Sealed With a Kiss (27 page)

‘Come on then, I’ll show you round. This is the bathroom – you know I always wanted one of those claw-footed baths,’ said Kate, opening a door into a surprisingly
spacious room, with a huge window that looked out across the bay. ‘I thought it would be nice to have a bath and watch the sunset, and round here you don’t have to worry about people
peering in at you.’

The bed hadn’t been slept in. Kate felt her stomach sink, realizing this was yet another sign that Fiona had been sleeping up at Duntarvie House.

The fire in the wood-burner was nearly out, but the sitting room was blissfully warm after the icy-cold winds of the beach and the chill of the empty shell of the bunkhouse.

‘You’ve made a good job – such a lovely homely feel. I could curl up here by that fire and go to sleep.’

Kate pointed out of the window at the view, which stretched over the bay. ‘The sunsets here are unbelievable, Mum. I reckon we’ll be able to rent these cottages out and make a
fortune. I think I’ve persuaded Roderick to do up the other derelict cottages and rent them out, too.’

‘You’ve got it all planned out, haven’t you?’ Laughing at Kate’s excitement, Elizabeth turned away from the window. ‘I love these old reclaimed-wood tables,
they have so much—’

She stopped, hand to her mouth. Kate spun round. ‘What is it?’

‘What did you say Fiona did?’

‘She’s a journalist – why?’

‘Look at these.’ Elizabeth pointed down at the coffee table, where Fiona’s laptop lay, surrounded by notebooks, pieces of paper and a sheaf of black-and-white photographs.

Kate looked down at the pile of pictures. On top, smiling mischievously, a curtain of blonde hair shining across one shoulder, was Annabel Maxwell. It was the photograph Jean had showed her when
she first arrived on the island. And underneath – Kate poked at the pile with a finger, cautiously.

‘Oh!’ She looked away, hands over her face, which was scarlet with embarrassment.

‘For heaven’s sake, Kate, don’t be such a prude.’ Her mother picked up the photographs, fanning them out in her hands. ‘Bloody hell. It’s Ivar Cornwall. I
always suspected he was a lecherous bugger.’

Kate peeked through her fingers, catching a glimpse of naked flesh. She reached out her hand, taking the photographs from her mother.

‘That scheming little . . .
bitch
.’ The photographs were dynamite. Annabel and Ivar had obviously had a great time with a camera one afternoon. Kate was horrified to think
of Roderick coming across them, after his father’s death: he must have known about them, surely. Had he shown them to Fiona, or had she found them herself? Kate could just see them all over
the Sunday tabloids, lurid headlines screaming out across every news-stand. It would destroy Roderick to see his mother’s name dragged through the mud.

‘What the hell are we supposed to do now?’ She turned to her mother. There was only one thing Kate could think of. She grabbed her phone. ‘Jean, it’s me –
we’ve got a problem up at the cottages.’

‘A problem? Surely you want Roddy or Billy, not me?’

‘Shh!’ Kate hissed down the telephone. ‘Is he there?’

‘He’s at the fishery, but he’ll be back shortly. Shall I get him to give you a ring?’

‘No, God – no. Just come here, quickly. I’ll explain when you get here.’

‘I’ll be ten minutes.’

It was the longest ten minutes Kate and her mother had known. They both stood, silent and anxious, staring out the window, willing Jean’s little Ford to appear.

‘Oh no.’ Kate stood, transfixed with horror. A Land Rover with the registration DE 1 was hurtling up the little track that led to the cottages. ‘It’s Roderick! Quick,
think of something. Why are we in here?’

‘Smoke . . . a leak – a gas leak?’ Elizabeth guessed wildly.

‘Smoke! We saw smoke and we thought the chimney was on fire.’ Kate exhaled with relief and they both stood by the window, watching as the car door opened.

Jean shot out of the car, slamming the door. Kate and her mother were still recovering from the shock of not seeing Roderick when she clattered into the cottage, dropping the car keys in her
rush.

‘What a to-do. I’ve never driven so quickly. Now what on earth can the matter be?’

Kate motioned towards the coffee table.

‘I told you that wee madam was up to something, didn’t I?’ Jean scooped up the pile of photographs, handing them to Kate. ‘What else has she got her hands on?’

‘I don’t think there’s anything else,’ said Kate, averting her eyes from a particularly graphic photograph of the Right Honourable Member’s member.

‘Och, I think there is,’ said Jean, eyes scanning the table. She seized on a tattered airmail envelope addressed to Annabel Maxwell and held it up, showing the return address to Kate
and Elizabeth. Inked at the top was Ivar Cornwall’s name.
So that’s what she was doing at Roddy’s desk on the night of the party!

‘Come on, girls, let’s get out of here before we’re caught in the act.’ Jean picked up her keys and made to leave the cottage.

‘But, Jean, you can’t just take the photographs. She’ll know someone’s been here.’

‘You just watch me.’ She stormed out of the door. ‘I’ll see you back at the house.’

‘That went well,’ said Elizabeth, turning to Kate. They both collapsed in giggles as Jean’s wheels spun, spraying gravel in her rush to get back to Duntarvie House.

‘Come on, we’ll have to face the music.’ Kate locked the cottage door and they walked down the path back to her little car. ‘But it’s not going to be
pretty.’

Roderick had been relaxing, feet up against the Aga, eating an apple and reading the paper, when they had returned. Jean had placed the photos on the table, face down. Kate and
Elizabeth hovered in the hall, just out of his sight.

‘Everything all right?’ His tone was mildly curious, but he didn’t look up.

‘Fiona!’ Jean’s tone was sharp.

‘For God’s sake, what has she done now?’ Knocking the chair over as he pushed it back, he strode across to the table, picking up the sheaf of pictures. He flipped it over. For
a split second his face darkened with pain. He threw the photographs down, swearing in a low voice. ‘Why I didn’t destroy these after Dad’s death, I’ll never know.’ He
was talking to himself, and Jean wisely stayed silent.

Long-buried emotions flashed across his face as he muttered to himself, pacing the length of the kitchen. ‘
Think, think
,’ he muttered, steepling his fingers together. He
took a deep breath. ‘I suppose it felt like a little piece of Mum, in a strange way. I couldn’t bear to lose any more of my past.’ He looked at Jean for reassurance, his face
suddenly vulnerable.

‘I’m sorry, Roddy.’ Her voice was gentle.

‘I’m so bloody
angry
with her. And with Dad, for putting up with her. And I’m left picking up the pieces.’

‘Well,’ Jean began, cautiously, ‘you’d put it to one side, until now.’

Standing motionless in the hall, still unseen, Kate felt a surge of sympathy for Roderick. Trapped with a house full of tangled memories, and the constant weight of responsibility that came with
running an estate, it wasn’t surprising that his temperament could be mercurial at times.

‘I don’t know, Jean. I just . . . ’ He ran his fingers through his hair, his jaw tense. ‘I thought there was a moment there when Fiona had actually changed and realized
she couldn’t be concerned only with herself her whole life.’

‘That young madam?’ Jean bristled, her voice sharp with disdain.

‘I’m an idiot. And she’s going to bloody ruin us.’

Kate heard the sound of water running. The kettle was going on – Jean’s default reaction to stress. There was a clatter of mugs and the banging of cupboard doors. Roderick was
sitting at the table now, head in his hands, his back towards them, talking.

‘I was so relieved when she buggered off the island to Glasgow. It was the perfect excuse to finish things with her. I should have realized she was up to something at Hogmanay. All that
time I thought she was hanging around because she was hoping we’d get back together,’ he laughed hollowly, ‘and I was trying to work out how I could let her down
gently.’

Kate glanced at her mother in surprise. Elizabeth looked back, confused, not familiar with the characters in this drama. They were standing stock-still in the doorway, just feet from Roderick.
God, this was awkward – no way of escape, but no way of making their presence known without him realizing they’d heard it all.

Jean cleared her throat. He looked up at her, and she raised her eyebrows in a motion that managed to suggest they weren’t alone. Roderick turned in his chair.

Impeccable manners won over embarrassment. He stood up at once, extending his hand graciously. ‘You must be Elizabeth. Roderick Maxwell. How do you do?’

Kate’s mother stood, mouth open, speechless –
I’m standing in a castle with a real Scottish laird
, Kate knew her mother was thinking. This was exactly the effect that
Kate was hoping to harness with Roderick as host of the wildlife tours. After a second Elizabeth remembered her manners and shook his hand.

‘I hope you had a good crossing? You’ve been lucky, the water’s been like a mill pond all week.’

‘Yes, the ferry was very nice, thank you.’ Elizabeth managed a smile.

This was all terribly British, thought Kate. Next we’ll be discussing the weather, or cricket. Or both.

‘Look, this is terribly awkward. I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in this.’ Roderick addressed her mother, and Kate realized that he hadn’t actually acknowledged
that she was there at all.

‘It’s fine. Look, Mum, we can get going back to the cottage now. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Kate was gabbling, filling the silence.

‘It might be many things, Kate, but fine isn’t one of them.’ Roderick turned to her, eyes narrowed in anger. Jean motioned her to sit down, shushing her with a cup of tea and
an expression that warned her this wasn’t the time for platitudes.

Roderick recommenced pacing up and down the kitchen, the offending photographs now strewn across the kitchen table. Catching a glimpse of them, Kate grimaced and averted her eyes again. Jean
caught her eye once more and gave her a reassuring half-smile.

‘Conniving little . . .’ Grabbing the photographs, Roderick took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, Kate.’

‘It’s fine.’ She ventured a smile. ‘I’m on your side, remember?’ His shoulders, previously somewhere around his ears, dropped a little as she said this.

Roderick leaned back against the Aga, taking a huge gulp of tea, clutching his mug.

‘I might be speaking out of turn.’ Elizabeth, who had been uncharacteristically silent, spoke quietly. ‘But all families have their skeletons, Roderick.’

Jean nodded.

‘We can’t take responsibility for the way our family behaves,’ Kate’s mother continued. ‘All you can do is try
your
best, and let people judge you on
that.’

Kate looked at her mother in surprise, reaching out to squeeze her hand affectionately.

‘It’s not quite that simple. I just can’t watch her name being dragged through the mud, no matter what she did,’ said Roderick, simply. He sighed.

Everyone jumped as the kitchen door opened.

‘Gosh! Are we having a party?’ Fiona clipped into the room on dark-purple heels. She dropped her handbag on the table and collapsed dramatically into a chair. ‘Oh, Jean –
tea. Just what I need. Honestly, shopping on this island is impossible. Thank God I’m going back to Glasgow.’

‘I think you have some explaining to do.’ Roderick shoved the photographs and letter across the long table. Fiona looked at the black-and-white pictures, then up at Roderick with a
little shrug.

‘Oh, come on, Roddy, you know how it is.’

Anger flared in his eyes. He gripped the table, his knuckles whitening. ‘No, Fiona, I don’t.’

‘Chip-paper – that’s what it’d be by next week. But an exclusive in the Sunday tabloids would make my career.’ Fiona laughed, a tinkly, brittle little laugh, which
petered out when she saw the expression of fury on Roderick’s face. ‘Oh, come on, Roddy.’ She took one final chance. ‘Give me an exclusive? Come on, for old times’
sake?’

He leaned across the table, scooping up the letter and photographs. Fiona shrank back slightly as he stared into her eyes.

‘Leave! Just leave, Fiona, and we’ll pretend this never happened.’ He opened the door of the Aga, threw everything in and slammed the door shut. ‘Your parents are good
people. They don’t need to know about this.’ Roderick shook his head in disgust.

Kate and Elizabeth sat wordlessly, watching the scene unfold.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Fiona.’ Jean’s voice was icily quiet. ‘You’ve been made welcome in this house all your life. Roderick’s been a good friend
to you – we all have.’

‘It’s business, Jean.’ Fiona spat out the words, her thin lips tight with fury. ‘Nothing personal.’

‘Young lady, when you start meddling in affairs like this, you
make
it personal.’

Fiona stood up, chair screeching against the floor. ‘You’re incapable of seeing beyond this pathetic little island, all of you.’ Her voice was rising, her mask slipping.

‘Plenty of people have left the island without feeling the need to destroy it.’ Roderick’s anger had now been replaced with a tone of bitter disappointment. ‘You
don’t have to slash and burn your way to the top.’

‘Get your head out of the clouds, darling. This place is falling to pieces.’ Fiona turned, as if noticing for the first time that they weren’t alone in the room. She stabbed a
finger in Kate’s direction. ‘And bringing in pathetic no-hopers like
her
is why you’re going to run this estate into the ground.’

‘Kate’s worth ten of you,’ Roderick roared in fury. ‘Out! Just get out. I’ve defended you one too many times already, Fiona. There really is nothing beneath the
surface, is there?’

‘On the contrary, I actually want to make something of my life – unlike
some
people, who’re happy to act as a glorified skivvy and hide from the real world.’