A Christmas Romance in the Scottish Highlands (Scottish Highlands #6)

Chapter 3

3

ALEX

Alexander Forbes-Charming drew his silver Volvo to a stop in front of Pinecone Manor. It had been a challenging drive from Edinburgh this morning. Made worse by the snowstorm and the woman who’d accused him of almost running down her dog.

Had he been driving too fast? Alex shook his head chalking the faint stirrings of guilt up to hunger pangs. Instead, he checked his Rolex and calculated that he’d shaved four minutes off Google Maps’ predicted arrival time, despite the unexpected pitstop. There were a couple of colleagues at work who’d be impressed when he messaged an update and if he was lucky, his father – a man who’d dedicated his life to being first in every way – might give him a rare thumbs up.

Alex kept the car engine humming as he took a moment to peruse the striking building he was facing. He hadn’t known what to expect when his father had informed him that he was going to spend the next month on sabbatical with Henry Lockhart – one of Scotland’s foremost watercolour artists – but it hadn’t been this.

The double-fronted grey-stone building was vast and sprawling, with a large oak front door and imposing porch positioned in the centre. Numerous sections and extensions had been added to either side – some that even included turrets – all obviously designed to harmonise with the original structure.

Logic said it shouldn’t have worked, but somehow the expansive building was stunning. The Scottish mountains in the distance offered the perfect backdrop, and Alex wondered if Henry had moved here because of how lovely the scenery was. The artist was famous for his watercolours and Alex guessed he probably loved the beauty and isolation of the place.

Lockhart clearly had a keen interest in gardening as well as art. There were pots of winter pansies and multiple rows of trees on either side of the building – all already decorated with festive lights that looked like tiny fireworks exploding from each of their branches.

The driveway circled the manor, but Alex couldn’t see any other cars. He switched his off and got out before grabbing his suitcase, laptop bag and portfolio from the back and trudging his way up to the front door.

As Alex approached the porch, he heard ‘Paint It, Black’ by The Rolling Stones blaring loudly inside. He rang the bell and texted his father to tell him he’d arrived, informing him of the exact time it had taken. Then he waited, putting the luggage on the ground and shoving his hands into his pockets when a sudden gust of wind almost knocked him off his feet.

Alex shivered and stamped his feet on the mat which lined the porch. It had a picture of a Christmas tree on it, but the word ‘welcome’ was nowhere in sight. Was that an omen? He rang the bell again and waited, checking his watch. Three minutes later, he rang it again.

Stamping his feet once more, Alex’s attention caught on a garish Santa Claus ornament in the corner of the porch which seemed out of keeping with the style of the house. On impulse he knelt and lifted it, immediately spotting a brass key, which he picked up. ‘Father’s rule of success number one: use your initiative , you’ll never go wrong ,’ he said quietly.

Michael Charming had a verbal rulebook which he added to from time to time. He’d shared his wise words with Alex over the years and considered them a vital part of his parenting, believing they’d mould his son into a man he could admire. At least that was the hope.

Alex used the key to open the door as another gust of wind propelled him through it. ‘Hello!’ he shouted as he closed the door and then he stared. The hallway was beautiful with a shiny black and white stone floor and swirling staircase which had been layered with lush, thick red carpet. A curved banister had been decorated with wreathes of fresh holly which he could smell as he drew closer.

Alex was used to beautiful spaces – his family owned eleven houses which were scattered across the world, and he’d been raised to appreciate all kinds of architecture, interior design and decor. But this went far beyond that. Perhaps because it was so inviting?

He put his luggage on the ground and shoved his hands into his pockets as The Rolling Stones stopped singing, but Alex barely noticed; he was so absorbed. He looked up at the huge glittering chandelier before his gaze swung to the walls. They were peppered with an abundance of Henry’s watercolours, some of which had tinsel wound around their frames. There were a couple of interesting line drawings dotted in between the others – one of a bloodhound with soulful eyes and Alex found himself drawing closer so he could study it. Why did it look familiar?

His stomach clenched into an uncomfortable knot. He knew he was a talented artist, but this work was exquisite – the details so perfect that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the dog had suddenly come to life and licked his cheek. There was something whimsical about the image, completely out of keeping with Henry’s usual style. But Alex found himself unusually drawn in.

‘You found your way inside then?’ A loud voice rasped, and Alex only just stopped himself from bellowing in surprise before he spun round. ‘I’m Henry. Sorry no one was here to greet you. My housekeeper walked out again last week – I can be difficult apparently.’ The man checked his watch. ‘By my calculations she’s due to put in an appearance sometime today – she always forgives me in the end.’ He lifted an eyebrow as he grinned. ‘So, you’re Michael Charming’s lad, are you?’

‘Aye,’ Alex said as his heart rate began to return to normal. ‘Alex Forbes-Charming. Forbes was my mother’s surname,’ he explained. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Lockhart,’ he said formally.

‘We’ll see,’ Henry said.

The artist was a surprisingly imposing man up close. Alex had read as many articles and profiles on him as he could before leaving Edinburgh, because forewarned was forearmed – and he always did his homework.

He knew the man was sixty-eight and almost six foot four, which meant he was a full inch taller than Alex. He’d been expecting that but still found himself feeling at a disadvantage. The older man’s hair was snow white, but long enough to brush his shoulder and there was plenty of it. It matched his tidily clipped beard and the overall effect was elegant and distinguished, despite the well-worn jeans and Rolling Stones T-shirt he wore. There were a couple of paint splodges on his hands and arms, suggesting Alex had interrupted his painting.

‘I appreciate you having me,’ Alex said stiffly, offering his hand.

The older man gazed at it before taking it and meeting Alex’s eyes, his expression assessing. ‘You can thank your da,’ he said gruffly. ‘Charming Capital Management has made me a lot of money over the years, and I owed him a favour. That’s what got you through the door. I’m sure Michael told you I only open my house and studio to one artist a year?’

He paused for effect, perhaps to underscore exactly how much of a privilege it was for Alex to be standing here. ‘The lad who was supposed to come broke his arm last week and you’re only here because he’s not.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, that and because I was on the phone with your da when I found out he couldn’t make it.’

Henry blinked, his eyes emotionless. ‘The pictures your da sent me of your work proved you have raw talent, but raw is as far as it goes.’ He heaved out a breath. ‘I’m sure you’re used to people being impressed by you, but before we go any further, I need you to understand something.’

He wagged a finger looking serious. ‘From this point on, I don’t care if your da is Michael Charming – or how many degrees you have, your job title, stock portfolio or—’ His eyes narrowed as they skidded across Alex’s face. ‘That you have a very fine bone structure.’ He shrugged. ‘From this point on, I only care about the art.’

‘I understand that,’ Alex murmured. He didn’t bother adding that he was used to it. His father had made him earn every accolade, compliment and promotion since birth. There was no room for sentiment in his world. Everything had to be earned.

‘You need to be focused for every second that you’re staying with me,’ Henry continued. ‘If you’re not sufficiently talented or don’t put in enough effort, I will ask you to leave.’ The threat hung between them like a dark cloud.

‘I will be good enough,’ Alex promised. He knew that sounded arrogant, but he also knew people responded to confidence. ‘Hard work doesn’t scare me.’

The artist nodded as if he’d expected nothing less. ‘I’ll also want you to rip open your chest and show me the essence of your soul if I ask you to.’ Henry paused and narrowed his eyes. ‘And if you think I’m joking about that, lad, you’re wrong.’

‘Right.’ Alex drew out the word. None of this fazed him, but just for a moment, he felt weary. He was used to proving himself – but for the first time in a long time, he wondered if he’d ever reach a point in his life when he wouldn’t have to. Whether he’d ever be enough just as he was? He shook himself, disgusted. Feeling sorry for oneself was an indulgence.

‘That’s what my artists have to do when they’re with me,’ Henry continued. ‘You have to learn how to tell the truth with your work – and that means I expect you to show me exactly who you are.’ He waited as if expecting Alex to argue with him.

‘Aye,’ Alex said. ‘That’s fine.’ He’d been raised to win and to accept nothing less; it’s what his father demanded. Michael had told him if he was going to waste his time on a hobby like painting, then he might as well excel and earn money from it, which is why he’d insisted he come here. Now it was up to Alex to prove to Henry and his father that he had the talent and dedication to succeed.

The older man nodded, and then frowned. ‘Aye, well, words are easy, lad. We’ll see what you’re made of when you bleed. I’ll expect you’ve brought more work to show me—’ He opened his palm, indicating to Alex’s portfolio which was resting on the ground beside his suitcase.

Alex was about to pick it up when he heard a loud yapping from somewhere in the bowels of the house. Seconds later, a brown Yorkshire terrier wearing a set of antlers charged into the hallway and stopped before dropping onto its haunches and barking wildly at Alex’s legs. Alex stared at the fluffy bundle as it continued to yap, unsure of how to react. He’d never had a pet. The dog suddenly whined and launched itself closer to Alex, perhaps attempting to knock him over in the hope of gaining access to food?

‘I have nothing,’ Alex said, showing the dog his empty palms.

‘This is Sprout,’ Henry explained. ‘Named for that.’ He wagged a finger at the tuft of blonde-coloured hair that sprouted from the top of the dog’s head. ‘It has nowt to do with vegetables.’ His deep frown indicated this was an important distinction. ‘He seems to have taken a liking to you.’ He sounded amused, and he watched the dog nuzzle closer to Alex’s leg. ‘Don’t let it go to your head.’

‘What did I do, and how can I stop it?’ Alex asked gruffly. He decided against shaking the animal off because he didn’t want to upset the older man. But what was it that the dog liked so much?

‘A smart lad like you will figure that out. Although why you’d want to try, I’ve no idea,’ Henry said airily. ‘Grab your things and follow me.’ He spun on his heels and marched down the hallway at speed.

Alex quickly grabbed his luggage and followed, ignoring the dog as it whined, and only realised the shiny floor was slippery when he almost went flying.

They charged through a large door into a lounge where a fire burned in a stunning brick fireplace. Four dark green, high-back chairs faced the flames, and an enormous Christmas tree twinkled beside it.

Alex didn’t get a chance to see more because Henry disappeared through another doorway and suddenly, he was following the artist up a set of stairs. The older man was surprisingly fast for someone in his late sixties, and Alex was out of breath when they reached the top. He carefully put everything on the ground when he realised they were now in Henry’s studio.

It was a huge room and must have covered at least a third of the house. The ceiling was vaulted and there were dozens of Velux windows at all sorts of angles scattered across it. Someone had hung fairy lights in between them – and Santa and reindeer swirls dangled down.

‘I wanted natural light in my studio whatever time of the day it was,’ Henry explained before Alex could ask him about the windows. ‘There are more over on the right side of the room, because I like to be able to see the gardens when I work.’

Alex nodded and walked up to them, perturbed because Sprout shadowed him mere inches from his heels. He ignored the dog and took in the view – from here, he could see they were on the opposite side of the building to where he’d parked.

Snow was still falling outside, and the trees glittered with fresh flakes. Beyond the house were fields separated by hedgerows and in the distance, he could just make out a sheep. The view was beautiful, and he stared at it mesmerised until Henry cleared his throat.

Alex swung around, taking care not to tread on the terrier, and took a moment to peruse the rest of the room. There were numerous easels positioned around the space. On one he could see a line drawing of a cat drawn in the same style as the bloodhound in the hallway. It was almost finished and just as perfect, and he felt that same pinch of longing that he’d had downstairs.

There were multiple canvases piled up in the far corner of the room facing the wall and he itched to flick through them. Instead, he peeled off his coat because the studio was warm. His mouth felt dry, and he wished he’d thought to bring his water bottle in from the car.

‘I have underfloor heating,’ Henry explained, reading Alex’s mind again – although he didn’t offer refreshments. ‘Put your work on that table over there, lad.’ He went to pluck a pair of gold-framed spectacles from beside an easel and put them on.

Alex picked up his portfolio feeling anxious. He didn’t usually question himself. But there was something about this man that made him nervous. Perhaps because suddenly he really wanted to impress him and stay?

He unzipped the case and spread it wide, tugging out one of his favourite pieces. It was a landscape he’d painted earlier this year whilst in the garden of his father’s home on the Isle of Skye. He knew he’d caught the exact angles of the cliffs and the wildness of the sea which had been boisterous, sweeping onto the beach in foamy arcs. When Alex looked at it now, he could almost feel the wind on his face and the wet flecks of spray. He was proud of the painting and knew it was the best thing he’d done, but sharing it now made him feel exposed.

‘The perspective’s slightly off. How did you feel when you were looking at that view?’ Henry asked, plucking the picture from Alex’s hands and frowning as he looked closely at the detail.

Angry , Alex thought. Michael had just berated him, because…He scratched a hand through his hair. He couldn’t remember the reason now. ‘Happy,’ he shot back, his response automatic, feeding the artist the words he guessed he’d want to hear.

‘That’s not the truth,’ Henry said, his words puncturing something deep in Alex’s chest and he couldn’t help gasping.

‘Don’t worry, lad, I’ll give you a reprieve because we’ve only just met,’ the older man said, looking at him closely. ‘You can have a couple of days to get to know me, then I’ll expect you to unravel.’

Henry chuckled and moved closer to the table so he could flick through the rest of the work. He didn’t say a word, but Alex could tell by the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t impressed. A part of him deflated, but he was determined not to show it.

It’s why he was here, to learn from the best. His father had told him that he planned to hang the painting Alex created in the reception area of the Charming Capital Management offices – so he wasn’t going to mess that up. He liked the idea – it was his one chance to impress his father, so he had to paint something incredible, however much time and effort it took to get it right.

‘I thought you might have arrived,’ a voice suddenly admonished from the top of the stairs. When Alex turned, he saw an older woman with bright red hair wearing a black and white apron edged with silver tinsel. She was carrying a tray and Alex almost wept when he saw the pot of tea and plate of mince pies. There was a young boy wearing a royal blue school uniform beside her, and he was staring at Alex.

‘Hi, lad,’ Henry said before turning to the older woman. ‘Aggie McBride, I knew you’d be back.’ He walked up and took the tray from her hands, taking a moment to ruffle the boy’s hair.

The woman shook her head as she came further into the room and the dog immediately hopped up and began to growl.

‘Oh, don’t be dafty.’ She scrubbed a hand over Sprout’s head, then pulled a carrot baton from her pocket and fed it to him.

‘I’m not here for you,’ she said to Henry. ‘I’m here because of the lad.’ She gave Alex a wide smile which lit her face. She was round and attractive with blue eyes and wrinkles that had obviously been there long enough to make themselves at home. Her red hair was long and she’d tied it into a bun, and then decorated it with tiny multicoloured baubles. Alex tried to guess her age, but it was impossible.

‘Alex Forbes-Charming.’ He nodded.

‘It’s good to meet you, lad. This is my grandson, Hunter McBride.’ Aggie pointed to the young boy beside her. He was skinny, with short red hair and freckles that ran across the tops of his cheeks and nose.

‘My name is Hunter Rufus McBride, actually,’ the young boy corrected. ‘My da’s name is Rufus, but he lives near London, so I don’t see him very much. He’s got a very important job.’ The boy offered Alex a proud smile, his small chest inflating his sweatshirt to almost twice the size. ‘You’ve got a good job too. I know that because my nana told me.’

‘Aye,’ Alex said, taken aback by the boy’s bluntness.

‘I’m an artist,’ the young boy continued, his eyes shining. ‘I’m going to draw you a picture to keep. I’m in the village pantomime and we’re doing Cinderella – it’s on Christmas Eve. I’m playing Patch, the mouse.’ His voice raced, and Alex wondered how he found time to breathe. ‘Will you come?’

Alex gaped. He had no experience with children. They were as alien to him as pets. ‘Um, I’m not sure.’ He took a step back.

‘Shush, lad.’ Aggie gave the boy a gentle smile. ‘Let’s give the man a chance to settle in before we mob him. I made up your room,’ she said kindly, looking pointedly at Alex’s suitcase, which was still on the ground. ‘I assumed Henry wouldn’t have thought about it – or that you might be hungry after your journey.’

The older man grunted but didn’t comment. Instead, he poured two mugs of tea and put a mince pie on a plate, then handed them to Alex.

‘When you’ve finished torturing him, take him to the west wing. I’ve put him in Andy Warhol – because that room’s warmest and has the prettiest views,’ she said. ‘Also, Ella hung some Christmas decorations there last week.’

‘Where is the lass?’ Henry asked grumpily, glancing pointedly at his watch. ‘She was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. We have a lesson booked, and I wanted her to meet Alex.’ He turned and his attention rested on the line drawing of the cat. Was this Ella responsible for drawing it? Alex frowned.

‘She’s running late. She messaged me because she knew you wouldn’t hear your phone over your music. I told her I might be seeing you today.’ Aggie beamed at Alex again. ‘If you need anything while you’re here, just ask me.’ Her tone was warm. ‘I try to come once a day and I’ll be making all your meals, so you don’t have to worry about food poisoning or the old man forgetting that humans actually need to eat.’ She shot Henry another exasperated look, but this time, it contained a flicker of affection. ‘Don’t keep the lad up here for long – I’m sure he’s tired and would like to settle in. Lunch is at twelve o’clock sharp in the main dining room.’

‘I’m coming too!’ Hunter beamed.

‘You’d better not be serving soup.’ Henry shoved out his lower lip.

‘Aye, parsnip,’ she said gleefully before turning and disappearing down the stairs.

‘I don’t like parsnips,’ Henry shouted before shaking his head and turning back to Alex. ‘Aggie’s been working at the manor for over forty years,’ he explained, turning again to look at the portfolio before shaking his head and closing the lid on the rest of the work, leaving Alex feeling disheartened.

‘I inherited her from the last owner, and it was just easier to let her stay. She’s an excellent cook, aside from her obsession with soup .’ He sighed as his attention fixed on Alex’s suitcase. ‘I suppose you’d better unpack, lad. We’ll meet here for your first lesson after lunch – hopefully, Ella will have arrived by then. She’s another protégé of mine. Gifted, but lacking in focus. You’re going to be seeing a lot of her, and I’m sure you’ll get along.’

He grinned before he turned on his heels and headed for the stairs. Alex quickly zipped up the portfolio, then grabbed the rest of his luggage and followed. Wondering who this mystery Ella was, and why someone as famous as Henry Lockhart would give up his time for somebody who so clearly didn’t deserve it.

He definitely wasn’t looking forward to meeting her. No matter how long he stayed, there was no chance he was going to like her at all.