Page 15 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 2
‘Is this the girl you went to school with?’ Micky asked.
He nodded. ‘That’s right. Maura McKenzie.’
‘I still don’t remember the name,’ Roberta said, shaking her head. ‘But I looked her up, when you said you’d be working together. She makes some lovely things.’
Fraser pictured the bowl on the coffee table in his apartment, and the mug he used for his morning coffee, both of which brightened his day with their elegance. ‘She does. You’d love the ghosts too. I’ll have to bring you one, when I’ve got some to spare.’
Or perhaps he might suggest she visit ScotPot, since Maura was one of the exhibitors. Was it too much, to introduce her to his parents? He’d met her sister, after all, and he had meant it when he said he thought of her as a friend. Even so, he was aware that their friendship was still very new. He’d held back from mentioning his split with Naomi during the walk on Portobello beach but it wasn’t something he wanted to hide. People broke up all the time, it was no big deal. When he judged the moment was right, he’d drop it casually into conversation. Until then, he’d keep it to himself.
The City Chambers were every bit as splendid as Fraser imagined they would be. Alistair Caldwell had been true to his word; he’d responded with prompt enthusiasm to the email Fraser had sent, giving the date and time of the networking session, and a rough outline of what to expect. Happily, the event had fallen on a Tuesday evening, one of the nights Fraser took off from his ghost walks, and he’d seen no reason not to go along. And now he was inside the magnificent European Room, with its fresco-painted walls, gilt panelled ceiling and arched windows. The carpet beneath his feet was a plush royal blue and golden chandeliers glowed overhead. The room was perhaps three-quarters full, which allowed space to mingle, and there was a pleasing buzz of chatter over the discreet background music. So far, Fraser had sampled several excellent canapés, drunk a glass of Prosecco and swapped notes with two fellow tour guides. And now Alistair Caldwell was making a beeline for him, with another man in tow.
‘Fraser, glad you could make it. Can I introduce you to Ewan McRae? He’s in charge of visitor engagement at the castle.’
Fraser shook the man’s outstretched hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
Ewan McRae nodded. ‘And you. Alistair was just telling me about your ghost tour. He says it’s the best in the city.’
Fraser smiled, flattered in spite of himself. ‘That’s very kind. I try my best.’
‘And you’re a professional actor, is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Fraser said. ‘I trained at the Central School of Speech and Drama, quite a long time ago now, but my heart has always been in Edinburgh.’
‘Very good,’ Ewan said and eyed him speculatively. ‘I’m organising an interactive storytelling night at the castle in July. As I’m sure you’re aware, we have a reputation as being the most haunted place in Scotland. I’d be interested in booking you to bring some of our ghost stories to life. Is that something you might consider?’
‘Absolutely,’ Fraser said, without hesitation. ‘It sounds like just my kind of thing.’
The other man nodded. ‘Excellent. Perhaps you’d like to come along for an informal chat in the next few weeks – I can give you a tour and explain what we’re looking for.’
‘I’d love to,’ Fraser said, hardly able to believe his luck. ‘Thanks.’
Ewan looked pleased. ‘I understand you also sell ceramic ghosts to go with your tour. Who makes those?’
‘An Edinburgh-based potter called Maura McKenzie,’ Fraser replied. He took a breath and launched his sales pitch. ‘Each one is handmade and unique, taken from the stories I tell and representing part of the city’s history. They’ve been very popular so far.’
‘I can imagine,’ Ewan said, his expression intrigued. ‘I’d be interested in seeing them too. Could you bring one along when you come in?’
‘Of course,’ Fraser said, crossing his fingers that Maura would deliver the next batch of ghosts before the meeting took place. ‘I’d be happy to.’
Ewan smiled. ‘Perfect. Alistair can give me your details and I’ll be in touch with some dates.’
Alistair stepped forward, rubbing his hands briskly. ‘That’s all sorted, then. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Fraser, there are a few other business owners Ewan needs to meet.’
With a further round of handshakes, they parted company, leaving Fraser to reflect on his unexpected good fortune. An event at Edinburgh Castle would almost certainly boost the reputation of Dead Famous, as well as being a feather in Fraser’s own storytelling cap. He glanced across the room, to where Ewan was now talking to one of the storytellers Fraser had met earlier. It might all come to nothing, of course, but it was starting to look as though he might owe Alistair Caldwell a very large drink.
Fraser had visited Edinburgh Castle a number of times while growing up but its grandeur never failed to impress him. Built on an outcrop of volcanic rock, it had kept watch over the city in one form or another for thousands of years and had seen more than its fair share of bloodshed, which he supposed was only to be expected when it had been home to so many of Scotland’s kings and queens. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he made his way up Castlehill, passing through the arched gatehouse and beneath the iron portcullis to follow the curving path into the castle beyond. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the tramp of soldiers’ boots on the cobbles, the cries of alarm as the walls were besieged or the triumphant procession of a royal coronation. This had always been the thing Fraser loved most about visiting places steeped in history – the way countless stories reached across the ages and came alive in his head. He sometimes thought if he hadn’t been an actor, he might have been a writer.
Ewan McRae’s office was tucked away in the uppermost reaches of the castle, far from the bustling tourist areas. It was small and wood-panelled, with a stone fireplace that boasted carved lions on either side, and latticed windows hung with heavy velvet drapes; in fact, if it hadn’t been for the laptop and telephone on the desk, Fraser might have been fooled into thinking he had somehow stepped back in time.
‘Did you enjoy the tour?’ Ewan asked from his seat across the desk. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to escort you personally, but the truth is Catriona knows much more about the castle and its secrets than I do. You were in safe hands.’
‘I was,’ Fraser agreed. His guide had been both friendly and knowledgeable. She’d pointed out the ramparts where the legendary headless drummer was said to beat out his mournful warning of attack, led him through the dungeons thought to be haunted by Napoleonic prisoners of war and shown him the tower room the Earl of Argyll was said to haunt after his gruesome beheading. ‘I especially liked the ghostly dog.’
Ewan smiled. ‘Ah, yes. I’ve never seen him myself, or any of our other apparitions, but they certainly capture the imagination of our visitors. Which is where you come in. Did you have time to read the event brief I sent?’
‘Yes, I did. It sounds like a great idea.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ Ewan said. ‘Guests will be welcomed into the gatehouse by a piper and led on a tour of the various supernatural hotspots around the castle, where their guide will thrill them with the stories behind the ghosts. At various points, there will be projections onto the walls, and some pre-recorded audio, but we won’t have actors in character. It will be up to you as a storyteller to create the appropriate atmosphere and bring the ghosts to life, as it were.’
