Fraser shrugged in acquiescence. ‘The dining room is through here.’
The room was as opulent as Rocco’s bedroom. There was a touch of Claridge’s or the Dorchester about it, but with greater age; however, he doubted that the tables and chairs, although of good quality, were genuine antiques. Crisp white tablecloths, silver-plated cutlery, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee in the air and another view of the loch, albeit from a different angle, made a pleasing impression.
Rocco didn’t bother looking at the menu. ‘Scrambled eggs, brown toast, coffee and orange juice – freshly squeezed, if you have it.’
The young man who was taking his order glanced at Fraser and was about to say something, but Fraser shook his head and said, ‘Ask someone to squeeze some oranges, Simon. I’m sure they can find a couple.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ the young man said to Rocco, then his eyes darted from Rocco to Fraser. ‘Anything for you, Cal?’
Fraser hesitated, clearly uneasy.
Rocco said, ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’d better do so now. It’s going to be a long day.’
Fraser nodded. ‘OK. Just toast and a coffee. Thanks, Simon.’
‘The funeral car will be here at ten thirty, correct?’ Fraser had already informed him of this via email, but Rocco wanted to check.
‘That’s right. The service is at eleven a.m. in the kirk. The church,’ he added, seeing Rocco’s blank expression.
He said, ‘Ah, yes, thechurch.’
‘You’ll soon get used to the colloquialisms.’
Rocco highly doubted that. ‘What time do you anticipate the wake ending?’
‘One, one thirty?’
‘One would be preferable. I want to look around the estate afterwards.’
‘Of course.’
‘I won’t be at the wake.’
Surprise flitted across the man’s face. ‘Oh, er, right.’ Fraser took a breath. ‘The staff are already asking questions about the new owner, and when they see you at the funeral they’ll be asking even more. What should I tell them?’
‘Nothing. I’ll introduce myself later, once I’ve had a chance to look around.’ He glanced up as the server approached with a plate and a rack of toast, and he shook the white linen napkin open, draping it over his lap. ‘After breakfast, I want to see the accounts and the rest of the paperwork relating to the estate.’
The sooner he had a grasp on what he actually owned, the better, because then he’d know exactly what it was worth and could price it accordingly when he put it up for sale.
The kirk gleamed white in the sun, its arched, mullioned windows reflecting the light. It was set back off the road, the grassy graveyard dotted with snaggle-toothed headstones. Most were mossy and daubed with splotches of green and pale yellow lichen, their names and dates weathered into oblivion. Some were more recent, and as Giselle made her way to the oak-doored entrance, she walked slowly, reading the ones which were legible.
Mhairi’s final resting place was in the churchyard, and Giselle thought it fitting the old lady would be spending eternity with a view of the loch and the castle she’d adored.
Giselle filed in with the other mourners, unsurprised to see how many people were here to pay their last respects. The entire village had turned out.Mhairi would have been pleased, she thought.
Organ music played softly, low and sombre, and Giselle slipped inside to claim a place at the back. The pew was half-full already, and when she saw a space at the end furthest from the aisle, she slipped into it next to Freya. Freya didn’t have a studio at the centre (she was a potter, renowned for her unusual ceramics) and Giselle didn’t know her particularly well, but she knew her boyfriend, Mack. Before Mack had fallen head over heels in love with Freya, he’d hit on her a few times. And once or twice Giselle had been tempted by his Viking good looks and rugged outdoor charm. But she hadn’t succumbed, in part because he’d had a reputation, but also because… Actually, she wasn’t entirely sure why. She had this silly notion of wanting to be swept off her feet, but so far none of her boyfriends had managed even a bit of light brushing, never mind a sweep. And although Mack was good looking and friendly, and he loved Skye, Duncoorie and the wild loch as much as she did, her head hadn’t been turned and she’d refused all offers. Which had been a good thing, considering Freya was the love of his life.
As though he sensed her thoughts, Mack gave Giselle a swift, reassuring smile, but most of his attention was reserved for Freya, and he had eyes only for her.
Hopefully one day, a man will look at me like that, Giselle thought, and she would feel blessed if that ever happened, but until then, she was content being alone.
The music changed and the vicar ascended the pulpit.
With her head bowed, Giselle rose, along with the rest of the mourners, as the coffin was brought in. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit her lip, willing the tears not to fall. But they fell anyway, and she grasped her shawl in twisting hands as she struggled to keep her composure.
