She showed him to a small room, richly furnished as a bedroom. The four-poster bed and accompanying furniture were roped off but an incongruously modern table and chair sat just beyond the door. ‘I hope this is okay,’ she said apologetically. The offices are a bit too far away and I didn’t want to wear you out before you’d even begun.’
‘It’s fine,’ Fraser said, wondering who among the castle’s illustrious residents might have slept here in the past. ‘As long as it’s not haunted.’
Her eyes twinkled as she surveyed him. ‘Not as far as I know, but let me know if you meet anyone unexpected.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Any last-minute questions? Changes I need to be aware of?’
‘None,’ Fraser replied. ‘It’s all exactly as we rehearsed.’
‘Good,’ Catriona said, and checked the time. ‘The guests should start arriving soon. I’ll come and collect you just before seven, if that suits you?’
‘Perfect,’ Fraser said, and eased out of his coat. ‘I’ll be ready.’
He spent fifteen minutes or so checking the schedule and reading through the stories he was due to tell, even though he knew them by heart already. He’d done some research on the possible identities of the ghosts said to roam the castle and had plenty of grisly detail to bring their stories to life. The ghostly dog would undoubtedly be a favourite with the audience, but it was the mournful refrain of the lone piper that fascinated Fraser the most. He couldn’t wait to see the reaction as he wove the sorry tale.
As seven o’clock approached, he began to feel a familiar buzz of energy build in the pit of his stomach. The thrill of live performance never got old, whether it was on the cobbled streets of Edinburgh or the venerated boards of London’s oldest theatres. Becoming someone else was where he felt most alive, his most brilliant, and his own worries faded into insignificance. It was true that he didn’t miss the insecurity and fear of chasing the Hollywood dream, but his love of performing burned as brightly as ever. He suspected it always would.
This evening, however, the familiar tingle of anticipation was underscored by a faint thrum of something else – a scratchy, needling sensation that prickled across his skin and made it hard to sit still. The feeling was so unexpected that it took Fraser a moment to identify it, and the realisation caused him to huff with disbelief. He couldn’t be nervous. He never got nervous.
Getting to his feet, he prowled the room, trying to channel the almost palpable sense of history that laced the air. What was different about tonight compared to the countless other performances he’d delivered over the years? he wondered. It couldn’t be the fact that it was a press evening – he’d done plenty of those in his time. He was well-rehearsed, knew the stories he had to tell were perfectly pitched and the setting spoke for itself. It was true that good reviews from the journalists in attendance would undoubtedly help to publicise Dead Famous, but the walking tours were doing very nicely on their own and Fraser didn’t think that was the source of his sudden pre-show jitters.
He stopped beside the desk, frowning to himself. The only real difference he could pick out was that Maura would be in the audience – surely that couldn’t be it. Yet even as he considered the possibility, he knew it was true. Performing in front of someone whose opinion really mattered changed things. He wanted to impress her – to show that she’d done the right thing by going into partnership with him, that he was capable of taking the Edinburgh Ghost Company to the next level. He suddenly felt the need to prove that he was good at what he did, despite the fact that she’d already attended one of his walking tours. For reasons he preferred not to examine, he wanted her approval. And that made his nerves sing with the kind of unwanted energy he’d only ever observed in other people. It made him feel slightly green.
Taking a swig of water, he shuffled his notes and tried to read them again but before he could focus, there was a gentle tap at the door, and Catriona was peering into the room. ‘I’ve got a visitor for you. Is that okay?’
She pushed the door back to reveal Maura, still buttoned up in her coat and eyeing him uncertainly. ‘I don’t want to disturb your preparation,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I just wanted to give you this.’
She stretched out her hand, offering him a small box. Fraser felt rooted to the spot, transfixed by her unexpected appearance, wondering whether he’d somehow summoned her. With fingers that seemed to belong to someone else, he took the package and fumbled the lid open. Nestled inside was a ceramic black hound, a miniature replica of the ghostly apparition that roamed the castle grounds, caught in the act of howling at the moon. The nose was tilted skyward, the eyes wide and sorrowful, the ears flattened against the head. The midnight clay had been artfully distressed to resemble fur; Fraser brushed it with the tip of one finger, half-expecting it to ripple at his touch. ‘It’s for luck,’ Maura said, when he didn’t speak. ‘Not that you’ll need it.’
He looked up then, touched by her thoughtfulness, and the sight of her soothed his jangling nerves. How had she known? ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful. I love it.’
A delicate pink flushed across her cheeks. ‘Phew. I wanted to give you something to remind you of the castle, but I’m not sure any of the ghosts here are known for bringing good luck.’
Taking the figure from the box, Fraser examined it again.
Catriona stepped forward for a closer look and let out a little gasp of pleasure when she saw what he held. ‘How wonderful.’ She turned to Maura. ‘You are so clever.’
Maura opened her mouth to reply and Fraser knew she was about to downplay the time and skill that had gone into the piece.
‘She is,’ he said quickly. ‘You should see her studio – it’s full of beautiful pots.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that,’ Maura said, and cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, I should leave you to it. Break a leg, isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?’
‘Thank you,’ Fraser replied gravely. ‘With the unevenness of the castle floors, that’s entirely possible.’
Catriona caught his eye. ‘It’s nearly show time,’ she said. ‘I’ll escort Maura back to hall, then come to collect you, if that’s okay?’
He tucked the dog inside the leather sporran that hung from the strap around his waist. ‘Perfect. I’ll be ready.’
His eyes were drawn to Maura the moment he entered the Great Hall. She’d removed her coat and was wearing the same timeless red dress she’d had on when they’d gone to dinner at the Witchery. Her dark curls were loose, contrasting with her pale skin; she shone like a jewel among pebbles. The breath caught in Fraser’s throat and he had to fight the urge to stop in the doorway to stare at her. Talented, beautiful and kind; Jamie was a lucky man, he mused to himself as he crossed the room, even if he seemed to have no idea of the fact.
Ewan materialised in front of him. ‘Ah, Fraser. Could I introduce you to Deborah Jordan? Arts Correspondent atThe Scotsman.’
The woman next to him held out her hand. ‘Good to meet you,’ she said. ‘What have you got in store for us this evening?’
‘An introduction to the castle’s darkest secrets,’ he replied, slipping seamlessly into his professional storyteller persona. ‘You might think you already know them but there’s no telling whose spirit we might disturb as we pass among the shadows. Death lurks around every corner.’
Deborah stared at him, her expression a mixture of startled apprehension and delight, and for a moment he thought he’d overdone it. Then she smiled. ‘Oh, you’re good,’ she said, and turned to Ewan. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’
It wasn’t long before Ewan was introducing him to others. Fraser smiled and shook hands, committed their names to memory, and hoped Maura was okay. Their eyes met several times but no opportunity to speak presented itself and all too soon Ewan was tapping a wine glass and calling for quiet.
