Beyond Time (Highland Secret Series) (2 page)

“Who were you?” she asked, addressing the portrait once more. “Your eyes tell me you were a kind man, but not one I would like to be on the wrong side of either. Well, I guess we are kinda stuck with each other, at least until I can find some real people to talk to. So, what do you say, shall we have a coffee?” Grace lifted the lid of the kettle and made her way into the en suite.

“How do you like your coffee?” she called to the portrait as she rinsed the kettle and filled it with clean water. “Always better to rinse these things out, you never know how long they have been left standing.”

Returning the kettle to its base she flicked the switch.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said. Was that... ” she stopped and stared at the portrait, “... you look like a black coffee type of man to me. So shall we call it black, no sugar? Of course you don’t want sugar. You’ve probably never heard of sugar.”

Shaken from her thoughts by the sound of boiling water, Grace reached for the switch and flicked it up.

“I really have got to get myself a life. What am I like? Standing here talking to a portrait and offering it coffee. Dear, dear, me... And you can stop looking at me,” she said, addressing the picture again. “Those damn eyes of yours! They make me feel as though you are as curious about me as I am about you. Right, I’m not doing this; I’m really not talking to a damn picture.”

First thing in the morning she planned to register with every employment agency in the city; to change her address with the bank and buy herself a new cell phone. Grace ran her fingers over the ridged buttons of her Blackberry. She had switched it off when she boarded the train, vowing never to use it again. The idea of dropping it in a bin at the station had crossed her mind. But then the thought that it may be found and used to trace her had made her slide it back into the pocket of her jeans.

Feeling lonely and lost she clutched the cell tightly to her chest. Her eyes closed and she saw her daughter’s disapproving frown, the hatred etched in her eyes by her father. A single sob escaped her and she realized she was crying.

The sun hadn’t risen when Grace finally gave up her bid for sleep. Her stomach growled as she pulled on her jeans, a timely reminder that she hadn’t eaten in over twenty four hours. Grabbing her handbag, she quietly pulled the door to her room open and ventured into the hall.

The homely smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted past her as she pushed her way into McDonalds. A daily newspaper lay on one of the tables. She wondered if Jack would be reading his paper. When he was home it was one of his daily rituals to read the Daily Mail at breakfast.

He was a creature of habit, a man who could not function without the structure of repetition. At precisely half past six every morning he would seat himself at the long dining room table, unfold his newspaper and reach for a cup of coffee. At precisely quarter to seven, Grace would serve him two six minute boiled eggs with two slices of toast. At seven o’clock, Jack would rise from the table and make his way to the front door where he would collect his leather sling bag and car keys and would disappear through the front door. A shudder rippled through her as she pulled her eyes from the newspaper.

“Hello, can I get you something?” the boy behind the counter called.

“Oh, sorry... err... can I get a white coffee – two sugars – and a bacon roll, please?”

“Is that a meal?”

“A meal?” she asked confused.

“With a hash brown or without?” he sighed in irritation.

“Without, please?”

“Fine. Is that to eat in or take out?”

“Eat in, I think.”

“Take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you,” he said, in a singsong voice that hid neither his boredom with his job or irritation at her.

Blowing gently over the top of the coffee cup, Grace scanned the tourist map she had found on her way out of the hotel. It was difficult to make out where the employment agents were by comparing the map to the phonebook addresses she’d taken from the hotel lobby, or indeed if there were any agencies in the city.

The map wasn’t directed at single thirty-somethings looking for their first proper job and a new life. She picked at the roll, eventually dropping it back into the small brown paper bag in which it had come. The coffee she finished, before collecting her rubbish and disposing it in the purpose built waste bin next to her table.

‘Time to face the big wide world’, she whispered, buttoning her coat and braced herself for the cold morning air.

Nine o’clock on the dot, Grace found herself outside what looked to be a respectable little employment agent. A card in the window advertised a temporary administrative and reception role. The only skills required for the job were the ability to type and a nice telephone manner. Grace had no idea if she had a nice telephone manner or not, but she knew that typing wasn’t going to be a problem. Fifteen years as a Vicar’s wife and a typing course – funded by the Vicar himself – had trained her well in the use of a keyboard.

A woman in her early twenties, with masses of flaming red curls, bustled up to the door and hastily pushed a key into the lock. Grace followed her through the door and waited patiently whilst the woman pulled a chair out and sat down behind a desk.

“Sorry, to keep you waiting, been one of those mornings and we are a bit short staffed here at the moment. Now what can I do for you?”

“I was just enquiring about the job you have advertised in the window, the one looking for temporary administrator and receptionist.”

“Do you have any qualifications?”

“Well, I have a degree in history and a certificate that says I can type.”

“What was your last job?”

“I worked for fifteen years as a Vicar’s wife. The role was mainly administrative and fronting up social events for the church.”

“Right, when can you start?”

“Now?” Grace replied more in question than statement.

“Excellent! I’m Kate and you are?”

“Err... Grace, my name is Grace.”

“Nice to know you, Grace, now see that desk over there? That is yours. The password to the laptop is ‘happy’. Log on and you can get started. We can deal with the formalities later; right now I have a mass of clients and contractors waiting for contracts.”

Grace made her way nervously toward the desk, pulling the chair slowly from under the polished wooden desk. She couldn’t help but notice how out of place the laptop looked on the ancient piece of furniture or how low the desk appeared. As she sat in the chair and lifted her hands to the keyboard she smiled, realizing that for the first time ever she was sitting at a desk that felt comfortable.

As her fingers glided swiftly over the keys and her eyes stared at the sheet of paper to her right, she noticed her reflection in the shiny surface of the desk. Her eyes blurred as the shape began to cloud and the reflection became the face of the man in her portrait. Fighting to drag her eyes from the image she willed her mind back to the work she was supposed to be doing.

“What are you doing? This is silly, get out of my head,” she whispered to the image.

“Grace, did you say something?”

“No, sorry Kate, I was just reading through this document, making sure I haven’t missed anything.”

“OK, just remember, I don’t bite. If you need any help or don’t understand something, just ask.”

Grace nodded, feeling guilty for having lied to the lady, but she could hardly cough up to talking to herself, or worse still, talking to an imagined image of a dead person on her desk.

“Why don’t we take a break, Grace? You’re on the last contract now, so if you send them to print, I will sign them and get them ready to post. When you have finished that last one, why don’t you go and make us both a coffee?”

With the coffee finished and envelopes filled, Kate hastily gathered up the post and started packing up her desk.

“Nine o’clock tomorrow suit you OK, Grace?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you, Kate.”

“Right, well we can sort your contract and banking details then, if that’s OK with you? I have to rush as I need to get these in the postbox before the last collection. I am so glad you came along when you did. Honestly, Grace, I couldn’t have got through all this on my own today.”

Grace nodded, logged off the laptop, grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and followed her boss to the door. Kate’s mention of banking details had reminded her that she needed to get to a bank.

Hungry and in better spirits, Grace decided to celebrate her new job with a glass of wine and a meal in a quiet public house off Stonegate called ‘Ye Olde Starre Inne’. It was still too early for the evening rush and too late to encounter the lunchtime revelers, so Grace largely had the pub to herself. Having ordered a baked potato with a side salad and a glass of wine, she made her way to a small room which was sectioned off from the rest of the pub.

Rich wooden panels adorned the walls and lavish stained glass filled the windows. It was obviously an old building but just how old Grace couldn’t be sure.

She lifted her drink and mindlessly brought it to her lips, staring through a gap in the partitioning into the main body of the building. Holding the glass against her mouth she focused on the bar and watched as the staff prepared for the busy evening.

She started as the hazy outline of a figure appeared behind the bar. In a bold movement of authority he raised his arm and pointed toward the door. He stood tall and bold, his face tanned and framed by the fall of his long wavy hair. He was looking straight ahead. Then slowly he turned toward her. His eyes burned dangerously as they followed something across the room. Grace drew a sharp breath as their eyes locked. She stared as they softened and his brow narrowed across the high bridge of his nose. For several moments she held his look until the shadow of a frown creased his brow and his jaw tensed.

The glass slipped from her hand, shattering as it hit the surface of the table. She jumped up as the cold wine flowed onto the denim of her jeans. Panicked, she cast her head toward the bar but the man from the portrait had vanished.

The orange glow of the street lights illuminated the city as she made the short walk from Stonegate back to the hotel. She bustled her way through a group of tourists following a costumed ghost guide and wondered what inspired anyone to believe in ghosts.

Then again, she mused to herself, I’ve been seeing ghosts all day. But I think I might be going slightly mad. Perhaps Jack was right all along. I do need help.

Grace entered the small reception area of the hotel and noticed the outline of the elderly owner’s face from behind a book.

“Hi,” she called, making her way toward the desk. The old man lowered the book.

“A good day, Mrs. Evans?”

Grace nodded, “Yes, thank you, and you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“I noticed you’re reading a copy of ‘Bushfire’,” she said, looking for a convenient way to strike up a conversation with the man. “I’m a bit of a sucker for a good crime thriller. Only don’t tell anyone or you’ll destroy my carefully honed reputation as a romantic dreamer,” Grace said, with a smile.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mrs. Evans.”

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me. I’m in room twenty three. There is a portrait on the wall. I was just wondering if you had any idea whose portrait it is.”

“Robert Hamilton.”

“Who was Robert Hamilton?”

“He used to own this here establishment back in the sixteen hundreds. He was a Cavalier and a loyal supporter of the Stuarts. After the restoration he was given a handsome pension and retired. He settled here in York and bought a post house off Stonegate and this inn.”

“A post house off Stonegate?”

“Oh yes, it’s still a pub, you know? Worth a pint or two – has a nice crowd most nights.”

“I think I may already have had the pleasure.”

“Are you alright, Mrs. Evans? You look a bit pale.”

“Yes, I don’t feel too well. I think I will just head up to my room.”

Grace sat on the end of her bed, staring at the face of Robert Hamilton. She felt his eyes watching her, searching her for answers.

“You’re dead, gone, do you hear me?” she whispered to the picture.