Miranda's Mount (4 page)

She stood up, refusing to be intimidated. ‘Setting aside our earlier meeting, what can I do for your lordship?’

He shook his head. ‘You can stop all of that lord shit for a start. Call me Jago or I’ll have to have you thrown in the castle dungeon.’

‘We don’t have a dungeon, your lordship.’

He scowled at her. ‘If you really want to play this game, you know perfectly well that I’m an earl, and that the correct form of address to me is “my lord”.’

Miranda smiled sweetly. ‘Of course. How silly of me! So what can I do for you, my lord?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Miranda!’

‘I’d really prefer Miss Marshall.’

Outside, the evening sun broke through a cloud and filled the tiny office in warm light. Finally he gave a rueful smile and Miranda’s stomach flipped, not once but twice.

‘You know, it would be better if we downed weapons now and spoke to each other like grown-ups.’

‘I think that would be a very good idea.’

‘At least we agree on something, but let’s go outside to talk. I’d like to see what I’ve missed over the past ten years. Take me on a tour and I’ll introduce myself properly. What’s the matter? You seem surprised?’

‘I’m just a little taken aback that you want a tour of your own home.’

She half-expected him to deny the place was his home but he didn’t, starting a flutter of unease in her stomach.

‘It’s been a long time. Things have probably changed quite a bit.’

As he followed
Miranda out of her office and onto the quayside, Jago knew that things wouldn’t have changed because St Merryn’s Mount could never really change. Every flagstone, every beam and family heirloom resonated with the past and expectations of a dozen Lord St Merryns before him. His father, Patrick, had died of a heart attack some years before, leaving Jago and his mother alone and mistresses wailing throughout London and the West Country. The mistresses were probably wailing because his mother and Jago had inherited all his money. His father had been a stickler for tradition in that respect.

Even before he’d been packed off to boarding school, Jago had picked up on the signals that his parents’ marriage was more horror story than fairy tale. In his vacation visits home, he’d spent most of his time down on the quay trying to avoid the rows and silences up at the castle. His mother had thrown all her youth and energy into running the castle. His father liked to handle the financial elements of the business but it was his mother who was the heart of the place. It was she whom the staff respected and liked and put in the hours of work. When his father collapsed outside his mistress’s flat in Mayfair, everyone at the Mount kept up the pretence that Lady St Merryn was his one true love.

At the
funeral, Jago followed the coffin to the family tomb in the parish church, his mother on his arm. He couldn’t remember her shedding a single tear. Perversely, he’d sobbed his heart out for the old bastard despite the fact that his father had been a strict disciplinarian, who thought showing affection for his son was almost a crime. Perhaps Jago had been crying for what he’d never had, rather than what he had lost.

He was sure his father’s death had come almost as a relief to his mother. He’d told himself that when he’d left for university. At eighteen, he’d found it easy to crush any guilt he felt at leaving her to run the Mount because all those years ago his mother had been strong-willed, still in good health and relatively young. She hadn’t needed him, she’d convinced him of that so he’d gone away and he’d stayed away.

He suspected that Miranda had already formed an opinion of him, fuelled by the gossip and rumours that would already be spreading through the castle like wildfire. He hadn’t helped his cause by behaving like a total wanker in the armoury. He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to scare the woman like that, God knows she’d done nothing to him. It was this bloody place that had made him stupid and reckless, or maybe he’d felt some perverse need to live up to the reputation that had surely preceded him. Perhaps, he told himself, acting the idiot was easier than revealing the true Jago, not that he was sure who his real self was any more.

‘Lord St Merryn?’

Miranda’s voice,
hesitant and unsure, snapped him out of his thoughts. She’d stopped outside a row of old fisherman’s net lofts on the quayside.

‘As you can see, we’ve upgraded the Visitor Centre, added a new café and shop since you left,’ she said.

‘Sorry?’

She was a bit pissed off that he’d gone AWOL while she was talking and he didn’t blame her.

‘These buildings were expanded last year. We won an eco-award for them. Look, they have a green roof and we recycle the grey water in the washrooms.’

He flashed her a brief smile. ‘Well done. Very smart.’

He knew he should be impressed but he’d hardly even glanced at them. His eyes were drawn to the harbour, with its boats bobbing. When the tide was out, you could walk from the mainland to the castle but a boat was the only means of escape when the sea closed in. To visitors, the place seemed the ultimate in romantic isolation but Jago had always found it no more than a luxurious prison.

‘We invested in extra visitor boats last season to meet up with demand,’ Miranda explained in her ‘professional voice’. He feigned an interest in the new fleet as she went on. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that visitor numbers are up thirty per cent on three years ago.’

‘And our turnover is up fifteen point five per cent and you’ve won South West Tourist Attraction of the year three years running and been nominated for a tourism marketing award.’

Her mouth opened in a small ‘o’ of surprise, her eyes full of confusion. She clearly didn’t know how to take his remarks.

‘I did have access to the internet on my travels and I’ve read the report on how well the Mount is doing,’ he said. ‘And my mother has been singing your praises.’

Her cheeks coloured and Jago had a sudden, unbidden urge to know what lay beneath the buttoned-up exterior of Ms Miranda Marshall. He wondered what she looked like with her hair loose and out of the tailored shorts and polo shirt that were far too prissy for her. That uptight act must hide a wilder side. She surely couldn’t maintain the facade twenty-four seven?

‘Would you care to
see the new security centre, my lord?’ Her pretty face tilted up to his, her eyes innocent, not a trace of irony in her voice. Yet Jago knew he was being slapped down, and found himself at a loss for a flippant reply. Perhaps she really was every bit as uptight as she seemed. No matter, he hadn’t come here to delve into the desires and motivations of the Mount’s staff, no matter who they might be. In Miranda’s case, it was better if he knew as little about their personal lives as possible, considering what he had planned for them. He was already regretting his arrogance in the armoury, he’d behaved like a grade A shit and genuinely scared her for a little while. From now on, he’d try to conduct himself in a businesslike manner, even if it killed him.

‘Not now,’ he said, his throat suddenly dry as he realised just how difficult his job was going to be and how hard he’d have to try to avoid getting closer to anyone affected by his decision. ‘But I’d appreciate seeing the grounds.’

‘Really? I hadn’t thought of you as a gardener.’

‘I’m not, but I’d like to look round
my
property.’

It was excruciating to place that slight emphasis on the ‘my’, but he’d had to do it. He really had to place some distance between himself and Miranda, even it meant she thought him brusque and cold.

She
led the way, reeling off facts about the grounds, pointing out the subtle but well-thought-out improvements that had been made while she’d been there. As she spoke, her eyes sparkled with life and enthusiasm. Her cheeks coloured and her delicate, almost prim features, seemed to open like a flower. She waited by a wall overlooking the terraced gardens that hung above the sea. The sun was slipping towards the horizon where the Atlantic Ocean beckoned.

‘And this must be the most beautiful view in England.’ She turned to him and suddenly seemed hesitant. ‘At least, I think it is.’

Jago smiled and was rewarded with her glancing away from him, slightly embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. Perhaps she sensed his discomfort. It would certainly make it easier for him to carry out his plans if she’d been incompetent or uninterested in her job. What he had to do would be tough and unpleasant but he’d faced harder decisions before … much harder.

Miranda cleared her throat and started off up the steps that led to the main castle gatehouse. ‘We haven’t done any major rearrangement of the gardens. Much of it was laid out in these terraces during the fifth lord’s time – but, of course, you’ll know all about that.’

‘I had my heritage drummed into me by my father.’

‘Yes. I expect you did.’ Miranda laughed.

She
obviously thought he was joking and why wouldn’t she? His mother clearly hadn’t decided to go all confessional with Miranda Marshall, but then again, Jago knew she would rather die than share the family’s dirty laundry with a member of staff. In truth, the ‘drumming in’ of his heritage had been literal at times. He’d grown used to the back of his father’s hand, but he’d never accepted his father’s emotional abuse of his mother.

He realised his hands had tightened to fists at his sides. God,
why
had he come back? The answer flew back instantly as it had every time since his mother had called, begging him to return: because the alternative would cause far more damage.

‘Come in.’

Lady
St Merryn turned from the window where she’d been gazing out to sea.

‘Hello, my dear.’

Miranda smiled but her heart sank. Since Jago had arrived, his mother seemed even more bowed down. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned more heavily on her stick. Miranda guessed that years of running the castle, of never showing any weakness despite her arthritis, had taken their toll more than she’d ever noticed before.

‘I have some good news. The visitor figures so far this season,’ she said, deciding to act as if all was normal.

‘What?’

‘The visitor numbers for the castle are up by ten per cent and it’s only mid-May. We could consider opening longer once June starts.’

Lady St Merryn leaned on her stick. ‘Yes, good idea. Well done.’

‘Shall I get the website updated and rearrange the staff rota?’

‘If you think so.’

Taken
aback, Miranda hesitated. Lady St Merryn usually wanted detailed justification for even the slightest change to opening hours or staffing. But she’d already turned back to the window, one hand on her stick, the other grasping the stone ledge for support.

‘Are you feeling well?’

There was a pause then she said: ‘Quite well. That will be all, Miranda. Thank you.’

Dismissed? Just like that? Like a child? Miranda picked up her document wallet, puzzled and disturbed.

There was a quiet knock at the door and Jago walked in. Her stomach swirled as his eyes lingered on her. Hmm. That wolfish look was probably him deciding to make her redundant when he took over the reins of the Mount. She was convinced now that Lady St Merryn had decided to retire and summoned Jago back to rule the place with a rod of iron.

‘Hello, Miranda.’

‘Jago.’ She resisted the urge to curtsey and a smile tilted the corner of his lips as she used his name. After some sleepless nights, she’d decided that new tactics were required if she were to keep her job. Antagonising him more than was necessary was probably not the best policy.

Lady St Merryn’s back was still turned, as if Miranda and Jago weren’t even there.

‘I’ll be going then, if that’s all?’

A small sigh and a wave of the hand told Miranda she was dismissed. She tried to avoid Jago’s eyes but could hardly back out of the room without speaking to him.

‘Is there anything you want to discuss, Jago?’

His eyes rested on her before he answered. Her heart pitter-pattered. Was now the time they would tell her what was going on? Surely they wouldn’t keep her in suspense any longer.

‘Not at the moment, thank you,’ Jago said, glancing over at his mother.

‘In that case, I’m going to go back to the office and will start planning the new opening hours, but if you need me you can reach me on the radio.’

‘Thanks.’

And with that she was firmly put in her place.

Back in
the office, Ronnie greeted Miranda like a dog who’d retrieved a very big stick from the sea. If she had a tail, it would have wagged, thought Miranda, unable to suppress a smile.

Miranda laughed. No matter what was in store for the Mount, she had great colleagues to entertain and infuriate her. Their night out on the mainland had left Miranda with a king-sized hangover but they’d had a great time meeting up with a couple of friends from Nanjizal rowing gig club after the cinema. Getting off the island wasn’t a matter of just jumping in a taxi on a whim, you had to plan it around the tides but that was part of the fun and her fondness of the people who lived there, like Ronnie, were a major reason she’d stayed so long on the island.

‘Guess what? I found out
exactly
who left the bestiary out.’

‘Really?’ said Miranda, throwing her fleece over the back of her chair.

‘Don’t sound so interested, will you?’

‘I’m winding you up. Of course I want to know. Which one of the students was it?’

Ronnie
was almost panting with excitement. ‘None of them. It was their tutor. I called the whole group in for a routine update on security procedures and said you’d found the book lying outside the cabinet when you checked the library after closing. Apparently, Professor Smartarse thought one of her students had locked it away and didn’t bother to check. She confessed straightaway and I didn’t even need the thumbscrews.’ Ronnie gave a sigh. ‘Pity. I like torturing academics, they’re so bloody smug.’

‘Good work, Poirot. You won’t be surprised to hear that I left the theft out of my report to her ladyship,’ said Miranda.

‘Wise move. How is she? She doesn’t look too good lately if you want my opinion.’

‘I don’t think she’s feeling too well either.’