Читать книгу The Forbidden Promise - Lorna Cook - Страница 11

The door to the library flew open so suddenly it made Kate jump. She’d been gazing so absent-mindedly at the handwritten names in the family Bible that she’d almost forgotten the argument that had been taking place in the entrance hall between mother and son. James stood in the doorway and seethed. He appeared unable to speak, his lips forming a thin line. The pen mark that crossed through Constance McLay’s name was forgotten as Kate closed the book gently – expecting her marching orders from the sullen James.

It was Liz who broke the silence, stepping round her son and across the threshold of the room. ‘James will take you to your room, show you where things are, give you a bit of a tour. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up after a day’s travel? And then we’ll dine together, in about an hour or so. Just pop down to the kitchen. We only use the dining room for big occasions. Not that your arriving isn’t a big occasion but … well … you know what I mean.’ Liz blushed.

Kate found it hard to mask her surprise. She glanced at James. So, she was allowed to stay. The vein throbbing at the side of his temple indicated he was less than happy about being overruled by his mother and he now stood in a silence that spoke volumes.

‘Thanks, Liz. That sounds lovely,’ Kate replied, pointedly ignoring acknowledging the son in case the slightest thing she said sent him over the edge entirely. James merely stared at her, turned and walked into the hallway.

‘Are you coming?’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Or am I showing myself to your room?’

Almost running after him, Kate found him about five stairs up, holding a suitcase in each hand, his chin pointed up as he ascended the staircase. Portraits lined the walls along the staircase but James moved at such a speed Kate wasn’t able to get a very good look at them. Two of the paintings were faintly interesting: a young woman in a silver-grey evening dress, dark hair rolled and clipped near her ears and her brown eyes looking directly at Kate – or the artist, depending on how you thought about it.

The portrait by the side of it was of a very good-looking young man facing side-on in a sky blue RAF uniform. Both looked as if they’d been painted in the 1940s. Kate paused to take in the brushstrokes and the genial expression on the young man’s face. The pictures had been moved about fairly recently. The paint surrounding these was a different colour, brighter than the rest of the slightly faded paint on the wall, indicating that the portraits that had hung there not long before had been covering a larger space.

Then Kate noticed she was alone. James had disappeared entirely and despite trying for an air of elegance, she scurried up the stairs to look for him. At the top of the staircase the corridor stretched both left and right. Kate turned left and stared down the lengthy hallway. Faded, almost threadbare red runner carpet ran down the centre of the corridor and pot plants on tall brass stands stood by the walls. Old framed pencil drawings hung between the numerous dark wooden doors that probably led to bedrooms. But there was no James. Kate turned back on herself and saw he was at the other end of the corridor past the stairs, watching her but making no sound. He’d let her turn completely the wrong way and had simply waited for her to realise. Kate smiled thinly despite the fact she was really starting to dislike James.

He opened a door and walked inside, taking her suitcases with him. Kate moved quickly down the corridor and then wondered why she was hurrying when he was behaving so childishly. She began ambling, looking at the pencil sketches of the estate that lined this side of the hallway. After about thirty seconds, James peered round the door to see where she was. She saw him out of the corner of her eye but made no move to acknowledge him. She didn’t know why he brought out this side in her. James folded his arms and exhaled loudly. When she didn’t move, he coughed to attract her attention.

‘This,’ he called as he moved back inside, ‘is your room.’

Kate entered and stood at the threshold to the chintziest room she had ever seen. She was reminded of the old IKEA television advert that advised customers to chuck out their chintz. This was the ‘before’ picture. But while the room was overcrowded with floral eiderdowns and doilies on surfaces, the walls were devoid of any decoration at all. No pictures – nothing. The bare walls lessened the homeliness but Kate knew she couldn’t actually feel homesick, because her empty little one-bed flat had never truly felt like home. She supposed it was because unhealthy working hours coupled with far too much socialising meant she never really spent much time in her flat. It had always been more of a crash pad. If she stopped to think about it, even when she lived at home with her parents she’d always been nomadic, catching last-minute cheapish weekends away with friends. Surrounded here by peaks and mountains, clean fresh air and a bedroom that was bigger than her entire flat, she might feel at home, might be able to settle even if it was only for six months. She glanced at James, his expression fixed. Perhaps not.

‘The bathroom’s through here.’ James opened a connecting door and pointed. Kate followed him, walking past an ornate four-poster bed, housing an abundance of floral cushions. She looked inside the bathroom. It was white, mock Victoriana with brass taps, which was something at least. She was half expecting an avocado suite given the décor in the rest of the room.

‘Very cosy,’ she said truthfully.

But James was already at the bedroom door, one foot on the hallway carpet. ‘I take it you don’t want the grand tour now.’ He couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘Well, not if you don’t want to,’ she conceded.

‘I don’t,’ he replied.

Kate laughed, more out of shock than anything else. At least the man was honest.

‘My mother tells me you’re on a six-month contract – is that right?’ James looked directly at her.

‘Yes,’ she offered tentatively. Though the job offer was on a six-month basis, she wasn’t strictly on a contract. She didn’t want to highlight that in case James clung on to that small detail and then tried to get rid of her again.

‘We’ve got the next six months to cover the tour then, haven’t we?’ James turned and left.

Kate’s mouth dropped open and she was left staring into the empty corridor where he had just been standing. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. How could anyone be that rude? This wasn’t the way she’d been brought up, and given how charming and friendly Liz was, Kate suspected that wasn’t the way James had been brought up either. Why was he like this then? She sat on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. A lesser person would have been scared off, of that she was sure. Perhaps James would warm to her, she hoped. Perhaps not. Either way, she couldn’t make any rash decisions about leaving now. She would at least have to stick it out for a few weeks and see how the land lay; see how much involvement James had in the running of the estate and how closely she would be expected to work with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

Somewhere far below, a dinner gong sounded. Kate’s eyes opened and she blinked at her chintz-clad bedroom, lit by the dim yellow glow from the lamp on the side table. She had only meant to rest her eyes for a few moments, but with horror she realised she must have fallen asleep. The nap hadn’t been enough to recharge her empty batteries after a day of travel and she stretched and yawned in succession. While the flight up to Inverness had been mercifully short, the collective time spent travelling to and from and actually at the airport had been tiring.

Crossing to the window, she looked out to see it was growing dark. In the grounds, she could make out some kind of formal garden with a beautiful clipped-hedge parterre that sloped down towards a loch. The moon began its ascent over the mountains and darts of silver light shifted across the water as it lapped gently. The village, somewhere in the distance on the other side of the forest, from what she remembered from the drive, provided no light. The house was utterly remote.

The smell of something delicious cooking drifted into Kate’s bedroom as she opened the door and hurried downstairs, realising she’d unwittingly ignored the dinner gong.

‘Oh good,’ Liz declared warmly as Kate entered the kitchen. ‘You heard it. You should have seen the dust that flew as I rang it. We’ve not used it in years.’

Kate smiled and looked around the large, homely kitchen. It seemed like a relic from a prior decade. Wooden cupboards and Formica worktops were cluttered with cookbooks; some old, some very new. The new Ottolenghi cookbook was upright and propped open with a red wine bottle. Kate had that book in her flat, although she’d never actually cooked from it because she was out so much. She’d bought it because it had a drawing of a huge lemon on the front and went well with her pale yellow kitchen. Only now she supposed her brother was enjoying the use of it, along with her flat, while she was in Scotland. Kate wasn’t sure how long she was actually going to be here given James’s permafrosty reception. His back had been turned since she entered the room, as he flicked through a newspaper on the worktop.

‘Did you get a bit of rest?’ Liz asked.

‘Mm, yes, thanks.’

‘I’m glad. James has made lasagne. I hope that’s OK?’ Liz said.

‘That sounds love—’ But Kate was cut off mid-sentence as James swung round.

‘You’re not one of those bloody vegetarians are you?’ he said accusingly.

‘No.’ Kate held his gaze wondering if he would have lost it completely if she had said she was.

He spun back round and nudged an old yellow Labrador out of the way with his foot as he opened the Aga door. ‘That’s something then, I suppose,’ he muttered towards the oven. The mouth-watering smell was coming from the lasagne bubbling in the dish.

Kate bent down to the scratch the dog’s ears as it ambled towards her and sat at her feet, investigating her silently. His tail thumped slowly against the flagstone floor and when it became clear Kate had no treats to give, he picked himself up and moved back to his bed on the other side of the kitchen. The scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room had already been laid for dinner and Liz gestured for them to sit.

James placed the lasagne dish on a trivet and stared at it, as if he wasn’t sure whom he should serve first. ‘Help yourself,’ he said eventually.

Kate hadn’t realised how famished she was until now. The packet of pretzels on the flight up from London had been the last thing she’d eaten.

‘Thanks, I will.’

‘Do you drink?’ James asked suddenly.

The serving spoon hovered between lasagne dish and Kate’s plate as she stopped mid-serve. ‘Er? What?’ she asked.

‘Wine? Do you drink wine? You work in PR in London so you must drink gallons of the stuff, but one doesn’t like to assume.’

Kate couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny or rude, but a laugh escaped her lips regardless. ‘Well, yes, I do actually. I mean, not lots—’ she tried to save the situation ‘—but I do like wine. Are you … offering some?’ God, he was hard to talk to.

He nodded. ‘Red? Goes nicely with lasagne.’ He looked toward the cookbook where the bottle of wine stood. ‘I could open some if you want?’

Kate was about to say she would only have some if they were having some when Liz saved the situation from a politeness tipping point by hopping up and bringing the bottle to the table, turning back to fetch three wine glasses.

‘Good to see your manners haven’t failed you completely.’ Liz told James as she opened the bottle. It made a satisfying plucking noise as the cork was withdrawn. He shrugged and started tucking into his plate of lasagne.

The clock on the wall ticked away, providing an awkward soundtrack for the dinner. Kate’s PR training kicked in and she started on the small talk.

‘This is wonderful,’ she said truthfully.

‘Thanks,’ James mumbled.

Silence threatened to engulf the room again.

‘James is really rather talented in the kitchen,’ Liz enthused. ‘I joke he’ll make someone a lovely wife one day.’

He shrugged then shovelled another fork load of lasagne into his mouth.

As Liz and Kate continued small talk amongst themselves about the weather and the village nearby, James practically hoovered his food down. Kate stole small glances at him every now and again. He’d probably be quite good-looking, if only he’d smile. She glanced back at him a few minutes later and found him looking directly at her. ‘Right. That’s me done,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m off to bed.’

He put his plate in the sink, took his wine glass with him and left the kitchen. He was avoiding her already; Kate was sure of it.

If Liz hadn’t been sitting there Kate would have breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he’d gone. He knew how to suck the atmosphere from a room.

‘Oh, don’t mind him,’ Liz said, obviously spotting her expression. ‘He’s going to take a little while to get used to the idea of you being here. Between you, me and the gatepost,’ Liz said quietly, ‘he feels a bit undermined.’

‘Undermined?’ Kate helped herself to another portion of lasagne and Liz did the same.

‘He’s used to ruling the roost. Whole teams of people worked under him at the office. Before he left to come and help me. But of course you’re now here, and you’re an expert in a field James knows absolutely nothing about. So he’s not really sure how he’s going to manage you.’

‘I see,’ Kate said. But she didn’t really see and wasn’t sure how she was going to alleviate James’s concern. ‘Well,’ Kate tried. ‘I’m only here for six months so the plan is to sort of … get you started on the PR side of things – make sure my travel contacts in the media are onside over the next few months, make sure they visit and write glowing reviews, introduce you to all of them when they visit so you have an ongoing relationship with them. I plan to make decent headway and then I’ll hand over the reins to you and James. Hopefully at the end of my time here, you’ll be beating visitors off with sticks and might be able to hire someone locally just for a few days a week.’

‘I know, I know, dear. We talked about this on the phone. All the other candidates droned on and on about how they’d need to move here permanently. How they’d be expecting a resettlement package and all that.’

Kate was pleased her honesty had paid off and she hadn’t been as offensively demanding as some of the other applicants had obviously been.

‘So don’t worry about the nitty-gritty at this stage. For now,’ Liz continued, looking conspiratorial, ‘we need to work out how to get the visitors in and then we need to worry about the PR after that.’

‘Well, that should be easy,’ Kate said confidently. ‘Good PR and a turnaround in visitors go hand in hand.’ She knew her job inside out. It was a rare kind of travel journalist who said no to a free all-expenses-paid mini-break with their partner in exchange for a decent review. And with decent reviews, came an upsurge in tourism – unless there was something very wrong with a hospitality property. Kate could do this in her sleep. And the rest of it, planning out themed articles months in advance in line with what journalists were requesting for their features, that was just good relationships and diarising. ‘You did mention on the phone you didn’t have much in the way of visitors and I admit you are very out of the way. You weren’t too sure about the events programme and we were going to take a look over the bedrooms to see what could improve but …’ Kate cut to the chase. ‘Liz, how many visitors does Invermoray House get?’

‘None, dear.’

‘None? Oh I don’t just mean out of season,’ Kate clarified, wondering why Liz was quoting the unimpressive out-of-season number. Although none, even for that time of year, was a worry.

‘We don’t get any visitors at all. Over any time period,’ Liz explained. ‘We don’t have any kind of events programme. We have never opened the house to paying visitors. We’ve never offered overnight stays. I love the idea of turning us into some sort of boutique bed and breakfast but we wouldn’t even know where to begin. I mean, do we need some kind of catering licence from the council to offer breakfasts or afternoon teas? But for now, what you see is what we are: a family home that needs to start paying its way. That’s why you’re here. We need you to help us do all of this. We need you to save Invermoray House.’