Prologue
The last thing Fraser expected to see on the concourse of Euston station was a face from school.
It was a week before Christmas, the Met Office had issued a weather warning for imminent snow, and there was a feverish buzz hanging over the jostling crowds scanning the departure boards. Some trains had been cancelled, others were delayed, and it seemed to Fraser as though half of London was trying to escape the city before the blizzard began. Judging from the tense expressions of those around him, there would be a stampede when the whirring boards eventually revealed the platform of the Edinburgh train. Elbows would be deployed. Every upturned face was grim with the expectation of battle.
The only person not staring upwards was a dark-haired girl of around Fraser’s age, who stood a few metres away with her nose in a book, seemingly oblivious to the simmering tension among her fellow travellers. He recognised her instantly – until the summer, they’d attended the same school. How many times had he seen her through the window of the art block, as he’d passed by on his way to the drama studio? They’d shared some classes too, before study choices had sent them in different directions. And now here she was, out of place but with the same otherworldly serenity that had so often caught his eye at school, her head bowed as she read. Her stillness stood out even more among the grumbling and muttering of the Euston crowd.
Fraser guessed she must be waiting for the same train he was, probably heading back to Edinburgh for Christmas after her first term at uni. He hadn’t known she was in London.
He was just debating whether to disturb her when the departures board began to rattle. An expectant rustling joined the clickety-clack, like the soft hiss of a brush on the snare beneath the louder percussion in an orchestra, as the assembled travellers got ready to move. For a second or two, everyone held their breath. Fraser’s own attention switched momentarily upwards. And then the whirring stopped and the spell broke. Several hundred people seemed to sigh, moving as one towards platform 15.
Fraser went with them, glancing over his shoulder to see if the girl was near, but there was no sign of her. By the time he located the correct carriage and settled into his seat, he was beginning to wonder whether he’d imagined her. It had often been that way at school – a fleeting glimpse that had ensnared him for a heartbeat or two and then let go. If the train hadn’t been so busy, he could have tried to find her, but he knew the aisles would be too full to allow that. He might run into her at Waverley station, once the train reached Edinburgh, but he didn’t hold much hope. She was a will-o’-the-wisp, there one moment and vanished the next, a glimmering girl always tantalisingly beyond his reach, even when they’d shared the same classroom. And who was to say she’d have known him, had she looked up from her book to see him among the crowd? He suspected she would simply have frowned, wondering at this vaguely familiar stranger with the tentative smile, before returning to her book with the same gentle indifference she’d shown throughout their school years.
As the train jolted and rumbled out of London, Fraser pulled out his battered study copy ofHenry V, determined to force the encounter from his thoughts. He was heading home forChristmas, where the old St Ignatius crowd would be waiting to catch up and celebrate the festive season. There was a faint possibility she would be there, he realised, although he couldn’t recall her hanging out at the Strawberry in the past.
With a sigh, he turned his attention to the highlighted passage of the text and silently ran through the lines for next term’s assignment.
By the time the train reached Watford, the dark-haired girl had slipped away once more.
Chapter One
Eighteen Years Later
‘Maura, come in.’ Ewan McRae ushered her into his wood-panelled office. ‘Good to see you again. Can I offer you a tea or coffee?’
Maura gave a polite smile. ‘No, thanks,’ she said, and tapped the bag slung over her shoulder. ‘I have a bottle of water.’
‘Excellent,’ Ewan said. He turned his attention to the young woman who had met Maura at Edinburgh Castle’s imposing gatehouse and guided her through the maze of corridors. ‘Thanks, Catriona. I’ll show Maura out when we’re finished.’
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘Lovely to meet you again, Maura.’
The door closed softly behind her as she left, and Maura had to fight the sudden wave of nervousness that was threatening to engulf her.
Now that she was here, she was started to regret turning down Fraser’s offer to accompany her to this meeting with the castle’s head of visitor engagement. But, strictly speaking, it was about her own work rather than the ghosts she produced for Fraser’s walking tour, Dead Famous. She wanted to show him she was capable of doing this without someone to hold her hand.
Ewan indicated one of two empty chairs standing sentry beside a grand but unlit fireplace. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, settling into one of the chairs.
Maura perched on the other, surreptitiously wiping her palms on her skirt, relieved he hadn’t offered to shake hands. She didher best to appear composed. ‘Thanks for inviting me here. Your workplace is a lot more impressive than mine.’
‘There’s a tad less clay, I imagine,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘But it’s not bad, as long as you don’t mind the odd ghost.’
Maura felt some of her tension ease. She knew all about the castle’s unearthly inhabitants from Fraser’s ghost tour of the vaults the previous month. ‘Of course.’
‘But it’s the human visitors I wanted to discuss with you today,’ Ewan went on. ‘The castle welcomes around two million people each year and we’re always looking for fresh ways to engage with them. Sometimes, that takes the form of special tours, like the one Fraser performed for us, and on other occasions it might be an exhibition of items we think our visitors might find interesting or educational.’
She nodded. During her last visit, there had been a display of maps and photographs relating to the Second World War curated by the grandson of a captain in the Royal Scots regiment, and she thought she recalled an exhibition on traditional tartans linked to the castle.
‘When Fraser showed me the wee ghosts you’d produced for him, I took the liberty of looking you up,’ Ewan went on. ‘And of course I liked what I saw, particularly the bowls inspired by the sea and pieces reflecting Edinburgh’s volcanic past. Which leads me to the reason I invited you here. As an Edinburgh artist, how would you feel about a month-long exhibition of your work?’
It wasn’t exactly a surprise – he’d mentioned a possible exhibition when they’d chatted after Fraser’s press night tour of the castle – but a month was more than she’d anticipated.
‘I’d be honoured,’ she said truthfully, and then doubt began to creep in. ‘How big is the space? A few pieces spring to mind but I’m not sure I’ve got anything impressive enough to do the castle justice.’
He raised a hand. ‘I thought the one of the guards’ barracks,’ he said. ‘There’s some armour and weaponry in there that could easily be redistributed. As to what you include, you’ll liaise with Catriona but the curation is entirely in your hands. All I ask is that you include one or two pieces that reflect the castle in some way, as well as the wider city.’
Maura sat back, her mind whirling. How long had it been since she’d had an exhibition of her own? Three or four years, at least. The biggest had been sponsored by the bank Jamie had worked for; she’d sold a lot of pieces and it had led to a number of interesting commissions, as well as a bumpy five-year relationship with Jamie himself. But did she have anything already made that met the brief Ewan described? She wasn’t sure. ‘When did you have in mind?’ she asked, running through her existing workload.
‘I thought perhaps the beginning of September,’ he suggested. ‘Once the madness of August has died down.’
