Page 35 of Duke It Out
The truth is that one more story like this and the donors will disappear. We’re trying to shore up the future on the broken foundations of the past, and it’s precarious at best. It’s my idea of hell, but duty calls. I won’t be like him.
I won’t let the work we’re doing have a shadow cast over it because he was an egotistical dick who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Leave it with me.”
I can hear Theo’s sigh of relief from the other side of the world.
“You are a star, Rory. You turn up, smooth things over, reassure the school board, that sort of thing. Everyone’s happy, the project goes off without a hitch, the end.”
“And the journalist?”
I draw the curtains, looking out at the moon hanging over the loch. I’ve spent years avoiding this place, and for once I feel a pang of regret about having to walk away from it, even for a short while. I still don’t trust her, but I trust everyone else even less.
“We’ll sweeten him with an exclusive look round, talk about the foundation’s plans for the future, that sort of thing.”
Never get into bed with the fucking press. It’s a double-edged sword, but they’ve got us over a barrel this time.
“I’ll be on a flight in the morning.”
15
EDIE
“You haven’t sentme that book,” Janey says with a waggle of her finger.
It’s morning and I’m hovering in the kitchen, drinking coffee and telling myself I’m not waiting around to see if Rory’s anywhere to be seen.
“I forgot,” I lie. My confidence was knocked when Charlotte sent it out on submission to publishers, even though I had a few sweet replies from editors who said they liked it but couldn’t see where it would fit right now. That felt like a nice way of saying “it’s a bit shit”.
“I’ll send it when I go back upstairs later.” I pick up the car keys and finish the last of my coffee.
“Are you off for an adventure?”
“I’m going to pick up a few bits,” I say, vaguely. Gregor’s standing by the stove and I don’t want to get into a conversation about forgetting to bring tampons and my period being just around the corner. “Thought I’d go and explore the village nearby. It says there’s a shop on Google Maps?”
Gregor turns and offers Janey one of the cookies he’s taken out of the oven.
“Watch yourself,” he says, “they’re hot.”
Their eyes meet for a second and I notice Janey’s cheeks have flushed a pretty pink as she turns back to me.
“Yes, we’ve got all modern conveniences,” Janey teases. “We’re quite civilised. If you’re going to town, pop into the coffee shop and have one of their Swedish cardamom buns – they’re heavenly.”
I notice a message from Anna on my phone as I slide it into my bag. It’s a slightly acidic remark about not forgetting now I’m hanging out with the country set that I need to pay her back that money I owe her.
The road down to the village twists through the moorland and over a long stand of pine woods neatly planted in rows. The only traffic I come across is a tractor and a huge forestry truck loaded with an enormous stack of thick pine trunks. Both drivers give me a nod and a wave, I guess because I’m driving a car that belongs to the castle. This must be how it feels to be one of the landed gentry.
Except I get to the village of Loch Morven and the people there are just as friendly. It’s a million miles from London, physically and psychologically. I’ve left the Golf in a little car park by the sea wall and strolled along the path that looks down over a pale sandy beach. In the distance there’s a little harbour, and a white painted boat is sailing off towards the distant islands. Faded bunting flaps between the old-fashioned iron streetlamps, and the whole place looks like a painting. There’s a little convenience store and a white-painted hotel with wooden seats outside where some walkers are sitting drinking beer with their dogs lying peacefully at their feet.
“Edie, hi!”
I’m so startled when I open the door to the coffee shop that I almost pull it closed on my face. It’s dark inside and I can’t see a thing for a moment while my eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outdoors.
Kate’s standing by the counter in a short denim skirt, thick tights and a pair of purple Doc Marten’s boots.
“I thought it was you. How’s it going?”
“Better for seeing all this.” I tip my head in the direction of the glass shelf stacked with cinnamon-scented pastries and delicious croissants and buns.
