Christmas at a Highland Castle

Chapter 7

At Jess’s knock on the library door, Sebastian set down the bank statements he’d been flicking through, doing his best to push away the feeling that he had fallen into a black hole, or quicksand. Or maybe he was a fly stuck to one of those twists of paper coated in glue which used to hang in the kitchen window when he was a kid. He remembered watching with morbid curiosity as an unfortunate fly became increasingly trapped; the more it struggled, the worse its predicament became. He’d tried to help a fly once, but as he’d done his best to pull it free from the paper, its wings had come away from its body and Sebastian had ever after felt guilty for the fly’s demise, even though the insect had already been doomed.

He’d never felt more like one of those flies than he did at this moment. He still had his wings attached, but for how long? And what was the point of having wings, when they were glued to a fixed point – in his case, Kirkshield Castle.

The more he’d looked at the figures held on the bank statements, the more he wanted to run back to London, to get away. And yet, if he did that, what would happen to the estate?

Jess’s gentle knock was a distraction, her expression penitent as she apologised for speaking out of turn in the attic. Sebastian should probably apologise, too. There had been no need for him to react so strongly to her criticism, even if it had been unfounded, but he held his tongue, nodding his acceptance of her apology.

‘It’s none of my business,’ Jess said as she glanced around the library. ‘I mean, what the heck do I know about living somewhere like this? Or more to the point, running a place like this?’

A beat of time passed in which Sebastian watched her expression flex and shift as she looked up, her gaze flowing over the enormous windows, the walls coated with books, the upper gallery and its archways which mirrored the windows. She shook her head, returning her focus to him as her nervous words rattled on.

‘I mean, it’s magnificent,’ she said, ‘But it’s also …’ A crease appeared on her forehead, deepening as she searched for the right word.

‘Monstrous?’ he said.

Jess nodded, then sucked in a sharp breath as she realised the descriptor she’d agreed with. ‘It’s a lot, that’s for sure.’

‘As are these,’ he said, with a rueful grin as he waved the bank statements at her.

‘You’ve got some help though, haven’t you? I mean, they’re not just expecting you to step into your father’s shoes and know what you’re doing right from the off, are they?’

In short, that was exactly what was expected of him. But she was right, he wasn’t completely alone. ‘I’ve got the estate manager, and financial advisors. I just need to work some things out, that’s all.’

That wasn’t all, not by a long chalk, but it wasn’t Jess’s worry. It was his.

‘Well, I just wanted to apologise, and I’ve done that, so …’ Jess’s gaze slipped towards the library door, towards her escape route. ‘Can I bring you anything? A coffee or something?’

‘Coffee would be lovely, thank you. White, one sugar.’

‘I’ll leave you to your paperwork,’ she added, all but sprinting for the door as she abandoned him to the solitude of his situation.

When she brought the coffee, it was accompanied by a couple of rounds of a shortbread he’d recognise anywhere.

‘Is this some of Kitty McAllister’s shortbread?’

‘Yes. Mrs Keel brought some to the castle earlier.’

He thanked her, waiting until she’d closed the library door behind her before lifting a piece of biscuit, inhaling the sweet creamy scent before taking a bite. Melt in the mouth; it was just as he remembered. For the first time since he’d returned to Kirkshield Castle, Sebastian felt something approaching pleasure.

Later that day, with her padded jacket zipped up to her chin and Digby-Dog velcroed into the coat Aunt Vivi insisted he should wear if he was outside for any length of time, Jess was ready to head out to the village. It was time to explore some more of her temporary home.

With Digby’s lead clipped into place and the kitchen door closed behind them, Jess paused. She wasn’t sure how to get to the village. She could see it – from the castle the panoramic view included the sprawl of granite cottages and the ribbon of glittering silver river flowing past – but the immediate landscaping didn’t offer much in the way of a clue as to the best direction to take.

Before she could head anywhere, she heard another door thump closed and someone clearing their throat. Footsteps crunched over gravel and headed in her direction.

It was Sebastian, a grey scarf wound around his neck, a matching grey hat tucked under one elbow, and his concentration on the final few buttons of his thick tweed jacket. His stride was purposeful – that was, until he glanced up and saw Jess. His expression morphed and his eyebrows ran through a series of manoeuvres as he stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

‘Oh. Hello. I wasn’t expecting to find anyone out here,’ he said.

‘I thought I might walk to the village and have a look around. I haven’t made it past Robbie’s cottage so far.’ Jess jiggled at Digby’s lead. ‘And he needed a leg-stretch, so …’

‘I was intending to head that way myself,’ he said. It sounded as though he was having second thoughts now he knew that’s where she was going. His frown added to her surmise.

‘I can always go another time,’ Jess said, making to turn in a different direction.

Sebastian reorganised his expression, shaking his head. ‘No, there’s no need for that. We can walk down together, if you like.’

‘If you’re sure?’ She almost said ‘if you’re sure you want to be seen with the hired help’, but stopped herself in time. At least this way she wouldn’t get lost.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, sticking his hands into his pockets as he set off down the path that led to Robbie’s cottage.

Jess followed, Digby tugging at his lead and criss-crossing in front of her as he tried to sniff the bushes on both sides of the path. If this was the way he behaved when her aunt walked him, Jess decided it was a minor miracle it hadn’t been the dog who had caused Vivi’s accident. Instead, it had been a slip at the top of the stairs of her mid-terrace. In fact, her aunt maintained she’d only been found because of Digby, his incessant barking bringing the neighbours to her door.

It wasn’t anything like as far to Kirkshield village as Jess had been expecting. Because of the size of the castle, and the fact that she’d arrived by taxi via the main entrance – a gated driveway which had been at least a trillion miles long, lined by huge trees and designed, Jess reckoned, to make anyone brave enough to approach feel instant inferiority – she’d thought it would take longer. But turning left past Robbie’s cottage they came to a well-maintained but far less impressive tarmac track tucked between hedges, the conclusion of which merged with the narrow public road and led to a stone bridge which spanned the river, with Kirkshield village nestling just beyond the water.

Sebastian seemed content with quiet, but it left Jess feeling awkward.

‘Is Olivia your only sibling?’ she asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

He drew in a sharp breath, as though she’d interrupted an important thought. ‘No, I also have a younger sister, Freya. She lives in Austria with her family. She and her husband have two little boys. Freddie and Karl. And you?’

Now it was Jess’s turn to suck in some oxygen, to take a moment to decide what to say. To choose how much information to give. Not that her background was a secret, but that didn’t mean it was something she blurted at every opportunity.

‘Basically, it’s just me and my aunt Vivi,’ she said, opting to leave out the series of forgettable foster homes, the random pretend siblings who had come and gone over the years, the fact that her life had been a mess until she’d lucked out and been placed with Vivi. ‘She’s Digby’s real owner, but she fell and broke her hip recently, so she told me I’m in loco parentis until she’s ready to take him back.’

Sebastian paused, turning his full attention on her for the first time since they’d begun to walk. ‘No brothers or sisters? What about your parents?’ he asked, then shook his head. ‘None of my business, sorry. Don’t answer if you don’t want to.’

Jess shrugged. ‘It’s OK. My parents died in a car accident when I was a toddler, so I don’t really remember them. Never had any siblings.’ She drew the line at filling in the details, didn’t feel the need to reveal that her father had been three times over the drink-drive limit, or that Jess had been in the back of the car at the time and only survived thanks to being strapped into her car seat.

Sebastian’s expression softened into something closer to empathy than she’d seen since she arrived at the castle.

‘God, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Thank goodness you had an aunt to take you in.’

She was grateful he didn’t probe any more deeply into her life before Vivi, or the circumstances which found her able to call Vivi her aunt after years of what Jess referred to as ‘foster home ping-pong’. Anyway, her past didn’t define her. Jess buried a laugh. She’d memorised that line from some online life coach she’d followed for a while on Instagram; in her mind she could recreate the overplayed pathos with which the woman recited it.

‘So, what made you decide to head to Scotland and take this job?’ Sebastian asked, changing the subject as they wandered down the final part of the tarmac track.

Jess paused, wondered where to begin. The agency – Home From Home – had been set up by Vivi and her husband some years ago. After his death, Vivi had continued to run the business and so there had always been the offer of agency work at Jess’s fingertips. But it hadn’t been her first choice. Jess had had far grander ambitions when she was a teenager; she had always dreamed of being a singer, touring with a successful band. Agency placements were only ever supposed to be fillers, a way to earn money when the gigs were short on the ground. The temporary nature of them fitted perfectly with Jess’s plans, and suited the almost constant itch she felt to keep moving.

But the band she sang with broke up, pretending it was because of artistic differences rather than the fact they couldn’t get anyone to book them, and so Jess was left with no group to be lead singer for. Finding it harder than she’d anticipated to get anyone interested in hiring her for solo performances, inch by inch she’d stopped singing altogether, allowing temping for Home From Home to take the lead instead.

It had been a stupid, naive dream anyway, to think she was good enough to make a living from performing. For every Mariah Carey there were probably thousands of other singers, just as capable of kicking out those notes, but never getting the breaks. At least, that was what Jess told herself. It was no big deal. Life was tough – especially in the creative arts – and there was no point crying about it.

Except she had. She’d cried about it for far too long and still wasn’t sure the bruises of her failure would ever completely fade. Instead, she’d decided to live with them and concentrate on the important things. Keeping a roof over her head, paying bills, eating – that sort of thing. Not exciting, but an important part of no longer living life as a crazy, self-obsessed dreamer.

A glance at Sebastian had Jess realising he was expecting an answer – and that she’d completely forgotten his question.

‘What was the question? Sorry, I kind of got lost in my thoughts there for a second.’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. We’re here now, anyway. Shall I give you the official tour?’

‘Would you mind? That would be great,’ Jess said, wandering onto the bridge and peering over the side at the water flowing swiftly beneath them, the silver of the tumbling water like a sheet of rippling aluminium, broken every now and again by white foam as it battered the rocks. She allowed him to lead the way over the bridge and into the village. His village. The idea that Sebastian actually owned all these properties was inconceivable, as was the fact she was about to be shown around it by him. The whole thing was bizarre.

Sebastian felt his mood nosedive further as he and Jess walked through Kirkshield and he took stock of the properties. To the casual observer the place looked as picturesque as ever. The houses ranged in size from tiny cottages through to The Old Goat pub and the largest tenant farm, just visible in the distance, set apart from the rest of the village up its own track.

The lumps of granite making up most of the structures were as indomitable as ever, the age-old rock looking as determined to last forever as it always had. But the walls of the properties weren’t the aspects of the buildings currently under scrutiny.

Sebastian didn’t need to tour the properties with the estate manager to be able to spot peeling paint on window frames, or rotten wooden struts in garden gates. The slipped roof tiles and the patchy, mildewed whitewash on outbuildings. He wondered what problems lay within the buildings, too. Water leaks and old wiring, damp patches and chimneys badly in need of sweeping. Rats in roof spaces. Never mind the updated fire-safety requirements mentioned by Ben, needed by law in every property, and pronto.

Not that Sebastian had a problem with the properties on the estate being made safe for their inhabitants – he was strapped for cash, not a monster. But he did wonder if Ben had made such definitive requirements in his meetings with Sebastian’s father. And if he had, how had they been greeted? By the looks of the properties, not very favourably.

If his father hadn’t died, Sebastian wondered for how much longer he had planned to allow the condition of the estate, and everything on it, to decay.

‘This place is incredibly pretty,’ Jess said, and Sebastian did his best to see the village through her eyes. Through the filter of viewing all of it for the first time.

But the filter kept slipping, rather like the roof tiles on the lean-to of the closest cottage, and he could barely muster a reply, let alone a positive one.

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Are dogs allowed in the pub?’ Jess asked.

Sebastian swallowed. The Old Goat was possibly the place in the village he felt least comfortable reintroducing himself, but perhaps that made it the best place to start. Jump in with both feet. He would have to see Catriona’s parents at some point, why not now? Get the pain over with before he had a chance to chicken out.

It looked as though the pub was doing good trade. A fair number of cars rested in the car park, some with foreign plates indicating bed-and-breakfast guests. And it was probably warm inside – he remembered the roaring open fires even though he hadn’t set foot in the place for years.

‘Digby will be very welcome,’ he said, almost adding that the dog would probably garner a warmer reception than he would. Pushing on the less-than-perfect black paint of the pub door, he held it open for Jess, as her little dog trotted in behind her.

A familiar mix of smells hit Sebastian as he followed Jess into the bar: beeswax polish, mixed with wet dog and the strong, malty smell of beer. All three were ingrained into the very fabric of the space. It was like going back in time, being a teenager again and having his first sample of cask beer when he slipped away from the castle to visit Catriona.

Seeing the man behind the bar was a blast from the past, too: Patrick McAllister, Catriona’s father – and judging by the rapid tumble of emotions crossing his expression as he looked up from the pint he was pouring and stared at Sebastian, memories of Sebastian’s relationship with his daughter were uppermost in his thoughts as well.

Sebastian felt his heart rate spike, a flood of adrenalin making his hands shake as he approached the bar.

With deliberate care, Patrick set the glass on the beer towel in front of the customer – an American tourist if the accent was anything to go by – and they both waited for the man to move away with his clutch of drinks to a table in the corner where his fellow compatriots were seated.

‘Your Lordship,’ Patrick said as way of greeting, the words as stilted as they exited his mouth as when they landed in Sebastian’s ears.

‘Patrick. It’s good to see you.’

The landlord raised his eyebrows, indicating the sentiment wouldn’t be boomeranging back. Instead, he said, ‘We were sorry to hear about your father’s unexpected …’

Sebastian nodded, thereby excusing the man from finishing the awkward sentence. He wondered which word the landlord would have chosen to complete the phrase. Death. Demise. Extra-marital sex-fest gone wrong …

He wouldn’t have blamed Patrick if he’d chosen another word altogether. Like karma , for instance.

‘Thank you. It’s been a very difficult time for us all.’ Sebastian kept to the mantra he’d used repeatedly. He took a strange level of comfort in the fact that, although the words were hollow, they seemed to pacify the recipients. Almost as though nobody cared all that much, and everyone was simply going through the motions. ‘Is Kitty here? I wanted to thank her for the shortbread.’

‘Out for the day, I’m afraid. I’ll let her know you called by. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.’

There was no misinterpreting the emphasis in his words and Sebastian felt his mouth run dry. The silence hung in the air for a beat too long before he managed to pluck up the courage to ask.

‘How’s Catriona?’

‘Aye. Doing well, now. Managing a fitness club in Aberdeen.’ Patrick tilted his head, defiance in his tone as he added, ‘There’s talk of her getting engaged to her man, too. He’s in the police. Doing his detective exams next year, I believe.’

‘That’s great to hear,’ Sebastian heard himself say. He couldn’t be anything but pleased that Catriona had moved on with her life, even though the knowledge was like a sharp kick to his solar plexus. ‘Would you pass on my best wishes?’ Sebastian turned to Jess, introducing her to Patrick McAllister even as his thoughts slipped away, back to the day his father had found out how seriously Sebastian had felt about Catriona.

Back to that conversation when his father had explained his philosophy about women and what they were for. Sebastian had never been able to look at either of his parents in the same way after that conversation. His father had explained that he split marriage and sex into separate categories, that monogamy wasn’t necessary in the circles men like them moved within, and that Sebastian’s mother should count herself lucky he hadn’t got a couple of permanent mistresses tucked away in apartments in Inverness.

Sebastian remembered thinking that his father genuinely believed he was schooling his son in the ways of the world – or at least , his world – but remained convinced there would be room for debate, space for change. Maybe even a more modern, less archaic future. But when he told his father he was falling in love with Catriona, his father’s tone had changed, hardened. He’d presented Sebastian with a piece of information which had altered everything. It had ruined his understanding of the love he thought he’d found with Catriona, taken him out at the knees, and he still wasn’t sure he’d fully recovered.

Sebastian had left that room shaking, his father’s words echoing in his head.

Shortly afterwards, and with his emotions in tatters, Sebastian had broken off his relationship with Catriona. His sense of betrayal had been all-consuming, he had had no idea how to even attempt to come to terms with the situation. Instead, he’d made a mess of his faked reasons for breaking up with her and left her devastated, before staying away from the village until he left for London.

While his thoughts might have wandered, Jess had struck up an easy conversation with Patrick and he was busy pouring her a drink.

‘What are you going to have?’ she asked Sebastian.

He hadn’t had a drink in The Old Goat for such a long time, the tumble of thoughts and emotions stuck in his throat as he tried to speak. Eventually he pointed to a cask beer and said, ‘I’ll try a pint of that, please.’

They stayed at the bar, the warmth of the room encouraging Sebastian to loosen the scarf around his neck and unzip his jacket. As he sipped the beer, which was too strong and dark for his tastes, he wished he could loosen his spine as easily as his scarf. Wished he could wave a magic wand and make his life as simple as he’d dreamed it might be, all those years ago with Catriona.

He’d all but abandoned his glass when Mrs Keel bustled into the bar, scanning its occupants. Her eyes widened as she saw the two of them.

‘Now that’s what I call serendipity,’ she said, her easy smile and the floral lilt of her voice lifting Sebastian’s spirits. ‘It’s wonderful to have you back at Kirkshield, Your Lordship. Especially as we’re short a piano player for our rehearsal. At least, we were …’ Triumph edged into her voice as she fixed him with her indomitable stare.

‘Me?’ he said, aware of a loaded huff coming from Patrick’s direction.

Mrs Keel narrowed her eyes at the landlord then refocused on Sebastian. ‘Aye, Your Lordship. You. And Jess, you can come along, too. We could do with more singers. I’ve heard you singing in the scullery. Come away then, let’s not keep the choir waiting any longer.’