Just trust all is okay and file the article later tonight, I tell myself. Pulling on my clothes, I run the comb through my curls. I look at myself in the mirror. What does Dan see what he looks at me, I find myself wondering. I know one thing, I feel more attractive than I have done in years. No man has ever looked at me the way he does. I pick my satchel up off the antique dresser, and slide in all my work stuff to re-read over dinner. I slip out of the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
It’s only four o’ clock but the smells of dinner being prepped ooze down the hallway. I take the staircase down to see the reception desk is being fronted by a young guy. I wander intothe Sweet Orange Room. It’s a very different experience now I can picture a desolate Michael sitting all alone in here sixty years ago. A shaky shiver actually runs down my spine, stopping me in my tracks for a moment. Taking a seat by the window, I watch the heavy sleet as it bashes against the glass. The wind howls through the cracks in the woodwork and I can feel the cold air. Slowly, I am starting to see the cracks in the castle and I find it impossible not to keep coming up with solutions in my head. I need to file some kind of a report to Frederick now so I am complying with my commission and get it over with. Shut him up.
I shiver so I move closer to the cosy turf fire burning behind the black iron safety shield and I sit down. I bring up the Word doc I was putting together for Frederick and start typing.
CASTLEMOON REPORT:
FOR FREDERICK MACKEN ACQUIRED FINANCE
BY MAGGIE GRACE
PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL
Dear Frederick,
Here is my report on my findings at Castlemoon:
It is clear the staff/locals do not know the castle is up for sale. I think this will be utterly devastating for them and terrible for morale after the sale.
I cannot gain access yet to photograph the guest/visitor registration book as requested, I will keep trying.
There is a draught in the Sweet Orange Room and though I am no expert I imagine the Venetian windows will need a lot of work to preserve/insulate.
The staff are overworked, you will need to hire more .?.?.
.?.?. I stop typing. That unease drops over me. This feels all wrong. Even though I’m not reporting anything crazy, I’m so torn! This is so unfair. But what if Frederick does come down on me and makes Amanda promote Salma? What if he sends Salma over when I submit this report now?
I pull the Canon out of my bag and scroll through the pictures of Aisling and Aaron and the wedding party, of Esther and Michael, and Kate and Jimmy. The shots I took yesterday of Heartwell as I strolled through, the village under a blanket of white snow. The pictures are really good, if I do say so myself. Three wonderful couples. With no one else around, I decide to kick off my Timberland boots and curl my feet under me. I feel far more at home in this magnificent castle than is in any way normal. I download the pictures to my desktop and clear the photographs from my camera so I have more storage space. Then, I settle back into the seat, enlarge that picture I took, the one I knew as soon as I clicked it I would look at for a long time. Maybe forever.
Dan.
The one of him standing at the red castle door, looking right down my lens, as though he is staring into my soul with that sadness in his eyes.
‘What is it about you?’ I whisper. ‘What makes you so sad sometimes?’ I lift my head as a guest walks in with his phone in his hand listening to a weather report.
It’s predicting that the snow storm Faith will sweep in after midnight tonight bringing heavy winds and rain. I leave very soon and ever since Kate mentioned the storm in the pub and I saw it on the TV I’ve half hoped I’ll get stuck here.
The guest picks up a newspaper and sits down. I save Dan’spicture to the folder on my desktop marked:Married by the Light of the Castlemoon, byline Maggie Grace.
Now the aroma of sizzling garlic is really trickling into the Sweet Orange Room. Maybe I can pop back and see who is cooking in there and ask about the wedding menus? I unravel my legs and just as I stand up a door suddenly swings open at the very end of the room. I crane my head and see there is a staircase behind it.
‘W-what the? Where doesthatlead to?’ I mutter as I put my MacBook on the table and get up to investigate. Turning my head as I pad across the soft carpet, I notice another large crack down the wall. The plaster falls away; I hadn’t noticed it in the dark of the evening. That too is quite the repair. Holding the door, I see a winding staircase that goes down and down and then down again. At the very bottom, there’s a tall iron gate that’s closed. What is this? I wonder.
