me know. Here—’ She was on her feet, pulling a notepaper out of her bag.
‘Let me give you my number. If there’s any problem with it, any at all, then you let me know.
Otherwise, we’ll be bringing it down in a week or so.
Oh, and don’t worry about the judging. We’ve simplified the whole thing. ’
‘You have?’ Bex’s heart leapt. Had the chairs decided to take it on themselves? That made much more sense.
‘Aye,’ Marjorie replied. ‘You dinnae need to worry about which categories you’re down for. We’re just gonna have you do them all.’
‘I… What?’
Bex felt her jaw go slack.
‘That’ll nae be a problem, will it?’ the old woman said, a flash of terror on her face. ‘I thought it would be easier. And you won’t be alone. We’ve got another judge. Another special guest.’
‘Right…’ Bex said, wondering if summer galas had ever been the source of heart arrhythmias before. ‘Another judge. With me. Judging everything.’
‘If that’s okay. If it’s not, well, I’ll think of something… You can just do the categories you agreed and maybe we’ll… maybe I’ll—’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Bex replied. If the heart arrhythmias were a real issue, then it was even more of a concern for a woman of Marjorie’s age. ‘Of course. It’s absolutely fine. Yes, no problem.’
‘Thank you so much. For everything. The village is very happy to have you here, you know. You and the laird are going to do great things. I can feel it. We all can.’
She moved as if to hug Bex, only to hesitate and change her mind.
‘Thank you,’ she said once again and stretching out her hand instead. ‘Do you hear that, Donald? It’s going to be just like it was in the old days.’
‘Well, that’s grand,’ Donald replied.
While Marjorie and semi-silent Donald were quickly on their feet, it took far longer than expected to get them out of the door.
There were the multiple thank-yous, the attention once again lavished on the dogs, but also the wistful sentimentality that rushed from Marjorie at everything she looked at, from the pictures hung on the walls, to the grandfather clock, to engravings on the stone pillars beside the door.
It was truly heart-warming to see someone respond to their home in such a manner, particularly after Amanda’s comments about disrepair. Bex only wished they could have picked another time to do it.
Only when she waved them off did Bex realise the meeting had lasted far, far longer than thirty minutes.
Where the day had gone was a mystery. Saturdays were meant to be a day to rest and recuperate, but Duncan was still off somewhere, and her day had consisted of hangover, meeting, hangover, meeting.
If anyone else came to the door, they would have to wait until Monday, she decided, heading back into the kitchen to find the remainder of her bacon sandwich limp and cold on the side.
After fixing herself another slice of toast and messaging Duncan – just to check he was okay – Bex finally curled up on the sofa, only for the thought of the Pinterest board to re-enter her mind.
Roddy’s comment earlier had struck a chord.
There were a lot of things that needed to be considered, but was now, in her hungover state, really the best time to do it?
At some point, she would absolutely get started on the wedding planning tasks she’d been set by Amanda, but at that moment she just didn’t have it in her.
‘It’s fine,’ she said aloud to herself, and maybe also to the dogs. ‘I’m not seeing Amanda for days. That’s plenty of time to get it done.’