Page 20 of Duke It Out
9
EDIE
I’ve been poringover the framed photographs in the hallway for about half an hour, trying to get a handle on the people who lived here and who live here now. The pictures are crammed together in mismatched frames, as if they’ve been slung up on a whim whenever they’ve been developed over the years.
There are black and white prints of stern looking men with walrus moustaches, and slender 1920’s flapper girls with feather boas and cigarettes in long elegant holders, all the way up to cute colour prints of – well, I assume it must be Rory and his brothers. I’d recognise those green eyes anywhere, and that steady expression which seems to challenge the photographer. His mother looks pretty but distracted, dark hair tied up in a ponytail and a red and white checked shirt tied at the waist. She has one hand on the knee of the smallest boy and another clutching a tumbler of what I assume to be whisky.
There’s no mistaking the late Duke of Kinnaird. His bearing even in family photographs seems haughty andalmost regal, as if he’s above such nonsense as having his photograph taken. In one picture, he’s holding a dark-haired toddler, but something about the pose feels stiff, as if he’s holding a stranger’s child, not his own. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.
And yet in another, he’s wearing a pair of joke glasses and a bowler hat, so perhaps there was another side to him. I can feel my history researcher senses tingling; there’s something magical about bringing the past to life and working out the stories people leave behind.
“There you are!”
I jump in surprise and turn to see Janey with a basket under her arm. “Sorry, I was just looking at?—”
“The rogues gallery.” She snorts and hitches the basket on her hip. “Trying to get an idea of the family for the book?”
“Something like that.” I get the feeling I’m going to be piecing it together myself. Rory hasn’t exactly given me the impression he’s keen on my being here. I can still feel his eyes burning into me and the arrogant fury that seemed to fill the entire room before he’d even spoken a word.
“All done with Rory?”
I press my lips together and nod. That’s one way of putting it. Standing up to him is the most un-Edie-ish things I’ve ever done, and now I’m trapped here with no way of escaping the situation.
“Come on then, I’ll take you up and show you your rooms.”
Rooms? I trot along behind her, obedient as one of the Loch Morven dogs which seem to be everywhere.
We climb the sweeping staircase, and I run my hand along the silken wood, imagining all the times before that hands far better bred than mind have done the same thing.The stairs are shallow and thickly carpeted, and we turn at the top of the balcony and head along another passageway. This one doesn’t have any stuffed animal heads but seems to be the family storage point for ancient needlework, with rows of faded samplers in wooden frames hanging on dark red damask wallpaper.
Janey opens the door into a room which is bigger than Anna’s flat. There’s an enormous four poster bed and a long dressing table between the two full-length sash windows. It’s like the fanciest hotel room you could ever imagine, and?—
“And this is your sitting room,” Janey says, leading me through an archway and into a room which is the same size again. A heavy oak desk sits under one of the windows, all set up with stacks of paper, notepads, and a basket of pens and pencils.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d need, but everyone loves stationery, don’t they?” Janey smiles and pats one of the notebooks. I realize each one is a fresh new Moleskine and suppress a little squeal of delight. It’s a long way from churning out copy for Super Pets Insurance.
“The bathroom’s in here. Claire will be in to clean every day, so you don’t have to worry about running out of anything, but if you’re in the middle of writing and don’t want to be disturbed, you can just give me a shout on WhatsApp and I’ll sort out another time for her to come.”
I realize that I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open. The bathroom shelves are loaded with the kind of thick fluffy white towels that you see in magazines, and the toiletries are in brown glass bottles with hand-written brown paper labels.
“Is this all okay?” Janey looks at me with a concerned expression on her face.
I nod. “Amazing. Sorry. I just—well, I knew it was going to be fancy, I just didn’t realise how fancy.”
She laughs. “Oh, when we push the boat out, we do it in style.”
I think of Rory’s furious expression. I think if he’d realised it was me turning up, he’d have been pushing the boat out into the depths of the loch outside instead, after drilling several holes in the bottom of it.
“It’s amazing.”
“Not that you have to write up here of course. There’s the library and the sunroom – I haven’t showed you that part of the house yet – or you might want to have a swim and then write by the pool.”
It’s beginning to sound more like some sort of fancy retreat than a job. I can’t believe I’m getting paid to do this. The only fly in the ointment is six three, ridiculously hot, and – oh, that minor little detail – would rather I was anywhere but here.
There’s even a little welcome pack like a fancy hotel, with the Wi-Fi login code and contact numbers for Janey, the cleaning staff, the gardener, and the gamekeeper – just in case I have any garden or wildlife emergencies, I guess?
“I’ll let you get settled. There’s a fridge with drinks and some bits and pieces, but if you fancy a sandwich or something to keep you going until dinner, pop down to the kitchen and help yourself. Otherwise, dinner’s at eight in the dining room.”
After Janey leaves, I do what any self-respecting adult would do – I kick off my ridiculous boots and throw myself onto the four-poster bed in a star shape.
