Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Thursday morning delivered a layer of frost that any baker would have been proud of.
After having popped to the shops on Wednesday afternoon, I was now in possession of a fluffy hot water bottle and my compact kitchenette was stocked with everything from salad and pasta to stir-fry ingredients, a roast chicken and a rainbow of vegetables.
I also splashed out on two bottles of my favourite white wine for emergencies, as well as a couple of delicious, steamed puddings and custard to ward off the chill.
I also treated myself and bought a few modest knick-knacks from the local craft shop, Being Crafty, to make the annexe feel more like home.
With my salary and the generous bonus Mr Hanson had kindly paid me, I bought two small, cheap rugs in contrasting shades of sea-blue for the sitting room, some scented candles in vanilla and coconut, and a string of off-white fairy lights to thread above the small bedroom mirror.
They were modest touches, but at least the annexe felt cosier and more comfortable now. And until the cottages were making a profit or I could sell more of my artwork, I would have to be careful with my finances.
Katie and Caleb had offered to come up after breakfast and give me a hand clearing out the cottages, in preparation for Joe beginning the decorating on Monday morning.
Last night, I had brainstormed the colours, tones and wild bird names for each cottage, which was more enjoyable than I expected.
I was surprised by how much fun I was having, throwing myself into creating White Willow Cottages.
Spending all my time, and the money Mum and Dad had ringfenced, on recharging the family business was the distraction I never knew I needed.
My Highwayman portrait was beside my bed, waiting for my return to it, but right now, the cottages were demanding all my concentration.
After my shower and breakfast, I pulled my hair up into a tight topknot and threw on a pair of old leggings and a slouchy grey jumper, together with a fluffy cream gilet. I’d only been sweeping the front step of the first cottage for a matter of moments, when I heard a car growl up the hill.
That must be Katie and Caleb.
I flung open the hopper window in the first cottage’s sitting room to get rid of the stale air and pulled my gilet tighter to compensate. I could hear footsteps marching over the cobbles.
‘What time do you call this?’ I joked, spinning around in the hallway to open the front door.
My heart performed an uncomfortable flip. It wasn’t my brother and sister-in-law standing there, but an intimidating-looking man.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ he oozed, appraising me from head to toe. ‘I’m not sure if you’re the person to ask, but I wondered if you could tell me anything about the Scarlet Highwayman?’
I gripped the wooden handle of my broom. He hadn’t even introduced himself. ‘Why are you asking about him?’
He brushed a stray honey-blond lock of hair away from his forehead. ‘As I understand it, I’m not the only one.’
He must have been referring to Mason. Another thought tripped through my head.
Hold on. Was this the same man whom Caleb mentioned the other night?
The one who’d been hanging about down by the harbour, trying to speak to the locals about the Scarlet Highwayman?
But why? I tried to disguise the apprehension in my voice as I took in his navy-blue suit, starchy white shirt and sliver of claret silk tie. ‘Sorry, who are you?’
He answered my question with a tight smile. ‘I’m keen to find out more about this highwayman character. He was a real charlatan, by all accounts.’
‘They’re just unsubstantiated rumours,’ I defended, noting his pointed chin and hooded eyes. ‘It depends on who you talk to.’ I willed Katie and Caleb to appear, but there was no sign of them yet.
He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. ‘And who are you talking to?’
Growing unease spread through me. ‘Sorry, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Mr …?’
His gaze was uncompromising.
‘Look, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.’
‘Oh, so you can help an Australian historian, but not me?’
I swallowed, my knuckles paling as I clutched harder at the broom handle. If he came any closer, I’d whack him with it. ‘How do you know about that?’
He didn’t reply. He just flicked his thin eyebrows. ‘A word of advice, Ms Summers. If I were you, I would think very carefully about assisting Mr Cooper again, especially when you’re trying to get a new business off the ground.’
I flinched. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘Everything all right, sis?’
I jumped at the sound of Caleb’s voice. He and Katie had materialised and were studying the stranger with suspicion.
The man regarded the height of my big brother and started to retreat. ‘Bear in mind my warning, Ms Summers.’
Caleb took a step forward.
The stranger dodged past him and Katie, before disappearing in a black Audi TT.
‘Who the hell was that?’ asked Katie.
I lowered the broom and wrapped my arms around myself. ‘I’ve no idea. He wouldn’t tell me his name. But I’m guessing he’s the same man you saw interrogating people down by the harbour, Caleb?’
‘Aye. That’s him all right.’
‘Well, I’m glad you both turned up when you did, though. He was pretty intimidating, whoever he was.’
Caleb stared after the departing car.
‘He was very interested that I’d spoken to Mason Cooper,’ I explained.
‘And he didn’t say who he was?’
‘No.’
Caleb rubbed his chin. ‘I’ve got a feeling I know him from somewhere.
’ I could almost see him searching his brain.
Then he clapped his hands together. ‘No way! Bloody hell! That’s him!
He used to hang around Port Starr with some of his stuck-up mates when he was a teenager.
’ My brother squeezed his hazel eyes shut in concentration.
‘Oh, what was his name? He used to have dirty-brown hair and a real attitude problem even then. He used to delight in taking the piss out of the rest of us and flashing his cash around.’
Katie bit her lip for a moment and then raised one finger triumphantly into the March air. ‘Hang on! I think I might know who you’re talking about. Did he used to have a bit of a monobrow thing going on?’
Caleb nodded. ‘That’s him.’
I suddenly remembered too. ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me!’ I half laughed, clamping a stunned hand over my mouth.
While Caleb, Joe and the rest of the local teenage posse used to slouch around together and tease us good-naturedly, lanky Alex Lapley would strut about Port Starr, accompanied by his two henchmen who reminded us of portly bookends.
The fact he was a member of the Lapley family didn’t endear him to anyone. When they lived here, the Lapley clan were mistrusted and disliked by many of the Port Starr locals, due to their arrogance, avarice and pomposity.
Despite having made a considerable amount of money from developing land, they never offered to contribute to local initiatives such as the development of a new Youth Café, improving the harbour walkway or assisting with the cost of our annual Port Starr Boating Festival.
Instead, all the rest of us plebs would raise the money needed through various events such as danceathons, sponsored silence, jumble sales and charity walks.
Then assorted members of the Lapley clan would rock up at our organised events, not part with a penny, and proceed to tell us, through condescending smiles, that we had all ‘done very well’.
The Lapley family had resided in The Hawthorns, a rambling Georgian edifice with a steeply pitched roof of slate grey.
It was located on the very outskirts of Port Starr and boasted stained glass in its windows and doors, with pointed turrets and arches that only added to its cold persona.
It was all rather gothic but was rumoured to have a dazzling array of impressive furniture within its secretive walls.
The family had lived there for generations, but suddenly uprooted and moved away several years ago, when rumours swirled in town of financial impropriety committed by Roger Lapley, Alex’s father.
There was a collective sigh of relief when they left.
The last anyone had heard they were living in the Dumfries area, with The Hawthorns remaining in an almost museum-like state, awaiting their return.
‘That kid was trouble even back then,’ said Caleb after a thoughtful pause. ‘I suspect he hasn’t changed one bit.’
‘His appearance certainly has,’ I pointed out. ‘I didn’t recognise him.’
‘Me either,’ agreed Katie. ‘He looks like a waxwork dummy now.’
Caleb’s face hardened. ‘Once a devious sod, always a devious sod.’ He glanced for a moment back out of the open cottage door.
The sound of the harbour water travelled in.
‘Alex Lapley was a manipulative bastard. He used to get some of the younger kids to shoplift for him, but never once did he get caught.’
‘I’m surprised to hear that. I mean, the Lapley family were never on the breadline, were they?’
‘No, they weren’t,’ Caleb agreed. ‘I think he just got a kick out of being a controlling knob. I heard that lot have got so many skeletons in their cupboard, you would be able to hear the bloody things rattling in Edinburgh.’ Caleb removed his ski jacket.
‘That fella always had an agenda. Why he’s so interested in the Scarlet Highwayman story, though, is anyone’s guess. ’
My thoughts travelled to Mason. ‘I think I should give Mason a ring and tell him. I’ve got a feeling there’s something very odd going on round here.’