Sealed With a Kiss (28 page)

Fiona spat the words at Kate, who flinched. God, was that what it looked like? She could feel herself flushing scarlet.

‘Nothing to say for yourself, have you?’ Fiona picked up her expensive bag with a contemptuous sneer.

‘Just go, Fiona. We’ll pretend this never happened if you just leave.’ Roderick’s voice was flat now, all fury spent.

‘Fine.’ Turning on her heel, she couldn’t resist one last word to Kate. ‘You want my second helpings, darling? You’re welcome. Just ask yourself why he’s
still single.’

She stalked out, leaving a room full of silence. Kate looked at Roderick, but he was staring out of the window, watching as Fiona’s car reversed out of the courtyard.

He turned round, his voice ice-cool. ‘I’m going to the library, Jean. If anyone calls, I’m not here.’

‘More tea?’ Jean waved the pot with a hopeful expression.

‘I was thinking gin, myself,’ said Kate, in a small voice.

‘I’m sorry,’ explained Jean, as she returned from the sitting room with a familiar green bottle. ‘I lost my head for a moment. I knew she was up to
something. Roddy’s father was a good man – I wasn’t going to stand by and let that little minx get away with spreading her poison, simply to further her own career.’

She handed Kate and Elizabeth each a gin and tonic, pouring one for herself.

‘Here’s to getting Fiona out of our hair at last.’ Jean raised her glass and took a large sip. She reached across, opening the oven door of the Aga. The letter and photographs
were blackened and melted at the edges, the images unrecognizable. Jean took a pair of tongs and pulled out the remains. ‘We’ll finish them off,’ she explained, leaving the room
with them at arm’s length. She returned a moment later, carrying the now-empty tongs. ‘I put them on the fire in the sitting room. They’re gone.’

‘Well, she’s a nasty piece of work.’ Elizabeth took a long drink.

‘She is now,’ Jean explained. ‘She was always spoilt and ambitious, but there’s an edge to her since she moved to the newspaper in Glasgow.’

Kate let out an accidental snort. Jean had a habit of seeing the best in people, but this was taking it a bit far. If there was an edge to Fiona, it was razor-sharp and laced with arsenic.

‘Come on, Kate. I know she was nasty to you, but ask yourself what makes someone behave that way?’ Her mother was actually bloody empathizing with Fiona.

‘Maybe she’s just a complete cow?’

‘Or perhaps it’s dog-eat-dog in the world of journalism and, like a child left with a box of chocolates, the story was too good to resist?’

‘Possibly.’ Kate was dubious. Leaving her mum with Jean to finish her drink, she slipped off to check on Willow. The car would be fine parked outside Duntarvie House overnight, and
the two women seemed to be quite happy mulling over vile Fiona’s motivations. She stamped along the path in the rapidly gathering darkness.

They had been gone for hours, and Willow was desperate for a walk. She’d dragged most of her toys in from the garden through the dog flap that Billy had built for her, and the hall floor
was covered in mud.

‘Come on, you. I think we both need a bit of fresh air to clear our heads.’ She picked up Willow’s lead.

Pulling the door behind her, she was struck again by the memory of Roderick’s face, etched with hurt and sadness. Drawing her mobile out of her pocket, she scrolled for
his number. Should she call him and check he was okay? If it was anyone else, she’d do so. No. Maybe a bit of time would be a better idea. She whistled to Willow and set off up the little
path that led to the estate road. The headlights dazzled her. It was Fiona’s car, bumping down the track to the cottage. Perhaps she’d taken a wrong turning, thought Kate. A wrong
turning down a dead-end road on an island she’d lived on all her life. Perhaps not.

The window wound down, smoothly. Looking unruffled, Fiona popped her head out. ‘A word to the wise. I’ve seen the way you look at him. If you’re thinking of moving in on him,
you should know this: he’s only after a brood mare.’

‘What?’ Kate looked at Fiona, frowning in confusion.

‘Come on, darling.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. ‘He does the broken-hearted loner act with every single “Girl Friday” he hires. Did you never wonder why they never
last?’

Kate felt a lurch of recognition. He’d been pretty dismissive of the last girl who’d worked here, saying she didn’t last long. And the whole haughty Lord of the Manor thing had
lasted until he’d had a few whiskies too many at the fireworks night.

Fiona gave a little laugh. ‘Penny dropping, Kate?’

‘But . . . Susan and Tom? Finn?’ She was clutching at straws.

‘They’re his
employees
. He pays their wages, they live in their picturesque little cottages for a peppercorn rent. They know which side their bread’s buttered
on.’

Feeling sick, Kate realized she was cornered, and Fiona was going in for the kill.

‘Come on, sweetie – get real. Jean was over the moon when you arrived and she realized you were Little Miss Plain Jane. I know he isn’t exactly discerning, but clearly
he’ll have a go at anything, if what I’ve heard is true.’

So Fiona knew about the night of the kiss. Someone had told her that – one of the islanders who’d pretended to make Kate welcome, and had told her she was one of them. Everything was
spinning now, nothing quite making sense. She stood beside Fiona’s car, unable to speak.

‘Don’t you think it’s a coincidence that Roderick dumped me as soon as he realized I had no interest in having children?’ She laughed. ‘He’s the last Maxwell.
Without someone else to carry on the line, his precious Duntarvie will end up in the hands of some English cousin, who’ll sell the house and break up the estate. Everyone knows you’ve
got the hots for him. Let’s face it, he’s got you jumping through hoops doing all his dirty work, in exchange for this grotty little place.’ Fiona looked at Kate’s filthy
jeans and tangled hair, and pointedly reapplied some lipstick in the rear-view mirror. ‘I mean, really, do you honestly think he’d go from me – to you?’

She pressed a button and the window closed. The car reversed perfectly up the drive, leaving Kate standing completely alone.

‘Are you quite sure you’re going to be okay?’

Standing at the ferry terminal, Kate balled her hands so tightly that her nails cut half-moons in the skin of her palms.

‘Fine,’ she lied. There was no way that she was grabbing everything she owned, stuffing it in her mother’s car and driving home to England. No matter that she felt sick with
loneliness, missed her mum before she’d even left and felt completely friendless.

‘You know you can always come back – or just let me know when you want me to visit, and I’ll be more than happy to come up.’ Elizabeth shot an involuntary glance towards
Bruno’s cafe, which Kate noticed with a small smile. It gave her the tiny shot of courage she needed.

‘No. I’ve spent years doing that. I made a deal with myself, and I’m not going back on it. I said six months.’

‘You’re as stubborn as your father.’ Elizabeth started the engine. The ferry was loading now, and she was holding up the car behind. ‘Darling, I’m so proud of
you.’

Kate pursed her lips, nodding acknowledgement. She couldn’t speak, knowing that if she did, the tears would start. She blew her mum a kiss and stepped back, allowing the car to roll
forward and leave her standing alone.

A couple of hours later she lay in the bath, trying not to think. The harder she tried to dismiss Fiona’s last words to her, as those of a woman scorned, the louder they
rang in her ears.

Hadn’t Roderick been the one to raise the subject of children on the ferry? She remembered their conversation with horror. He’d brought it up out of the blue, and she’d thought
he was genuinely interested in her. Bloody man! She’d fallen straight into his trap, gaily informing him that she wanted loads of children and a big family, thinking she was sharing
confidences with a friend, not being sized up as a potential breeding machine.

Kate lay back in the bubbles, eyes closed, reflecting on her time on the island. She’d arrived, lonely and unsure of herself. But she’d made friends, she’d managed the whole
cottages project, and now she was up to her eyes in research for the wildlife tours. She was talking to a tiny start-up company on the island that was creating websites and social-media strategies.
The potential for promoting the island online was huge. Social networking pages would draw in tourists from around the world, in love with the idea of being shown around the island by the handsome,
self-effacing laird, who had turned out to be simply self-serving and arrogant.

‘Huh!’

Kate reared out of the bath, no longer relaxed, but furious. How gullible was she? She’d come up here intending to find herself and escape from reality. The deal was supposed to be a
rent-free serviced cottage, in exchange for three days of light work a week. The last few days she’d been researching and planning long into the night. Before that she’d spent months
chasing up builders and decorators who worked on island time and had no idea what a deadline was, just to get the cottages and the bunkhouse finished. Much as she hated to admit it, Fiona had a
point. That arrogant sod Roderick Maxwell was quite happy to let her do all the work, and then take all the glory as the island’s economy improved. Hadn’t she stood in the cafe the
other day listening to people discussing what a difference he was making?

Fiona had actually done her a favour. Typical upper-class git – her initial judgement of Roderick had obviously been right. Well, he could bugger right off. From now on she was going to
work the three days she was expected, and no more. And he could find some other idiot who’d fall for the unkempt black hair, those dark eyes, that three-day stubble that etched his chin . .
.

No. She dried herself, rubbing furiously at her legs with a towel. Well, she’d show him. She grabbed her jeans from the radiator, threw on a fleece and shoved on her wellington boots.

‘Willow, come!’

The springer spaniel was at the front door before Kate had even finished the sentence. Willow was a gangly adolescent now, huge paws suggesting that she still had quite a bit of growing to do.
Her feathery tail was beating with excitement against the boot rack. Kate opened the door and she tore out into the garden, circling madly, tracking the scents from the previous night.

Kate marched up to the top of her little lane and stood, undecided. Left to Duntarvie House, where Jean would comfort her and suggest she was overreacting, that she needed a break? Or right, and
down to the warm, messy chaos of Susan’s cottage, or Morag’s, where a late-afternoon glass of wine would be waiting? None of them appealed. Despite talking over Fiona’s tirade
with her mother, who’d tried hard to convince her it was nothing more than a last wave of bitterness, Kate felt a little uncomfortable in their company, not ready to let go of the idea
completely.

She whistled, and as she scrambled over the stile and into the field that swept down into the little valley, Willow followed.

Ducking under the dripping branches, Kate marched furiously through the little copse. Of all the days for Willow to bugger off, she had to choose today to find a deliciously
irresistible scent. An hour of stamping through the fields hadn’t done much for Kate’s mood. The last few days’ rain had left the ground sodden, the heavy soil sucking at her
boots with every step. And now she was walking round in circles, she was sure of it.

‘Looking for someone?’

Roderick was standing by the stream. Immaculately trained, his two Labradors sat patiently waiting for instructions. A soaking wet, grinning, mud-covered Willow lolled by his feet.

‘Thanks.’ Her tone was ungracious – she knew that.

‘You’re welcome.’ Roderick indicated the grey sky above the canopy of bare branches. ‘Lovely day for a stroll, don’t you think?’ He grinned at her.

Oh, bugger off, you, thought Kate.

‘Come on, I know a shortcut from here,’ he said, apparently unconcerned by her scowling silence.

The footpath was narrow, and coated with a thin layer of treacherous liquid mud. Every muscle in Kate’s body was tensed in her efforts to stay upright. She followed carefully, treading in
Roderick’s footsteps, staring at his back. She was fuming that Willow had led her straight to the one person she hadn’t wanted to see.

‘Give me your hand.’ They had reached an ancient stile, which Roderick vaulted over with his long legs. The wood was slimy with rain and covered with moss.

‘You’re very bossy, aren’t you?’ said Kate crossly.

‘I am?’

‘Yes.’ She held out her hand with a bad grace. ‘You are.’

He helped her over the stile, deftly catching her before she landed in a puddle. Kate dismissed the frisson of excitement she felt as he stood for a second, hands spanning her waist, looking her
in the eye, laughing. She needed to talk sternly to her mind and her body, which were definitely not thinking the same thing.

Oh God, maybe she could just . . .

‘What’s the magic word?’

‘Thanks.’ Kate said, through gritted teeth. She sidestepped out of his grasp.

He raised one eyebrow, amused. ‘You’re welcome. Did you get out of bed the wrong side this morning, my bonny Kate?’

‘Something like that.’ Stop trying to be nice, you arrogant upper-class tosser, she added, silently. With Fiona off the scene, he was obviously on a charm offensive, with one eye on
her heir-producing potential.

Whistling the dogs, Roderick set off again, taking a path that led them into a patch of pine woods. The ground was springy underfoot with a thick carpet of needles and the air was rich with the
scent of resin. It was a relief to be out of the driving rain – getting lost in the countryside with a coat that wasn’t very waterproof, after all, wasn’t much fun.

‘Here we are.’ Roderick opened a gate, onto a familiar-looking track.

‘But that’s . . . ’

‘Bruar Cottage. Yes. Didn’t you realize we’d end up here?’

Kate was tempted to lie and say she’d known exactly where they were, thank you very much. But she suspected Roderick would see right through her. He always did. ‘I thought we were
near the stone gates at the entrance to the estate.’