The Heir of the Castle (Harlequin Romance) (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

L
AURIE
PUSHED
OPEN
the door to the kitchen. It was ridiculously early but there seemed to be a whole army of pigeons nestling outside her castle window. And the truth was she’d had the best night’s sleep in a long time. Whether it was the good Scottish clean air, or the immensely comfortably mattress, something had made her feel as if she were sleeping in a luxury hotel.

Marion the housekeeper was
not
in a sunny mood. She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only six. Do you want breakfast already?’ Her face was red, her brow wrinkled and her shoulders hunched as if an elephant were sitting on top of them. And there was a tiny little red vein throbbing at the side of her eye. The woman looked as if she were about to spontaneously combust.

Laurie crossed the huge kitchen and laid her hand on Marion’s arm. ‘No, of course not, Marion. I’m more than capable of fixing my own breakfast.’

Totally the wrong thing to say.

‘That’s what I’m here for, that’s what I get paid for! You shouldn’t be in here at all.’ Her feet were crossing the kitchen in shuffling steps like a tiny little wind-up toy. ‘I’ve got sixteen people to fix breakfast for and four staff. Then there’s the morning coffee and cakes and all the veg to prepare for lunch. The butcher meat hasn’t arrived yet and someone pushed
this
under the kitchen door.’ She brandished a crumpled piece of paper in her hands. ‘I mean, how many allergies can one person have? What on earth am I supposed to do? And did they have these allergies last night? Because no one said a word then—and all the plates came back clean. How am I supposed to deal with that?’

Laurie nodded her head and took the piece of paper from Marion’s hand. She blinked at the list. It was the kind of thing that got printed in national newspapers when movie stars handed them to their chefs. She glanced at the name and stifled her smile.

She put the piece of paper on the table and tried to smooth it with her hand. ‘Why don’t you let me deal with this, Marion?’ She met the woman’s angry eyes. ‘Let’s face it, if they were this allergic to food they probably died in their bed last night after the amount they put away at dinner.’

There it was. The tiniest glimmer of a smile. The slightest sag of her shoulders showing a bit of relief. ‘Do you think?’

Laurie nodded. ‘Leave it with me. If there’s anything that is a true allergy and not just a preference or a request, I’ll let you know.’

She looked around the kitchen, trying to choose her words carefully. ‘Is there anyone else to give you a hand? You’re not expecting to do all this yourself?’

Marion bristled and Laurie winced, bracing herself for another onslaught. But it didn’t come. It was almost as if it hovered in the air for a few seconds before Marion took a deep breath and calmed herself down.

‘One of the girls from the village nearby is coming to help out. She should be here at seven. She’s good with breakfasts—just not so good with baking.’

Laurie ran her hand along one of the dark wood worktops leading to the Belfast sinks. There was a huge Aga stove taking up one end of the kitchen and a gas hob with sixteen burners in the island in the middle. There was a huge range of copper-bottomed pans hanging along one wall and shining silver utensils hanging along another. At some point this kitchen had been renovated, keeping the best of the old with the most practical of the new. It was the kind of kitchen used in TV shows, or period dramas.

She loved it. She absolutely loved it.

There was a navy and white striped apron hanging on a hook at the side and she picked it up and put it over her head. ‘Okay, if you have help with the breakfasts that should be fine. I’m happy to help with the baking. What kind of thing would you like?’ She bent down and started opening cupboards looking for cake tins and mixing bowls. ‘I can do carrot cake, fruit loafs, lemon drizzle, cupcakes, tray bakes or sponges.’

She straightened up. Marion was looking at her in horror. ‘You can’t possibly help with the baking. You’re a guest.’ She looked as if she was about to keel over and faint.

Laurie smiled and shook her head. ‘And you’re a member of staff that has had their workload increase tenfold overnight.’ She sighed. ‘Let me help you, Marion. Baking is about the only skill I have to offer.’ She shrugged. ‘To be honest I’m not that enamoured by some of my potential relatives and I’d prefer to stay out of the way in the meantime.’ She glanced out of the kitchen window and across to the beautiful rose gardens. ‘I’d much prefer to be in here.’

Marion frowned. The wrinkles in her forehead like deeply dug troughs. It seemed to be the natural position her face returned to after every interaction. ‘You really want to help?’

Laurie nodded. ‘I really want to help.’ Just being in the kitchen helped. She could already feel some of the tension starting to leave her body, particularly around her neck and shoulders. The thought of staying in the kitchen and not having to participate in small talk with the crazy relatives was like a weight off her back.

The thought of not being under the watchful glare of Callan McGregor was also playing around the back of her mind. Why did he bother her? Why was he floating around in her thoughts? And more importantly, why had he hovered around the edges of her dreams last night?

Marion thudded a stained and battered recipe book onto the worktop. ‘Can you follow a recipe?’

Laurie smiled. ‘Of course I can.’

And that was it.

Acceptance. Acceptance into the murky depths of the castle kitchens.

Marion bustled around her. ‘You’ll find all your ingredients in here...’ she opened the door to a huge walk-in pantry ‘...all your fresh goods in here...’ another door to a chilled walk-in larder ‘...and all the equipment you’ll need here.’ She flung open a door to every baker’s dream—a full array of scales, mixing bowls and every baking implement known to man.

Marion folded her arms. ‘We’ve just had a delivery of strawberries. How do you feel about making a fresh cream and strawberry sponge?’

‘Sounds good.’ Her mouth was watering already.

‘And an iced gingerbread and some flapjacks too?’ The frown was on its way back.

Laurie nodded. ‘No problem, Marion. Leave it with me.’

Marion gave her a little nod and bustled off to the other side of the kitchen where the girl from the village had arrived and was hanging up her coat.

Laurie started to gather all the things she would need. Peace perfect peace. Just what she wanted.

* * *

Callan pushed open the door to the kitchen and immediately started to choke, the thick white smoke clawing and catching at the back of his throat.

But it wasn’t smoke, and the immediate burst of pure adrenaline started to fade. In amongst the white cloud around him, all he could hear was raucous laughter.

And what was more he recognised that laughter. He just hadn’t heard it in a while.

Marion’s laugh seemed to come from the very bottom of her feet and reach all the way up her tiny frame to the top of her head. It was a deep, hearty laugh that should come from someone double her size. And he loved it.

Callan waved his hands in front of his face, trying to clear the white, smoky haze.

‘Marion? Are you all right in there?’

There was another sound, another laugh. This one verging on hysteria. And he recognised it too. He’d heard it at the train station yesterday.

The white haze gradually cleared, settling around his shoulders and every surface in the kitchen in a fine white powder.

Marion was holding onto the side of one of the worktops to keep herself from falling over. Laurie was sitting in the middle of the floor, a huge sack of white flour burst all around her, covering her hair, face, shoulders and legs and making her look like a snowman in the middle of summer.

He shook his head, taking in the scene around him. ‘What on earth happened?’

Laurie opened her mouth to speak, then burst into a fit of laughter again.

Marion shook her head. ‘Miss High-and-Mighty on the floor didn’t realise quite how heavy the flour sacks were. She thought she could just pick it up and throw it over her shoulder.’ Her shoulders started to shake again. Even though she was dusted in white powder her cheeks were flushed with colour. She rolled her eyes. ‘Seems like the sack taught her a lesson.’ She started laughing again.

Callan held out his hand. ‘Laurie? Are you okay?’

Her slim hand fitted easily inside his and he gave her a firm tug to pull her up from the floor.

‘Whoop!’

Maybe the tug was a little more than he realised, as she catapulted straight towards him, her flour-coated hands landing squarely in the middle of his navy jumper. ‘Oops, sorry, Callan.’

She even had flour smudged on her nose. And he resisted the temptation to wipe it clean.

‘What are you doing in the kitchen, Laurie?’

She tried to shake off some of the flour. ‘I’m helping. I got up early and offered to help Marion with the baking for later.’

‘You did?’ He was astounded. It was the last thing he was expecting.

Laurie was a potential inheritor of the castle and estate. Why on earth would she want to be helping in the kitchen? She was a lawyer, for goodness’ sake. His suspicions were immediately aroused.

She reached over and started trying to brush the flour from the front of his jumper. Long sweeps with the palm of her hand across the breadth of his chest, sweeping lower and lower... His body gave a jolt at his immediate reaction. He stepped back. Seemed as if it wasn’t only his suspicions that could be aroused around Laurie Jenkins.

He lifted his hands and brushed the cloud of flour off for himself. ‘Leave it,’ he said a little more brusquely than he meant to.

Laurie stepped back and rested her hand on Marion’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Marion.’ She looked around the powdered kitchen. ‘I’ll clean up, honest, I will.’

But Marion shook her head firmly. ‘Forget it. You’ve done enough this morning.’ She gave her an unexpected wink. ‘Anyway, you’ll not clean to my standards. June and I will manage.’

Callan shook his head. ‘Marion, if you needed help in the kitchen, why didn’t you let me know? I could have tried to get you some extra help for the weekend.’

He was cursing himself inside. He should have planned ahead. But the truth was, he’d been so angry about the whole scenario—the whole some-stranger-will-inherit-Annick-Castle—that he hadn’t properly considered the staff there.

He knew they’d been catered for in Angus’s will. But that wasn’t the same. That wasn’t the same as considering the pressure they would be under this weekend, or the way they would feel about having to deal with a whole host of strangers—one of whom could become their new potential boss. It wasn’t just the twelve potential inheritors—some of them had brought husbands or wives with them, then there was the Murder Mystery Weekend staff too.

It wasn’t like him to be so blinkered. He hated that he hadn’t considered the people he’d been amongst for years.

But Marion didn’t seem so bothered. It was odd. For as long as he’d known her she’d been prickly and difficult. As if a little invisible force field stopped those around her from getting too close.

The laughing he’d heard a few moments ago had been the first he’d heard her laugh like that in years. She had a twinkle in her eye. Laurie Jenkins was currently digging her way under that force field. And he’d no idea how she’d managed it.

Marion tilted her chin, a stern look in her eye. The kitchen was her domain. ‘Let me manage things in here, Callan.’ Her hand swept towards the table at the far end of the kitchen. ‘Laurie seems to be managing fine. She’s done a good job.’

He tried not to flinch. Praise indeed from Marion and he followed her gaze to three cakes covered with glass domes and protected from the flour attack, sitting on the far-away table.

He walked over. ‘You made these?’ It didn’t matter that he tried to hide his surprise, the rise in inclination of his voice was a dead giveaway.

He felt Laurie appear at his side, their arms almost touching. She was smiling. She looked happy—no, she looked relaxed. The first time she’d appeared that way since she’d got here. ‘Strawberry sponge, orange-iced gingerbread and flapjacks for Mr Allergy.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Allergy?’

She waved her hand. ‘Don’t ask. I think a pop music diva has a shorter list of demands than he has.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘So, if you’ve made all these, what’s with the flour?’

She smiled. ‘I was going to make a chocolate cake for dessert tonight.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be taking part in the Murder Mystery Weekend?’

His head was spinning. Surely, the whole point of coming here was to see if she could be the potential inheritor of Annick Castle. Everything had been clearly spelled out in the letter. Why on earth was she wasting her time in the kitchen?

‘Yeah, well, I suppose so.’ Her eyes fixed on the gardens outside, drifting away to her own little world. What was the story about Laurie Jenkins?

There it was. That little flicker on her face. Did she even know that happened? That little glimmer that looked a lot like hope. Right now it was fixated on the rainbow explosion that was the rose flower beds outside. Usually the castle gardens had regimented colours, red in one, pink in another, yellow and white in others. But this year he suspected Bert the gardener had fallen foul of his own poor eyesight.

Nothing had been mentioned. Nothing had been said. And the effect was actually startling. An explosion of colour right outside the kitchen windows.

Laurie turned to face him. ‘To be honest I was hoping to take a walk around the gardens today.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve already shown me the maze—how about the rest of the gardens? Isn’t there a swan pond?’

Callan nodded automatically. ‘Aren’t you supposed to take part in all the designated activities?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll make an excuse. As long as I hand in my card at the end saying who I think the murderer is, I don’t suppose it will matter. Anyway, I’ll be there for dinner tonight.’

She really didn’t care. She really didn’t want to take part.