The Ice Seduction (Ice Romance) (9 page)

29

After Vicky and I finish the washing up, she leads me through the castle towards Bertie’s room.

‘I have a good way of remembering how to get around this place,’ she tells me, as we walk down dark corridors. ‘You see the tapestries? They all match the wings of the castle, east and west. The battle ones are all in the East Wing and the church ones are in the West Wing.’

She leads me up a flight of stairs. ‘I’m guessing you’re in the
East Wing, right?’

I think
about that. ‘Yes. I think Mrs Calder said it was the East Tower …’

‘She shouldn’t put the nannies up there – it’s freezing. No wonder so many girls leave.’

‘Do you think that’s why so many nannies have left early?’ I ask.

‘No,’ says Vicky. ‘I think they leave because of Bertie. He’s a hard child to handle. I’ve seen some scenes in the great hall, believe me.
He can really blow. I mean, biting, kicking … the works.’ Vicky sighs. ‘I don’t blame the little lad for being in a bad mood. I mean, I’d be in a bad mood if all I ate was liquorice and milk.’

‘Do they … do any of them leave because of Mr Mansfield?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Does Mr Mans
field ever sleep with the nannies? Have one-night stands with them and leave them broken-hearted?’

Vicky laughs. ‘No way! I wish he
did
sleep with the staff though ... He’s so fit! I shouldn’t say that, I’m spoken for. But he is gorgeous, isn’t he? No, Mr Mansfield isn’t like that. I’ve never heard of him doing anything like that. Ever. He’s a good man.’

I decide to change the subject. ‘Was Bertie
always this way?’ I ask. ‘I mean, there must have been a time when he ate other things, right?’

‘I guess there must have been
,’ says Vicky.

‘Where was he before he came here?’ I ask.

‘Poor little lad,’ says Vicky, shaking her head. ‘He’s been passed from pillar to post his whole life. He was with his Grandfather for a time, down in Glasgow. But then that all went wrong and they had enough of him. I don’t know what happened.’

‘Poor Bertie,’ I say. ‘That makes it worse, in a way. That he had something of a family life, an
d then he lost it.’

‘He isn’t the most normal of lads,’ says Vicky. ‘
Make sure you keep your eyes on him. He went at one of his nannies with a knife.’

‘Even if he does
that to me, I won’t leave,’ I say.

‘I’m glad,’ says Vicky. ‘He could do with someone who sticks around.’

‘That’s exactly what I think,’ I say, and we smile at each other.

‘Well, here we are,’ says Vicky, opening an oak door.

Inside is Bertie’s bedroom, miraculously clean and tidy. I guess someone must have come along and cleaned everything up. Probably Mrs Calder.

‘I’d better get back to the kitchen, hen,’ says Vicky. ‘In case anyone else needs a hot meal. Mrs Calder usually comes for her supper about now. And she sometimes asks for an extra meal. For who, I can’t guess.’

‘Thanks for showing me up here,’ I say. ‘Do you stay in the castle
too? I mean, sleep here?’

Vicky shakes her head. ‘I live in
the village nearby.’

‘With your family?’

‘With my boyfriend. Well. My sort of boyfriend. I mean, we’re … complicated. But anyway, if you see a bicycle wobbling out of here in the snow and dark tonight, that’s me.’

I smile at her. ‘Make sure you cycle safe out there.’

Vicky laughs. ‘Me and safety don’t mix. I’m clumsy as anything. But there’s no cars, so it’s all right. Talking of safety, though, don’t go in the West Tower, okay? It’s down there. At the end of the corridor. Just go to Bertie’s room and Bertie’s room only.’

‘Mr Mansfield said that,’ I say
. ‘And so did Mrs Calder. How come it’s off limits?’

‘
I’m not sure,’ says Vicky. ‘Something to do with Jamie, I think. His bedroom used to be up there.’

‘Who?’

‘Jamie Mansfield, hen. Patrick’s wee brother.’

‘Did
he live at the castle then?’ I ask.

Vicky looks sa
d. ‘He used to. But Jamie passed away a few years back. Military accident. His helicopter got shot down. Patrick was there. He practically pulled the helicopter apart to get Jamie out. But it was too late.’

‘That’s awful,’ I say. ‘Poor Patrick.’

‘I know,’ says Vicky. ‘Terrible isn’t it? And then Patrick’s grandmother died soon afterwards.’

‘Was Patrick
close to his grandmother too?’

‘Oh yes. He loved her to bits. So much so that he left the army when she died. He’d promised her that he’d look after the
castle woodlands. Protect them from poachers. And that’s what he did. She was a lovely old woman, Patrick’s grandmother. I miss seeing her around the place.’

‘And Jamie’s old bedroom is up there?’ I ask. ‘In the West Tower?’

‘Yes. But no one talks about it. It’s like Jamie never existed. Like he’s a big secret. But then that’s this castle for you – full of secrets. Well, see you later hen.’

She disappears down the hallway.

30

Wow
.

Patrick
’s brother died. I think of how it would be if something happened to Wila, and feel my heart beat hard in my chest. It just doesn’t bear thinking about.

Suddenly
I hear a voice.

‘Let’s hope you do better next time, Bertie.’

Oh shit. It’s Margaret Calder. How can they have finished so early? I check my watch. Bertie should be studying for another half-hour at least.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

I can’t let her see me. For Bertie’s sake as much as mine.

I whirl around, turning left and right, but there’s nowhere to hide. I’m in a long, stone corridor with not so much as a curtain in sight.

I can hear Margaret getting closer from one end of the corridor. And at the other …

Don’t go in
to the West Tower
.

I hesitate, staring at the closed oak door ahead.

Then I hear Margaret’s voice again.

‘Hurry up Bertie.’

She’s getting closer. I make my decision and run down the corridor to the closed oak door. There’s a beautiful brass stag nailed onto it.

I rattle the handle, but the door is locked.

Now I’m totally trapped, and I can hear Margaret’s footsteps clip clapping up the stairs. She’s really close now.

Desperate, I give the handle a shake but the door is firmly closed.

What now? In a few seconds, Margaret will be in the corridor, and I’m in plain sight.

I kneel to the lock and peer through it, trying to figure out how the mechanism works. I’ve had to fix the lock on our boat plenty of times after break
-ins, so I kind of know how to spot weaknesses.

I s
ee a loose piece of metal inside and unclip my watch. Then I push the thin end of the metal strap into the lock, and twist it so it bunches up.

Click!

The metal springs aside and the lock opens.

I grab the door handle and pull it open, then dart behind the thick oak just in time to hear
Margaret’s footsteps in the corridor.

I’m
breathing hard.

Did she see me?

I kneel to the lock and see her tugging Bertie towards his room.

I don’t know.

I smell must and damp.

Cold air flows around
and I hear a scuttling that could only be a mouse.

Or a rat.

An icy sliver of moon shines through an arched window nearby, throwing light onto a tiny winding staircase.

I need to hide somewhere. I can’t stay here. What if
Margaret saw the door move and comes looking for me?

I’m about to feel around for a light switch, when I realize that actually my eyes are getting used to the dark. And it’s better to have the light off anyway – I don’t want anyone seeing light through the door crack and finding me in here.

Carefully I climb the staircase.

At the top there’s a long corridor with a door right at the end. The corridor is pretty dark and I don’t fancy walking do
wn it. But there’s a door right next to me too.

I try the door and find it open.

Darting into the room, I close the door carefully behind me.

The room is lined with
dusty old shelves, piled high with books and boxes.

There’s a bed in the room too. And an art easel, with loads of squeezed out, dried up old tubes of paint.

On one side is a rail of men’s clothes – young people stuff like jeans, sweatshirts and bright-coloured shirts. They don’t strike me as the sorts of clothes Patrick would wear – they’re too … I don’t know, out there. There’s a bright lilac shirt and skinny jeans and a paisley suit. Patrick is more of a man’s man – all army fatigues and plain jackets.

There are piles of books around the place too – all sorts
of books. Poetry and crime novels. They look too bright and fun for this draughty old castle. There’s a stack of children’s books on one shelf –
Just William
stories and stuff like that.

And music scores
… I find my hand going to them and stroking their glossy covers. I miss playing music.

On one shelf
I see a photo of a man who looks a lot like Patrick. It’s not Patrick, though – this man’s hair is much darker and shorter, and his face is thinner.

The young man is smiling and
he has his arm around a beautiful blonde girl, who is grinning like she just won the lottery.

Under the picture, it says:

Jamie Mansfield back from leave, with Clarissa.

I wonder wh
y Patrick has left all his brother’s things in this room?

Well. I guess it’s none of my
business.

I wait long enough for Marga
ret to come looking for me, but she doesn’t. I guess she didn’t see me.

Phew.

When I’m pretty sure the coast must be clear, I sneak out of the West Tower. I can’t lock the door behind me, but that’s something I’ll just have to live with. Hopefully no one will notice.

I knock on Bertie’s door.

Before I can whisper a hello, the door is pulled open and I see Bertie, standing there in black pyjamas.

Bertie
doesn’t flinch or anything. He just stands still, looking mournful and confused.

‘I came to say night night,’ I whisper
, with a smile.

Bertie stares at me for a moment. Then he blinks and takes a step ba
ck, opening the door wide.

‘Thanks,’ I say, sneaking into the room and helping Bertie close the door. ‘I’m trying to be quiet because
Margaret told me I shouldn’t come up. But I couldn’t let you go to bed all by yourself. Shall I read you a bedtime story?’

Bertie cocks his head to
one side, looking at me. He goes to his bed and climbs under the duvet. Then he nods.

Hallelujah!

‘Great,’ I say, spying a pile of books on his bedside table. They’re the same books that were there earlier – the horror ones. ‘Not these though – they’ll give you nightmares. God – I hope no one else has been reading these to you.’

I hunt around his room for a children’s story, but find nothing
. Only Xbox games.

‘Wait there,’ I say, remembering the
books in the West Tower. I dart out and grab
Just William
from the weird, dark room.

Just as I’m leaving, I hear something. It sounds like a faraway la
ugh.

What the hell was that?
I really shouldn’t be here …

The noise
makes me hurry back to Bertie’s bedside all the quicker.

He’s pulled the cover right up to his chin and is watching me.

‘Is this story okay with you?’ I ask, showing him the cover.

Bertie nods.

I feel a glimmer of happiness in my chest. My third nod of the day! I’m doing well.

‘Okay. Let’s get started.’

I rea
d Bertie the first
Just William
story, and after that he nods that he wants another. And another. We end up reading the whole book – all ten stories. By then, it’s eight o’clock and Bertie is starting to look tired.

‘N
ight night little soldier,’ I say, tucking the bedclothes around him.

H
e doesn’t flinch, and his eyes look softer and gentler than they have done all day.

I don’t give him a kiss – I think that might be taking things a little too far. But I say night night and sweet dreams.

As I’m leaving the bedroom, I hear a knocking sound.

I turn and see Bertie tapping his fist on the b
edside table.

‘Are you okay Bertie?’

He doesn’t say anything. But his mouth pulls up into the tiniest of smiles. I don’t need words to know what he’s saying.

T
hank you
.

‘It was my pleasure,’ I say, returning his smile. ‘Sleep tight. See you in the morning, okay?’

Bertie nods.