Читать книгу Her Highland Boss - Jessica Gilmore - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WAS ONE advantage to living on an island—there were only two ferries a day. Actually it was usually a disadvantage, but right now it played into Alasdair’s hands. Jeanie might be heading to Maggie’s attic tonight but she’d still be here in the morning. He had time.

He needed time. He needed to play catch up. Jeanie was right: if she’d been a business proposition, he would have researched before he invested.

An undischarged bankrupt? How had he not known? The complications made his head spin.

The whole situation made his head spin.

He tried to get her to ride home with him but she refused. Short of hauling her into the SUV by force he had to let her be, but he couldn’t let her walk all the way. He figured that was the way to fuel her fury and she was showing enough fury as it was. He therefore drove back to the castle, found her car keys hanging on a nail in the kitchen, drove her car back along the track until he reached her, soundlessly handed her the keys, then turned and walked back himself.

She must have spent a good hour trying to figure out how not to accept his help, or maybe she didn’t want to pass him on the track. Either way, he was back at the castle when her car finally nosed its way onto the castle sweep.

Maybe he should have talked to her then, but he didn’t have all the facts. He needed them.

Luckily he had help, a phone call away.

‘Find anything there is to find out about Jeanie Lochlan, born on Duncairn twenty-nine years ago,’ he told his secretary. Elspeth was his right-hand woman in Edinburgh. If anyone could unearth anything, it was her.

‘Haven’t you just married her?’ Elspeth ventured.

‘Don’t ask. Just look,’ he snapped and whatever Elspeth heard in his voice he didn’t care.

Jeanie was back in her rooms downstairs. He was in his sitting room right over hers. He could hear her footsteps going back and forth, back and forth. Packing?

Finally he heard her trudge towards the front door.

He met her at the foot of the castle stairs and tried to take an enormous suitcase from her.

‘I can manage.’ Her voice dripped ice. ‘I can cope by myself.’

And what was it about those few words that made him flinch?

She was shoving her case into the back of her battered car and he was feeling as if...feeling as if...

As if maybe he’d messed something up. Something really important.

Yes, he had. He’d messed up the entire Duncairn empire, but right now it felt much more personal.

She closed the lid of the boot on her car and returned. He stood and watched as she headed for the kitchen, grabbed crates and wads of newspaper and headed for the library.

He followed and stood at the door as she wrapped and stowed every whisky bottle that was more than a third full.

The B & B guests would come back tonight and be shattered, he thought. Half the appeal of this place on the web was the simple statement: ‘Genuine Scottish Castle, with every whisky of note that this grand country’s ever made free to taste.’

He’d seen the website and had congratulated his grandmother on such a great selling idea.

‘The whisky’s Jeanie’s idea,’ Eileen had told him. ‘I told her I thought the guests would drink themselves silly, but she went ahead and bought them anyway, out of her own salary. She lets me replenish it now, but the original outlay and idea were hers. So far no one’s abused it. The guests love it, and you’re right, it’s brilliant.’

And the guests were still here. They’d want their whisky.

‘And don’t even think about claiming it,’ she snapped as she wrapped and stowed. ‘I bought the first lot out of my wages so it’s mine. Be grateful I’m only taking what’s left. Alasdair, you can contact Maggie if you want my forwarding address...for legalities. For marriage annulment. For getting us out of this final foolishness. Meanwhile that’s it. I’m done and out of here. From this day forth I’m Jeanie Lochlan, and if I never see a McBride again, it’ll be too soon.’

She picked up her first crate of whisky and headed to the car. Silently he lifted the second and carried it after her.

She shoved both crates into the back seat and slammed the door after them. Her little car shuddered. It really was a banger, he thought.

Alan’s wife. An undischarged bankrupt. Alan... He thought of his cousin and he felt ill.

‘Jeanie, can we talk?’

‘We’ve talked. Goodbye.’ She stuck out her hand and waited until he took it, then shook it with a fierceness that surprised him. Then she looked up at his face, gave one decisive nod and headed for the driver’s seat.

‘I’m sorry about the castle,’ she threw at him. She could no longer see him. She was hauling on her seat belt, moving on. ‘And I’m sorry about your company. On the upside, there are going to be some very happy dogs all over Europe.’

* * *

He stood and watched her as she headed out of the castle grounds, along the cliff road towards the village. When she disappeared from view he watched on.

His entire financial empire had just come crashing down. He should be gutted.

He was gutted but what was uppermost in his mind right now was that he’d hurt her. She’d hit him but the next moment she’d drawn back as if he’d been the one who’d hit her.

He had made assumptions, he thought, but those assumptions had been based on facts. He knew how much money Eileen had withdrawn from the company when Jeanie and Alan had married. ‘It’ll set them up for life,’ Eileen had told him. ‘I know Alan’s not interested in the company but he is my grandson. He wants his inheritance now, and if it helps him settle, then he should have it.’

The amount she’d given the pair had been eye-watering. And yes, Alan’s lifestyle had been ruinous but his death must have meant most of the capital was intact. Surely Alan couldn’t have gambled that much?

Surely?

He’d always thought Jeanie’s decision to come back here to the castle was an attempt to ingratiate herself with his grandmother. The contents of Eileen’s will had proved him right.

The sight of her heading away in her ancient car gave him pause.

An undischarged bankruptcy...

If it was true, then the castle was forfeit no matter whether they married or not.

And with that thought came another. He’d loved the castle since he was a child, even when it was little more than a ruin. Eileen’s restoration had made it fabulous. She’d been overwhelmingly proud of it—and so was he. He gazed up now at the turrets and towers, the age-old battlements, the great, grand home that had sheltered so many generations of his family. That had provided work for so many islanders...

He was the Lord of Duncairn. Even though he no longer used it, the title, but the castle and the island were still important to him. Desperately important. With her leaving, Jeanie had sealed the castle’s fate. It would leave the family forever.

He was forcing his mind to think tangentially. If what she’d just told him was based on facts, then it wasn’t Jeanie who’d sealed the castle’s fate. It had been Alan.

He thought suddenly of the night Alan had been killed. He’d been driving a brand-new sports car, far too fast. A clear road. An inexplicable swerve to the left, a massive tree.

Jeanie had been thrown clear, suffering minor injuries. Alan had died instantly.

He’d thought until now it had been alcohol or drugs that had caused the crash, but now... Had it been suicide? Because of debt?

Had he tried to take Jeanie with him?

He’d been too caught up with Eileen’s grief to ask questions. What sort of fool had he been?

A car was approaching, a low-slung, crimson sports car. The couple inside wore expensive clothes and designer sunglasses. The car spun onto the driveway, sending up a spray of gravel. The pair climbed out, looking at the castle in awe.

And they also looked at Alasdair. He was still in his wedding finery. Lord of his castle?

He’d lose the castle. Alan had gambled it away.

And he’d gambled more than the castle away. Jeanie... He’d gambled with her life.

‘Hi, there.’ The young man was clearly American, and he was impervious to the fact that Alasdair’s gaze was still following Jeanie’s car. He flicked the boot open and pointed to the baggage, then turned back to his partner. ‘This looks cool,’ he told her. ‘And check out the doorman. Great touch.’ And he tossed the car keys to Alasdair, who was so stunned that he actually caught them.

‘This is just what we ordered—real Scotland,’ he continued. ‘Wow, look at those ruins down by the sea. You can put them on the Internet, honey. And check out the battlements. I’ve half a mind to put in an offer for the place, doorman and all. But first, my love, let’s check out this whisky.’ He glanced back at Alasdair. ‘What are you waiting for, man? We need our bags straight away.’

‘Carry your own bags,’ Alasdair snapped. ‘I don’t work in this place. I own it.’

Only he didn’t.

* * *

‘As far as short marriages go, this must be a record.’

Down in the village, Maggie had chosen a top-of-the-range bottle from Jeanie’s crates and had poured two whiskies. They were sitting at Maggie’s kitchen table, surrounded by the clutter of Maggie’s kids, Maggie’s fisherman husband and the detritus of a busy family. The ancient stove was giving out gentle warmth but Jeanie couldn’t stop shaking. Maggie’s hug had made her feel better, the whisky should be helping, but she had a way to go before shock lessened.

‘So the marriage lasted less than an hour,’ Maggie continued. ‘I’m guessing...not consummated?’

‘Maggie!’

‘Just asking.’ Maggie grinned and raised her glass. ‘You might need to declare that to get an annulment—or am I thinking of the bad old days when they checked the sheets?’

‘I can hardly get a doctor to declare me a virgin,’ Jeanie retorted, and Maggie’s smile broadened. But behind her smile Jeanie could see concern. Real concern.

‘So what happened? Did he come on too fast? Is he a brute? Tell me.’

If only, Jeanie thought, and suddenly, weirdly, she was thinking of her mother. Heather Lochlan had died when Jeanie was sixteen and Jeanie still missed her with an ache that would never fade.

‘He’s not a brute. He’s just...a businessman.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Mam would never have let me get myself into this mess,’ she whispered. ‘Three husbands... Three disasters.’

‘Your mam knew Rory,’ Maggie retorted. ‘Rory was no disaster. Your mam would have danced at your wedding.’

She well might have, Jeanie thought. Rory had been an islander, born and bred. He’d been older than Jeanie by ten years, and he’d followed his father and his grandfather’s way to the sea. He’d been gentle, predictable, safe. All the things Jeanie’s dad wasn’t.

She’d been a mere sixteen when her dad had taken control of her life.

Her mam’s death had been sudden and shocking, and Jeanie’s dad had turned to drink to cope. He’d also pulled Jeanie out of school. ‘Sixteen is well old enough to do the housework for me. I’m wasting no more of my money.’

She’d been gutted, but then Rory had stepped in, and amazingly he’d stood up to her father. ‘We’ll marry,’ he’d told her. ‘You can work in the fish shop rather than drudge for your father. You can live with my mam and dad.’

Safe... That was what Rory was. She’d thought she loved him, but...

But working in the fish shop, doing an online accountancy course because she ached to do something other than serve fish and clean, waiting for the times Rory came home from sea, fitting in with Rory’s life...sometimes she’d dreamed...

It had never come to a point where she’d chafed against the bonds of loving, for Rory had drowned. She’d grieved for him, honestly and openly, but she knew she should never have married him. Safety wasn’t grounds for a marriage. She’d found a part-time job with the island solicitor, and she’d begun to think she might see London. Maybe even save for a cruise...

But it had been so hard to save. She’d still been cleaning for her in-laws. She’d been earning practically nothing. Dreams had seemed just that—dreams. And then Eileen had come and offered her a job, acting as her assistant whenever she was on the island. And with Eileen...Alan.

Life had been grey and drab and dreary and he’d lit up everything around him. But...

There was that but again.

‘Mam would have told me not to be a fool,’ she told Maggie. ‘Maybe even with Rory. Definitely with Alan and even more definitely with this one.’

‘Maybe, but a girl has to follow her heart.’

‘My heart doesn’t make sense. I married Rory for safety. I married Alan for excitement. I married...this one...so he could keep his inheritance. None of them are the basis for any sort of marriage. It’s time I grew up and accepted it.’

‘So what will you do now?’ Maggie was watching her friend with concern.

‘I’m leaving the island. I never should have come back after Alan’s death. I was just...so homesick and battered, and Eileen was kind.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No matter. I’ve enough money to tide me over for a few weeks and there are always bookkeeping jobs.’ She raised her whisky to her friend. ‘Here’s to an unmarried future,’ she said.

‘Och,’ Maggie exclaimed, startled. ‘You can’t expect me to drink to that.’

‘Then here’s to an unmarried Jeanie Lochlan,’ Jeanie told her. ‘Here’s to just me and that’s how it should be. I’m on my own and I’m not looking back.’

* * *

Alasdair was not on his own. He was surrounded by eight irate guests and two hungry dogs. Where did Jeanie keep the dog food? He had no idea.

He’d stayed in the castle off and on when his grandmother was ill, and after his grandmother’s funeral. During that time the castle had been full of women and casseroles and offers of help. Since that time, though, he’d been back in Edinburgh, frantically trying to tie up loose ends so he could stay on the island for twelve months. He’d arrived this morning via helicopter, but the helicopter was long gone.

He was stuck here for the night, and the castle was full, not with offers of help, but with eight guests who all wanted attention.

‘Where’s the whisky, fella? We only came for the whisky.’ That was the American, growing more and more irate.

‘Jeanie has shortbread.’ That was the shorter of two elderly women in hiking gear. ‘I’m Ethel, and Hazel and I have been here a week now. We know she made it, a big tin. Hazel and I ate three pieces each last night, and we’re looking forward to more. If you could just find it... Oh, and Hazel needs a hot-water bottle. Her bunion’s playing up. I told her she should have seen the doctor before she came but would she listen? She’s ready for a drop of whisky, too. When did you say Jeanie would be back?’

He’d assumed Jeanie had some help. Someone other than just her. These people were acting as if Jeanie were their personal servant. What the...?

‘I’ll ring the village and get whisky delivered,’ he said and the American fixed him with a death stare.

‘That’s not good enough, man. It should be here now.’

‘We’ve had a problem.’

‘Is something the matter with Jeanie?’ The lady called Ethel switched to concern, closely followed by visions of disaster. ‘Where is she? And the whisky? You’ve lost it? Were you robbed? Is Jeanie hurt? Oh, she’s such a sweetheart. If anything happened to her, we’d never forgive ourselves. Hazel, Jeanie’s been hurt. Oh, but if it’s robbery, should we stay here...?’

‘It’s not robbery.’

‘It’ll be that father of hers,’ Hazel volunteered. ‘He came when we were here last year, blustering his way in, demanding money. He took her whisky. Oh, she’ll be mortified, poor lass.’

‘But where’s our whisky?’ the American demanded and Hazel swung around and raised her purse.

‘If you say one more word about whisky when our Jeanie’s in trouble, this’ll come down on your head,’ she told him. ‘My bunion’s killing me and I could use something to hit. Meanwhile Mr...Mr...’ She eyed Alasdair with curiosity.

‘McBride,’ Alasdair told her.

And with the word, the elderly lady’s face sagged into relief. ‘You’re family? Oh, we’re so glad. Ethel and I worry about her being here in this place all alone. We didn’t know she had anyone. Is she really all right?’

‘I... Yes. She just...needs to stay in the village tonight. For personal reasons.’

‘Well, why shouldn’t she?’ the lady demanded. ‘All the times we’ve stayed here, we’ve never known her to take a night off, and she works so hard. But we can help. The doggies need their dinner, don’t you, doggies? And we can make our own hot-water bottles. If you light the fire in the sitting room, Ethel and I will feed the doggies and find the shortbread. Oh, and we’ll take the breakfast orders, too, so you’ll have them all ready.’ Her face suddenly puckered. ‘But if Jeanie’s not back by the morning... Ethel and I come for Jeanie’s porridge. We can cope without whisky but not without our porridge.’

* * *

The guests headed to the village for dinner, and by the time they returned Alasdair had whisky waiting. It wasn’t enough to keep the Americans happy, but the couple had only booked for one night and for one night Alasdair could cope with bluster.

But one night meant one morning. Breakfast. Ethel and Hazel had handed him the menus, beaming confidence. He’d glanced through them and thought there was nothing wrong with toast.

He couldn’t cope with breakfast—and why should he? This marriage farce was over. All he had to do was accept it. He could contact the chopper pilot, get him here first thing and be back in Edinburgh by mid-morning.

He’d be back in charge of his life—but Hazel and Ethel wouldn’t get their porridge and the Duncairn empire was finished.

He glanced again at the menus. Porridge, gourmet omelettes, black pudding... Omelettes were easy, surely. Didn’t you just break eggs into a pan and stir? But black pudding! He didn’t know where to start.

Did Jeanie do it all? Didn’t she have anyone to help?

The memory flooded back of Jeanie in the car. What had he said to her? That his car was...‘blocking your profits...’

The moment he’d said it he’d seen the colour drain from her face. The slap had shocked her more than it had shocked him.

An undischarged bankruptcy?

He didn’t know anything about her.

What had she said? ‘This is a business deal. If you’re buying, Alasdair McBride, surely you should have checked out the goods.’

He’d set Elspeth onto a background check. Yes, he should have done it weeks ago but he’d assumed...

Okay, he’d assumed the worst—that Jeanie was as money-grubbing as her ex-husband. It had just seemed a fact.

He thought back to the one time—the only time—he’d seen Jeanie together with Alan. They’d just married. Alan had brought his new bride to the head offices of the Duncairn Corporation and introduced her with pride.

‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’ he’d demanded of Alasdair and Alasdair had looked at Jeanie’s short, short skirt and the leather jacket and boots and the diamond earrings and he’d felt nothing but disgust. The demure secretary he’d seen working with Eileen had been a front, he’d thought. The transformation made him wonder just how much his grandmother had been conned.

He was about to find out. ‘You know what this means,’ Alan had told him. ‘I’m respectable now. The old lady thinks the sun shines out of Jeanie. She’s already rethinking the money side of this business. Half this company should be mine and you know it. Now Eileen’s thinking it, too.’

Eileen hadn’t been thinking it, but she had settled an enormous amount on the pair of them. ‘It’s easier than to have the inheritance of the company split when I die, and Jeanie’s excellent with money. She’ll manage it.’

The next time he’d seen Jeanie, she’d been back here and his grandmother had been dying. There’d been no sign of the tight-fitting clothes or the jewels then. There’d been no sign of the brittle, would-be sophisticate—and there’d been no sign of the money.

On impulse he headed upstairs to the room his grandmother had kept as her own. Eileen had spent little time here but when she’d known her time was close she’d wanted to come back. He had to clear it out—sometime. Not now. All he wanted to do now was look.

He entered, wincing a little at the mounds of soft pillows, at the billowing pink curtains, at the windows open wide to let in the warm evening air. Jeanie must still be caring for it. All signs of the old lady’s illness had gone but the room was still Eileen’s. Eileen’s slippers were still beside the bed.

There were two photographs on the dresser. One was of him, aged about twelve, holding his first big salmon. He looked proud fit to burst. The other was of Alan and Jeanie on their wedding day.

Jeanie was holding a posy of pink roses. She was wearing a dress similar to the one she had on today. Alan was beaming at the camera, hugging Jeanie close, his smile almost...triumphant.

Jeanie just looked embarrassed.

So the tarty clothes had come after the wedding, he thought.

So the marriage to Alan had been almost identical to the one she’d gone through today?

Maybe it was. After all, he was just another McBride.

He swore and crossed to Eileen’s desk, feeling more and more confused. The foundations he’d been so sure of were suddenly decidedly shaky.

What he was looking for was front and centre—a bound ledger, the type he knew Eileen kept for every transaction she had to deal with. This was the castle ledger, dealing with the day-to-day running of the estate. Jeanie would have another one, he knew, but, whatever she did, Eileen always kept a personal account.

He flicked through until he found the payroll.

Over the past couple of months there’d been a few on the castle staff. There’d been nurses, help from the village, the staff Alasdair had seen when he’d come to visit her. But before that... Leafing through, he could find only two entries. One was for Mac, the gillie. Mac had been gillie here for fifty years and must be close to eighty now. He was still on full wages, though he must be struggling.

The castle wasn’t running as a farm. The cattle were here mostly to keep the grass down, but still... He thought of the great rhododendron drive. It had been clipped since the funeral. There was no way Mac could have done such a thing, and yet there was no mention of anyone else being paid to do it.

Except Jeanie? Jeanie, who was the only other name in the book? Jeanie, who was being paid less than Mac? Substantially less.

What was a good wage for a housekeeper? He had a housekeeper in Edinburgh and he paid her more than this—to keep house for one man.

His phone rang. Elspeth.

‘That was fast,’ he told her, but in truth he was starting to suspect that what she had to find was easy. He could have found it out himself, he thought. His dislike of Alan had stopped him enquiring, but now... Did he want to hear?

‘I thought I’d catch you before you start enjoying your wedding night,’ Elspeth said and he could hear her smiling. ‘By the way, did you want more of those financial records sent down? I’m not sure what you’re worried about. If you tell me, I can help look.’

‘I’m not worried about the business right now,’ he growled and heard Elspeth’s shocked silence. What a statement!

But she regrouped fast. She was good, was Elspeth. ‘I’ve been busy but this has been relatively simple,’ she told him. ‘From what I’ve found there’s nothing to get in the way of having a very good time. No criminal record. Nothing. There’s just one major hiccup in her past.’

And he already knew it. ‘Bankruptcy?’

‘You knew?’

‘I... Yes.’ But how long for? Some things weren’t worth admitting, even to Elspeth. ‘But not the details. Tell me what you have. As much as you have.’

‘Potted history,’ she said. Elspeth had worked for him for years and she knew he’d want facts fast. ‘Jeanie Lochlan was born twenty-nine years ago, on Duncairn. Her father is supposedly a fisherman, but his boat’s been a wreck for years. Her mother sounds like she was a bit of a doormat.’

‘Where did you get this information?’ he demanded, startled. This wasn’t facts and figures.

‘Where does one get all local information?’ He could hear her smiling. ‘The post office is closed today, so I had to use the publican, but he had time for a chat. Jeanie’s mother died when she was sixteen. Her father proceeded to try to drink himself to death and he’s still trying. The local view is that he’ll be pickled and stuck on the bar stool forever.’

So far he knew...well, some of this. He knew she was local. ‘So...’ he said cautiously.

‘When she was seventeen Jeanie got a special dispensation to marry another fisherman, an islander called Rory Craig,’ Elspeth told him. ‘I gather she went out with him from the time her mam died. By all reports it was a solid marriage but no kids. She worked in the family fish shop until Rory drowned when his trawler sank. She was twenty-three.’

And that was more of what he hadn’t known about. The details of the first marriage. He’d suspected...

He’d suspected wrong.

‘I guess she wouldn’t be left all that well-off after that marriage,’ he ventured and got a snort for his pains.

‘Small family fishing business, getting smaller. The trawler sank with no insurance.’

‘How did you get all this?’ he demanded again.

‘Easy,’ Elspeth said blithely. ‘I told the publican I was a reporter from Edinburgh and had heard Lord Alasdair of Duncairn was marrying an islander. He was happy to tell me everything—in fact, I gather the island’s been talking of nothing else for weeks. Anyway, Rory died and then she met your cousin. You must know the rest.’

‘Try me.’

‘You mean you don’t?’

‘Eileen didn’t always tell me...’ In fact, she’d never told Alasdair anything about Alan. There’d been animosity between the boys since childhood and Eileen had walked a fine line in loving both. ‘And Jeanie keeps herself to herself.’

‘Okay. It seems your gorgeous cousin visited the island to visit his gran—probably to ask for money, if the company ledgers are anything to go by. He met Jeanie, he took her off the island and your grandmother paid him to marry her.’

‘I...beg your pardon?’

‘I’m good,’ she said smugly. ‘But this was easy, too. I asked Don.’

Don.

Alasdair had controlled the day-to-day running of the firm for years now, but Don had been his grandparents’ right-hand man since well before Alasdair’s time. The old man still had a massive office, with the privileges that went with it. Alasdair had never been overly fond of him, often wondering what he was paid for, but his place in his grandparents’ affections guaranteed his place in the company, and gossip was what he lived for.

‘So Don says...’ Elspeth started, and Alasdair thought, This is just more gossip, I should stop her—but he didn’t. ‘Don says soon after Alan met Jeanie, he took her to Morocco. Eileen must have been worried because she went to visit—and Alan broke down and told her the mess he was in. He was way over his head, with gambling debts that’d make your eyes water. He’d gone to the castle to try to escape his creditors—that’s when he met Jeanie—and then he’d decided to go back to Morocco and try to gamble his way out of trouble. You can imagine how that worked. But he hadn’t told Jeanie. She still had stars in her eyes—so Eileen decided to sort it.’

‘How did she sort it?’ But he already knew the answer.

‘I’d guess you know.’ Elspeth’s words echoed his thoughts. ‘That was when she pulled that second lot of funds from the company, but she gave it to Alan on the understanding that no more was coming. She was sure Jeanie could save him from himself, and of course Alan made promise after promise he never intended to keep. I’m guessing Eileen felt desperate. You know how she loved your cousin, and she saw Jeanie as the solution. Anyway, after his death Eileen would have helped Jeanie again—Don says she felt so guilty she made herself ill—but Jeanie wouldn’t have any of it. She had herself declared bankrupt. She accepted a minimal wage from Eileen to run the castle, and that’s it. End of story as far as Don knows it.’ She paused. ‘But, Alasdair, is this important? And if it is, why didn’t you ask Don before you married her? Why didn’t you ask her?’

Because I’m stupid.

No, he thought grimly. It wasn’t that. He’d known Alan gambled. He knew the type of people Alan mixed with. If he’d enquired... If he’d known for sure that Jeanie was exactly the same as Alan was, with morals somewhere between a sewer rat and pond scum, he’d never have been able to marry her.

Except he had believed that. He’d tried to suppress it, for the good of the company, for the future of the estate, but at the back of his mind he’d branded her the same as he’d branded Alan.

‘She still married him,’ he found himself muttering. How inappropriate was it to talk like this to his secretary about...his wife? But he was past worrying about appropriateness. He was feeling sick. ‘She must have been a bit like him.’

‘Don said Eileen said she was a sweet young thing who was feeling trapped after her husband died,’ Elspeth said. ‘She was working all hours, for Eileen when your grandmother was on the island but also for the local solicitor, and cleaning in her husband’s family’s fish shop as well. Being paid peanuts. Trying to pay off the debt left after her husband’s trawler sank with no insurance. She was bleak and she was broke. Don thinks Alan simply seduced her off the island. You know how charming Alan was.’

He knew.

He sat at the chair in front of Eileen’s dresser and stared at himself in the mirror. The face that looked back at him was gaunt.

What had he done?

‘But it’s lovely that you’ve married her,’ Elspeth said brightly now. ‘Doesn’t she deserve a happy ending? Don said she made Eileen’s last few months so happy.’

She had, he conceded. He’d been a frequent visitor to the castle as his grandmother neared the end, and every time he’d found Jeanie acting as nursemaid. Reading to her. Massaging her withered hands. Just sitting...

And he’d thought... He’d thought...

Yeah, when the will was read he’d expected Jeanie to be mentioned.

That was what Alan would have done—paid court to a dying woman.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ Elspeth asked.

Was there anything else he needed? He breathed out a few times and thought about it.

‘Yes,’ he said at last.

‘I’m here to serve.’ He almost smiled at that. Elspeth was fifty and bossy and if he pushed her one step too far she’d push back again.

‘I need a recipe for black pudding,’ he told her.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘I’ll send it through. Anything else?’

‘Maybe a recipe for humble pie as well,’ he told her. ‘And maybe I need that first.’