Sealed With a Kiss (8 page)

‘I’ve brought your dinner through here.’ Jean appeared in the doorway. ‘I thought Kate would be more comfortable in the sitting room.’

Jean trundled in, pushing an ancient hostess trolley. It must have been in the family for generations. Kate wondered if Roderick had all his meals delivered by his stern-faced housekeeper
rolling them into the sitting room, where he sat reading
The Shooting Times
, or whatever lairds read. Emma would have been giggling; it was just as well Kate had left her phone upstairs,
or she’d have had to sneak a photograph. The whole thing was so far removed from reality.

‘Join us, Jean?’ He had picked up a folder and was scanning some figures, a distracted expression on his face. It wasn’t quite a command, but Kate felt that the tone suggested
he was used to people doing his bidding.

‘No, I won’t, thanks, Roddy. Hector will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

She set out plates heaped with shepherd’s pie on the low oak table, giving Kate small comfort in the shape of a conciliatory smile. She wasn’t even staying? Kate gave a small
sigh.

‘It’s something easy for you to eat with one arm.’

Roderick looked up at Jean from his paperwork.

‘Now, I’ve laid Kate’s things in the green bedroom. I want her off to bed early, and I’ll be in first thing to make sure she’s all right.’

It was like being back with her mother. Kate caught Roderick’s eye. Was that a hint of a twinkle there? He raised his eyebrows at her in mock-admonishment.

‘Don’t you worry. I’ll have her off to bed as soon as she’s finished dinner.’ He stood up, dismissing his two dogs, which slunk off to their beds by the fire.

‘See that she is. I don’t want you young ones sitting up all night talking. Kate needs her rest.’ Leaning over, Jean stroked the puppy, patted Kate on the knee and then
straightened up. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Roderick shooed her out of the room gently, with Jean chuntering slightly as she headed for the door.

Kate couldn’t quite catch what was said as they disappeared into the hall, but felt relieved to be off the hook when she heard the front door slam and the key turn in the lock.

Roderick pulled the door shut and, without speaking, lifted the sleeping Willow from Kate’s knee, putting her on the rug beside the fire. He placed a cushion behind Kate’s back
carefully, and set a wooden tray on her knee, complete with china plate and heavy silver cutlery, shaking out a linen napkin and laying it in her lap. His silence was unnerving. Kate was locked in
a gigantic, quite possibly haunted house with a man she didn’t know and only a sleeping spaniel puppy for protection. This place must have at least fifteen bedrooms, almost all of them
uninhabited. It was seriously spooky, she thought, looking out of the window. It was pitch-black outside.

The whisky had dulled the ache in her shoulder, but left her incapable of small talk. She’d always struggled for the right thing to say in situations like this. She felt quite
overawed.

‘Um . . . ’

‘So . . .’

‘You go first.’

‘Lovely dinner,’ said Kate desperately. She’d managed to scoop up a mouthful, but was too uncomfortable to eat, convinced that if she did so, she’d make one of those
loud, gulpy swallowing noises, or choke.

Roderick had already half-finished his meal. He looked up from his plate and fixed her with dark brown eyes, his expression serious.

‘I don’t make a habit of scooping up stray girls and bringing them home to my lair, if that’s what you’re wondering.’

He seemed pretty convincing.

‘That’s a relief!’ She pulled a wry face, before trying some of the dinner. It was utterly gorgeous, and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. It was a long time since
she’d eaten anything proper. She’d arrived on the island and had survived on soup, coffee and tea. Added to the mixture, the whisky had warmed her stomach, but had left her distinctly
light-headed.

Talking of which, Roderick was topping up her drink, unasked. At this rate she’d be unconscious soon. She scooped in another few mouthfuls of dinner, as ballast. In her post-university
attempts to find a decent job, Kate had been subjected to some pretty odd new-girl inductions, but none of them had featured dinner in pyjamas with the boss in the first week.

Roderick was looking at her, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. If he hadn’t been so stern, Kate thought, he’d probably be quite nice-looking. Not in the same league as Tom, the
film-star gamekeeper, mind you.

‘The last girl we took on lasted a couple of weeks before she headed back down south – she couldn’t cope. We have no end of southern softies turning up here on the island,
hoping to “find themselves”, or some nonsense like that.’ His tone was cool.

Kate felt herself flushing. Leaning forward and gritting her teeth against the pain, she placed her tray carefully on the table in front of her. ‘Well, I haven’t come here to find
myself, don’t worry. And as it happens, I went to university in Edinburgh, so I’m used to the cold.’

The truth – which Roderick didn’t need to hear right now, or ever – was that it had been far harder than she’d anticipated to find a decent job after university, and
while she’d gathered a certain amount of useful skills doing telephone sales, inputting data for endless weeks for employment agencies, and performing countless other mind-numbing admin jobs,
she was bored stiff. The thought of life on an island had been far preferable to the alternative. And didn’t
everyone
secretly want to float around, discovering their inner artist
and finding themselves? He clearly had no sense of adventure.

‘Glad to hear it. The last thing we need is another one here today, gone tomorrow.’ Roderick raked his fingers through his hair, frowning. The strain of running an estate showed on
his face for a moment, and he gazed into the fire for a while before speaking. ‘This place needs – well, I don’t know what exactly. But if you’re planning on making a run
for it, I’d rather you just said now.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Kate’s voice was steady. She didn’t have anywhere to go to, in reality, but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

‘Good.’ Roderick poured some more whisky into their glasses. The effects of two hefty measures of malt were now making themselves felt. ‘Here’s to Duntarvie House.’
He passed her the glass. ‘You might just be the good-luck charm we need.’

Kate looked at him, confused.

‘We’ve been given a grant – first time something has gone right for I don’t know how long. D’you know anything about doing up houses?’

Kate contemplated lying, but decided that she’d already done enough of that. She’d been a bit vague about her experience when she’d applied for the post, not really knowing
what a Girl Friday position entailed, and her CV had been so disastrous that she’d been known in the past to do more editing and stretching of jobs than was strictly acceptable. There was
something about Roderick – an old-before-his-time air – that made her admit the truth.

‘Nothing at all.’

‘Great! Me neither.’ Bending down, he pulled out a leather-bound book from underneath the coffee table. He flipped open the pages, revealing beautiful pencil sketches of some island
cottages, surrounded by tiny illustrations of seabirds, seals and eagles.

‘Let me show you what I’m planning.’

His fingers were long, his hands broad and tanned from working outside. He pulled a pencil from his pocket, illustrating his point as he talked, drawing arrows, adding little details to the
plans he had made. He explained that there was an opportunity for the ailing estate to make some money.

‘What I plan is to renovate the old cow-byre and rent it out, along with a couple of old cottages on the west side of the island, which have been lying empty for years.’ He tore out
a sheet of paper, sketching his plans for the inside of the byre. ‘We can turn it into a bunkhouse – a hostel – for schools and colleges to use, and we can hire it out. They can
come here and use it as a base for wildlife studies in the bay.’

‘And my job is to renovate these cottages?’ Exciting as the ideas were, Kate sounded dubious. Her DIY skills extended to painting, changing a plug and some extremely haphazard
tiling.

‘No, no. You’re going to help me oversee the whole thing.’

‘Oh,’ Kate took a gulp of whisky. ‘Yes. Of course I am.’

He grinned at her. ‘But not until you get that shoulder sorted. I’ll take you down to the surgery in the morning.’

A week later, with the strapping only just removed from her shoulder, Kate was busy overdoing things at the cottage. Her boxes of belongings had finally arrived, having been a
victim of ‘island time’ – a phenomenon unknown to mainlanders, but very much a part of life on Auchenmor.

Jean’s husband Hector, a man of few words but much kindness, had helped her to move the boxes from the wide hall of the cottage into their respective rooms. They seemed to have survived
their unscheduled holiday in a storage unit near Glasgow, and it was bliss to stack her much-loved books and DVDs on the deep bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. Having been instructed
that she wasn’t to do a bit of work until she’d recovered, Kate had explored the grounds of Duntarvie house thoroughly, spending hours sitting on the tiny beach that looked out towards
the mainland. She’d crept through the woodlands, catching wild deer unawares, and then collapsed back home by the fire, exhausted after broken nights with Willow, who was utterly adorable,
but woke as often in the night as a newborn baby.

Kate hadn’t caught a glimpse of Roderick since the morning he’d dropped her off at the surgery. Morag, who had taken to popping by for a cup of tea mid-morning, once she’d done
the ponies, filled her in.

‘According to Jean, he’s off the island, seeing to the final details of this funding he’s sorted for the cottages.’ Morag’s eyes swept around the room.
‘You’ve made a good job of this kitchen. It’s a lovely shade of blue.’

‘I spent years living with Ian’s taste for neutral colours,’ Kate explained, opening a tin of biscuits. ‘I think it’s a little rebellion.’

‘And you found it in the town? I have to confess I usually make a trip to the mainland when I’m planning any decorating.’ Morag raised her eyebrows. ‘I know we’re
supposed to support local business, but I draw the line there.’

‘Ah. Phil in the hardware shop told me he hit the wrong button when he did his first online stock order. Apparently it should have been Marvellous Magnolia and not Morning Mist. He found
three cans in the storeroom, covered in dust.’

‘Sounds like you’ve had a spot of luck, then. I still think you should have let Ted give you a hand with the painting. Dr Sergeant would have a fit if he knew what you’d been
up to.’

‘I didn’t use my bad arm.’ Kate laughed. ‘And it’s not exactly the most perfect paint job you’ll ever see – look!’

She pointed to the ceiling where several daubs of paint had missed their mark. Morag noticed, but didn’t comment on, the fine blue specks that covered Kate’s hair.

‘Och, nobody looks up at the ceiling anyway.’

There was a scuffle as Willow, ears flapping, hurtled for the door, hearing approaching footsteps.

‘Did someone say the kettle was on?’

Susan clattered through the doorway, nose pink with the cold. She scooped the excited puppy into her arms.

‘You’re not busy, are you, Kate?’

‘I’m just making a pot of tea.’ Kate pulled the mugs from the cupboard. ‘I’ve been showing Morag my dodgy DIY.’

‘Oops.’ Susan slipped sideways on the kitchen floor. ‘I think someone’s had a little accident here.’

She laughed and grabbed a piece of kitchen roll, wiping up the mess with a practised hand. ‘I can sympathize, Willow. Two children later, my pelvic floor’s not what it
was.’

‘Away with you! You’re only young,’ Morag scoffed. ‘Susan, have you seen what’s on the front of the
Auchenmor Argus
this week? Come and have a look here
– it’s in my bag . . .’

Kate stood waiting for the kettle to boil, gazing out at the autumn morning. She was already learning that rumours and gossip made up the main fabric of island life, and she’d been
initiated this week. Morag, keen to check she was settling in, had popped in daily. Susan and Jean were in and out too, passing by with just-baked scones and little gifts to make her feel at home.
Kate had sat for hours, quietly listening, marvelling at the complicated interwoven relationships. Most of the time she hadn’t a clue who Susan, Jean and Morag were discussing. But
she’d been made welcome by the women of the Duntarvie estate, and it was clear they were keen to make her feel she belonged.

‘Let me take that tea through to the sitting room for you.’ Morag broke through Kate’s thoughts, gathering together the pot, a jug of milk and some sugar onto a tray.

‘Are you all ready for Jamie’s party tomorrow, Susan?’

Kate sat down on the sofa, still guarding her sore shoulder. The painting had probably been a bit much, if she was honest with herself.

‘Well, I’ve cleared out the bunker in the back garden, and I’m planning to hide in it, if that’s what you mean.’ Susan winked at Morag.

‘Tom tells me you’re covering the whole place with dinosaurs?’

‘For my sins, yes. I’m nearly done. And I’ve cheated – they’d a perfect ready-made dinosaur cake in the supermarket, so no doubt there’ll be words in the
nursery-school playground about my domestic failings.’

Despite her jokes, Susan had worked hard to make Jamie’s party perfect. Glad of a friend within walking distance, she’d been spending evenings in Kate’s sitting room, painting
giant dinosaur cutouts, occasionally stopping talking long enough to pause for breath. Then she’d say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I?’ and would
carry on being gloriously indiscreet.

Over the last few evenings, sharing the odd bottle of Chardonnay, Kate had heard about Susan and Tom’s love life. Susan was an open book at the best of times. Once she’d had a glass
of wine, her brain-to-mouth filter was non-existent. The unfortunate side-effect of this was that whenever Kate bumped into the gamekeeper, she flushed scarlet with embarrassment. She had thought
it best not to mention to Susan that she’d swooned the first time she’d seen Tom. Susan seemed to be fairly matter-of-fact about the effect her husband had on women.