Page 72 of Duke It Out
I was going to go and take a walk down to the boathouse. “Okay, I’ll just pop these things upstairs.”
“Oh, I’ll take them for you.”
“No.” I clasp the laptop protectively. The last thing I need is Anna getting her paws on it. “I need to get the keys from my desk anyway.”
“Thanks, babe,” Anna says, sprawling on the chaise longue by the fire as if she was born to it.
Outside a wind is blowing up from the loch and the sky seems to have dropped somehow, the clouds gathering over the pine trees heavy with the threat of rain. The castle walls shift with the weather like a massive sandstone barometer. Last week it glowed warm and golden in the spring sunlight. Today it’s grey and dull, despite the buzz of activity that’s going on inside.
The village, though, seems to be the opposite. I park at the end of the harbour and walk along to the shop, stopping to say hello to Flora in the coffee shop and breathe in the welcoming cinnamon and vanilla smells. When I go into the little village store the woman behind the counter looks up and gives me a smile.
“Hello hen, what are you looking for today?”
“I need some nail polish remover.”
“Och we’ve had a run on that. Everyone’s getting fancied up for the ball, I expect. How are the preparations going up at the big house?”
It was a surprise at first, but now I’m used to the fact everyone feels like they’re part of a huge extended family.
“Very busy.” I smile and pull out my phone to pay. “And a lot of bagpipe practice.”
“Oh, I love the pipes. Can’t wait for a dance tomorrow night.”
Everyone’s talking about the ball as if it’s some sort of fairytale climax but I have a feeling something’s going to break before the music starts.
By the time I get back to the house the rain is lashing on the windscreen and tiny rivers running down the path away from the castle drains. I run inside, shaking the water from my hands and pushing sodden tendrils of hair back from my wet face. Highland rain is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
I walk into the house and slam straight into Rory, bouncing back off the solid muscle of his arm as I crash through the door, soaked and rushing to get out of the rain. It’s dripping from my hair, my shirt clinging to me like seaweed.
“Oh god, sorry—” I gasp, stumbling back, dropping the bottle of nail polish remover which thankfully doesn’t split open. Somewhere in my brain registers the dry, woody scent of his aftershave.
He’s bone dry, towering over me with a disapproving expression. “You’re soaked,” he says flatly, as if I’ve done it on purpose.
“Well observed,” I say, pushing wet hair off my face.
He doesn’t move but stands there looking down at me like I’m yet another problem to deal with. “Should I ask?”
“I had to go to the village,” I say, breathless and feeling like an idiot. “Anna needed—” I waggle the bottle in the air as explanation.
“I see.”
For a moment I think he’s going to say something else. There’s a fleeting change in his expression, as if it crosses his mind to, and then he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. I can’t quite work out if he’s furious with me, or with himself for caring.
“I’ll let you get on.” His expression is completely neutral again, but his eyes scan me up and down as if he can’t quite believe that I’m dripping over his priceless parquet flooring. “I’m sure you are very busy with your… guest.”
Great. Not only am I running around after Anna who shouldn’t even be here, but I’m doing it on his dime.
“Yes.” I nod. “Lots to do… lots of… work.”
But he’s already turning and stalking off across the hall.
I realise the door to my room is open as soon as I turn the corner at the top of the landing. Light spills into the normally gloomy corridor and I feel a chill down my spine as I walk towards it, my feet leaden. I know it was locked – I checked twice, as usual, before I left.
The door is wide open and Anna’s sitting cross legged on my bed as if she’s booked it on Expedia. My heart sinks.
She’s got a laptop on her lap –mylaptop – and she doesn’t even look up at first. I always thought it was hyperbole when people saidmy blood ran coldbut right now, I realise it’s a real thing. I can’t seem to form a sentence.
“Oh hi,” Anna says, looking up at me with a half-smile playing on her lips. She’s all practised innocence. “There you are. My god, Ede, I can’t believe this shit. It’s gold. Old Dickie Kinnaird knew how to move money around, didn’t he? He’s like a cross between a Bond villain and a pervy old uncle.”
