Christmas at a Highland Castle

Chapter 12

Sebastian trailed Jess to the kitchen, running through the apology he would have to make to her, the ultimately fruitless calls he’d have to tell her about, where he’d tried and failed to find her alternative employment. What he could say to convince Jess it wasn’t her, it was them – the Barclay-Browns were screwed up, on so many levels.

His thoughts tumbled. He wondered whether it would soften the blow if he explained to Jess just how difficult it must be for his mother to see such a beautiful young woman stepping into the role only just vacated by another, that one having been responsible for the demise of his father. Would that make Jess feel better about the situation, or worse?

By the time he reached the kitchen, none of his thoughts mattered, because he was greeted by another scene of devastation, with a sharp paring knife and other random pieces of cutlery all over the floor.

But then he noticed the bright red drips of blood, caught sight of Jess heading for the sink, staggering and grabbing at it before she slid to the floor.

He couldn’t get to her in time to break her fall, so was relieved she hadn’t gone down too hard. It had been more of a graceful descent, her damaged hand the last part of her to unfurl against the stone tiles, the slash of red a vivid contrast to the worn umber of the floor.

Sebastian wasn’t well versed in the art of first aid, so it was a relief when she regained consciousness almost immediately. She looked confused to see him kneeling at her side, a hastily grabbed tea towel in his grip which he had intended to wrap around her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ she mumbled.

‘You fell, or fainted, or something. I was going to …’ He ran out of words, because the truth was, he had no idea what he was going to do, past covering up the bloodied hand.

Jess hauled herself up onto her elbows, then winced as she put weight on the injury. Glancing at it she paled again, and Sebastian readied himself to catch her if she fainted for a second time. As it turned out, she managed to climb to her feet without further drama, peering at her hand again.

‘I don’t think it’s too bad,’ she announced. ‘Don’t know what came over me, I’m normally not one to faint into – or at least close to – the arms of the nearest aristocrat.’

Sebastian edged the towel onto the draining board. ‘I’m glad because I never was very good at catching. My ball skills have always left something to be desired, I’m afraid.’

‘Have they? Have they really?’ Jess stared at him, her eyes twinkling as she began to grin, and his unintended double-entendre dawned on him.

‘Hmm, well, perhaps that wasn’t the best analogy I could have come up with.’

Then Jess caught her own expression, closed it down. ‘Is there really no money for my wages?’

‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ he said. ‘You’ll be paid, Jess, of course you will. But the ugly truth is this estate is very much in debt.’

Jess frowned, turning away to run her hand under the tap, rubbing away the worst of the blood before re-examining the cut. She turned it for him to view. ‘See, it’s nothing really.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said, unrolling some kitchen towel for her to press against her hand.

‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘In the short term, see Olivia’s party plans to fruition, I suppose. Then take a good hard look at trying to get this place back on track for the long term. Somehow.’ He rifled through cupboards until he found a first-aid kit and between them, they found a suitable plaster.

‘I never wanted any of this. I don’t even want to be here,’ he said. The comment was unguarded, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed if Jess’s expression was anything to go by.

She said nothing until the wound was covered, pulling more paper towel from the rack, then bending to rub away the dots of blood remaining on the floor. Finally, she asked the million-dollar question.

‘Why don’t you want to be here?’

Sebastian followed her as she retraced her steps into the kitchen, picking up fallen cutlery as she mopped the last few scarlet drips.

‘I was in London because I landed a job with the Philharmonic.’

‘Playing the piano?’

‘Violin, actually. On the verge of becoming first violin; I would’ve got to do some solo work. It was something I’ve always wanted. I know it’s a cliché to say it was my dream, but it really was.’

‘Oh. That’s some terrible timing.’

‘Hmm. Almost like my father died on purpose. No, that’s not fair. I suppose I always knew I’d be expected to come back, I just thought I’d have longer.’ Sebastian sighed. ‘And there’s the guilt, too, that I haven’t been here. That maybe things would have turned out differently if I had stayed.’

‘Couldn’t you have pursued your musical dreams in Scotland?’ she asked.

Sebastian frowned. ‘It was more complicated than that.’

Jess nodded, pursing her lips as she watched his expression. He wondered if she saw the closing down of his emotions at the thought of what happened with Catriona, wondered if it was visible on his features. Jess certainly noticed something had changed.

‘You’d probably be better off talking to people you know,’ she said.

‘Maybe.’

‘Your friends, for example,’ she said. ‘I’m sure the Matthews, or Bendy or Stiffs or Ounce would be able to offer you advice.’ The realisation that she’d been eavesdropping, and that she’d just given the game away, took a few moments to dawn in her expression. She looked sheepish, like a puppy caught with a slipper in its jaws.

‘Who?’ he said.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in.’

Her cheeks bloomed with colour, and he felt bad for making her squirm. In reality, he should be annoyed by her wilful misinterpretation of the party guests’ names, but somehow the levity was welcome. He didn’t let on, maintaining his poker face as she pressed her lips together to smother the laugh he could tell she was having difficulty containing, her gaze never leaving his as she waited to see how he would react. The edge of her lip crept between her teeth as she weighed up her options, and he took the beginnings of a frown clouding her open expression as enough punishment inflicted.

‘His name is Gram, not Ounce. Short for Graham.’ Sebastian felt his lips quivering with the effort of not smiling. The nicknames of some of the people he’d grown up alongside were ridiculous; he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed up until now. ‘And Stiffs? Really? Mind you, thinking about it, Hops might quite enjoy that as his moniker. He always was very easily excited.’

Jess covered her mouth with her hand, pressing hard as she searched his expression. He grinned and was rewarded with a choking sound as she finally gave in to her giggle. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I just … This is all so far outside my life experience. It’s like something out of a P. G. Wodehouse novel. But, regardless of their names, surely you want to talk to your friends, people who know you and your situation far better than I do?’

Sebastian nodded. She’d hit the nail on the head, even though it wasn’t in the way she thought. ‘That’s the problem, Jess. None of those people really know me any longer. I’m not sure they ever did. We were forced together when we were growing up. And I was at school with Hops, so there is that. But when I moved away, I left them all behind. And they weren’t bothered that I had, if that makes sense. It was as though we’d breathed a collective sigh of relief. They aren’t really like me – they’re far more like Olivia. And they all fit the mould of this kind of a life much better than I do. So, in answer to your question, no I don’t want to talk to my friends. And while I don’t know what to do for the best, there’s nobody here whose judgement I’d trust, either.’

‘What about your London friends?’

‘I suppose.’

He didn’t expand; he wasn’t sure how to explain the guilt he felt, because he’d left them all in the lurch, too, with his abrupt departure in the run-up to the busy Christmas period.

‘Do you think you can get this place back onto its feet, though?’ she asked.

‘I genuinely don’t know.’

Jess pulled in a deep breath. ‘If not, well – I mean, you said it yourself.’

‘Said what?’

‘You’ve already got the answer to your problems.’

‘Have I?’

‘Yes. If you don’t want to be here, and the place is massively in debt – just sell it.’

Jess’s mobile began to bleat for her attention, and as she turned away to answer it, Sebastian took his leave. He had a lot to think about, and Jess’s suggestion, albeit one he himself had mooted, had just added itself to the pile.

Once Sebastian had dropped his bombshell, and with Olivia still bleating to Candida about the party, Dee slipped away and headed outside. She’d already taken her walk and had been feeling calm and at peace after a brisk circuit through the new plantation. She hadn’t wanted to watch the police drama on the television, had almost suggested that Olivia should turn it off and show some initiative. To do something . To make something of her life.

And yet, what did she actually expect Olivia to go and do? Olivia had never strayed far from the castle. She’d gone away to school, had returned with Candida in tow and, apart from travelling for a while, had remained in Kirkshield ever since, mirroring everything her father did like she was his shadow.

Partly, Dee knew Olivia had done her best to ingratiate herself with her father purely because she returned to the castle with Candida. It was as though Olivia had thought if she earned enough brownie points with him, perhaps one day he would accept her for who she truly was. Olivia and her father were so alike – they were both stubborn and determined. Maybe it would have been easier if Olivia had realised his views on single-sex relationships weren’t ever likely to alter, no matter what she did to try to impress him. In her own way, Olivia had been just as smothered by Henry as everyone else, so perhaps it wasn’t a surprise she’d never tried to achieve anything for herself – maybe holding on to Candida had been as much as she’d been able to manage.

As Dee pulled on a coat, scrabbled into her boots and grabbed for a hat, all she knew was that she needed fresh air. She needed a moment to assimilate what had just happened.

How could there be no money? Sebastian must have been exaggerating, making his point with dramatic effect. There had to be money, didn’t there?

Although, if she paused to think about it, she had been aware of how easily Henry had spent money, how little interest he’d ever shown in the estate’s finances.

Dee stomped through the gardens, deep in thought. Maybe the real question should be what had she done with her life?

Turned a blind eye to the bad and remained ignorant to most of the rest, it seemed. And now, if Sebastian was serious about exploring options to sell the estate, everything Dee had done to protect it, to protect those who worked for it – especially Robbie – would all be for nothing. Had she completely misjudged every aspect of her life?

Dee stopped, resting her hand against the reassuringly sturdy trunk of one of the copper beech trees. It was denuded, now, the beautiful colour of its leaves nothing more than a memory to be cherished until the following spring.

But would they still be there to see this tree unfurl its brand-new leaves?

Pushing away from the trunk, Dee headed away. She had no destination in mind, no clear view of anything much as she stumbled away from the castle and headed for the track to take her somewhere else. She didn’t hear him at first, couldn’t make anything out past the roaring in her head.

‘Your Ladyship, is everything all right?’

She glanced around, confused, her eyes taking far too long to focus on the figure striding in her direction. She wondered if she was having some kind of a stroke until she realised she couldn’t focus because her eyes were full of tears, which slunk from one side of her vision to the other until she blinked repeatedly and rubbed at her face to eradicate them.

He checked they were alone, then lowered his tone. ‘Dee, what’s wrong?’

Shaking her head, she waved a hand in his direction. ‘No. Robbie, I’m absolutely fine. Honestly.’

If the rise in his eyebrows were any clue, he wasn’t buying her words. She didn’t blame him. They hadn’t convinced her either, and she was the one who’d been wearing the lie like a cloak for the past thirty years.

‘If I’m speaking out of turn, please tell me, but you don’t look all right.’

Dee was grateful he hadn’t resorted to using a formal title, was glad he seemed to have let go of the starchy way she’d parted from him after they’d jumped the river. The memory of the moment they’d shared on the banks of the river Kirk rolled over Dee: the way she’d been oh-so-close to him, even if only for a few seconds, stole her breath as she stared at him. His gaze didn’t leave hers, and he remained absolute, still and solid and present as everything else Dee knew, or thought she’d known, liquified and swirled around inside her brain.

She should have left Henry years and years ago. She shouldn’t have pretended for so long. She should have pushed Olivia to make something of her life, to go and be with Candida openly. She should have made sure Freya was marrying Christian because she loved him, not because he was her way out. She shouldn’t have made Sebastian come home if he didn’t want to.

Dee tried not to crumple. She did her level best to keep her features under control, to hold back the tears. But it was like trying to push back a spring tide, and instead Dee buried her face in her hands as the tears forced their way out.

‘What if I got everything completely wrong?’ she whispered.

She wasn’t sure whether Robbie had heard her, but regardless of the words he was at her side, an arm around her shoulder. A firm, reassuring, male arm around her shoulder, providing Dee with a sensation she also hadn’t felt for such a long, long time.

‘Come away inside,’ Robbie said, his voice level and calm as he led her through the open gate into his garden, unlatching and pushing wide the door to his cottage as he added, ‘Let me get you a drink.’

His kitchen was warm, and Dee couldn’t help but notice the way he deftly swept up underwear and socks, laid out to dry on the warming plate of the range, and dumped them in a small basket to one side. The action prompted her to smile. The intimate nature of a small cottage was something she’d never really experienced. In the castle there was so much space, and the day-to-day workings of life were so hidden from view, it had been far too easy to allow the saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ to take control.

‘Please, sit,’ he said.

With a whisper of thanks, Dee opted for one of the chairs around the tiny table, her fingers brushing at crumbs which might have escaped from Robbie’s breakfast plate earlier in the day. Refamiliarising herself with this room gave Dee a chance to compose herself. There were photos – many of the ones from shoot days included Henry, his proprietorial stance unmistakeable, so she looked away and focused on the comfortable, haphazard nature of the rest of the space. The photo of Robbie’s favourite dog, Peggy-Sue, was still on the wall; Dee remembered his grief when the dog died as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, the way his love for that dog had drawn her to him even harder. Rosettes shoved into crevices alongside little silver cups, a mishmash of bachelor crockery piled onto the tiny dresser, the sagging pair of armchairs filling the space in front of the range, a dishcloth hanging over the dripping tap.

‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ Robbie asked, lifting the kettle from the back of the range.

‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ she said. Then Dee frowned. She didn’t want tea. Why had she said she did? Why was she continuing to toe an invisible line of behaviour?

‘You don’t look convinced,’ Robbie said, lowering the kettle again. ‘Maybe something stronger? You look like you’ve had a bit of a shock – perhaps single malt might be more appropriate?’

It was as though he’d read her mind.

Dee swilled the liquid around the glass in her hand before taking a tentative sip. Then she took a larger mouthful, allowing the burn to trail down her throat as well as up into the back of her nose. She embraced the shock of the strong liquor as it burnt and invigorated in equal measure. Henry always made a point of saying the only women who drank whisky were whores. Well, even if it had been nothing more than another way to dominate the smallest of decisions – to control even the drink choices she made – Dee was convinced he probably also knew that first hand.

‘I’m not upset about him ,’ she said, setting the glass on the table. She moistened her lips as she stared at Robbie. ‘Am I a horrible person if I say I’m glad he’s gone?’

A flicker of an expression crossed Robbie’s face as he held her gaze. Instead of replying, he took a big mouthful from his own glass then pushed off the range against which he’d been leaning, sliding instead into the chair next to her own.

‘Am I a terrible person if I say I’m glad he’s gone, too?’ he said, his cheeks colouring. He reached across until his fingertips brushed hers as he searched her gaze for her response.

Dee shook her head, but she didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to bring the shadow of Henry into this room, into this moment.

‘He wasn’t an easy man,’ Robbie added.

Dee did her best to stifle a laugh. That was possibly the understatement of the decade.

‘But that wasn’t really what I meant,’ he said.

‘What do you mean, then, Robbie Keel?’ The words could have been brusque, but her tone was soft. She sipped at the rest of her drink as she waited for his reply.

Maybe she was fishing, maybe she hoped he might answer in a particular way. After the ambiguous moments they’d shared when he’d encouraged her to jump the river, maybe she didn’t want him to give up that easily. Perhaps a man nearly ten years her junior, and from a completely different world, should be the last direction in which Dee should be looking, but maybe regaining his friendship wasn’t all she wanted from him.

If she had done nothing but make the wrong decisions for more years than she cared to remember, perhaps the very thought that she was about to make another huge mistake meant that, for once, she was about to make the right move.

Robbie emptied the rest of his glass in a single gulp. Reaching for the bottle, he poured himself some more, then offered her a top-up. She rested her hand on her glass and shook her head in refusal. He took another mouthful, then hauled in a massive intake of air.

‘Will you tell me why you were upset, out there in the yard?’ he asked.

‘You’ve dodged my question,’ she replied.

He smiled. ‘So have you.’

‘All right. If you really want to know, I think I might have managed to make one bad choice after another. In fact, I’m beginning to think my entire life has been nothing but a series of bad decisions.’ She was welling up again, the warmth from the whisky spreading its way through her belly and loosening her tongue alongside her emotions.

His fingers wrapped around the tips of hers, and she let him, the strength of his grip steadying her.

‘Not every decision, surely?’

‘Not my children, never them. But the rest of it …’ She shook her head. ‘Including allowing Henry to bully me into abandoning our friendship. You meant so much to me, Rob.’

‘And I valued your friendship more than any other, Dee.’

‘I only did it to protect you, to make sure you didn’t lose your job. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I know. He was …’ Words seemed to fail Robbie.

Dee didn’t blame him.

Their unexpected friendship had built over the years during which Henry had become increasingly obsessed with his hobby. Dee had felt drawn to Robbie, inevitably spending time in his company when Henry insisted she accompany him on shoots. And when Robbie had expressed such unfiltered sadness at the loss of his favourite dog, Peggy-Sue, Dee had begun to feel emotions she’d thought long-buried, no longer accessible for her. She’d never acted on them – there was no way she would countenance infidelity on her own part, however free Henry might have been with his affections. And anyway, there would have been no way someone as young and vibrant as Robbie could have seen her as anything other than a friend. They were thrown together by circumstance, nothing more, nothing less.

But Henry had even managed to ruin that for her. Had accused her of spending too much time with the gamekeeper, had insinuated all sorts of things, rounding it off by suggesting Robbie was eminently replaceable. A suggestion or a threat? And when Robbie had come to her defence one day, when Henry had missed one too many birds and accused her of ruining his concentration, Dee had seen the look in Henry’s eye, and made sure to draw right back from Robbie, to keep him safe.

Robbie glanced around the room, standing abruptly. One by one he removed every framed photo which contained Henry’s image, stacking them on the table until smudgy grey marks were all that remained on the walls to remind them of Henry’s overbearing presence. Then Robbie arched his eyebrows, a mischievous smile crossing his handsome features as he pointed to the frames. ‘Do you want to smash them, or shall I?’

Dee moistened her lips, then pressed them together. What Robbie was suggesting held a hint of irreverent danger, as though Henry’s spirit might return like Thor, booming his displeasure at the pair of them from the clouds in the sky. Then she smiled. ‘Take it in turns?’