‘Charity shops?’
‘If you like. But let me take a look first.’ Rocco wasn’t bothered about what happened to her clothes. He’d only had a glance at the bedroom, sitting room and bathroom which made up Mhairi’s private rooms, but he was confident there would be some things that shouldn’t be given away, like her jewellery, for instance. And the photos he’d glimpsed.
He had to admit to being curious about this particular branch of his family tree. His great-great-grandfather, Tandy Gray, had produced two children: Mhairi’s father, who had inherited the Scottish estate from Tandy, and Rocco’s great-grandmother, who’d been married off to a man by the name of Moore. Mhairi had never married, and the Moores hadn’t been particularly fecund, only producing Rocco’s grandfather, who had married an Italian woman. Rocco had hisnonnato thank for his Mediterranean colouring and his grandfather to thank for his smoke-grey eyes. Rocco’s father had been an only child too. However, Rocco did vaguely remember being told stories of a relation who lived in a castle in Scotland, but he’d taken little notice. Until his mother had called him into her office.
And now here he was, for the first time in possibly forever, contemplating his roots.
Did he feel any connection to this land, this castle, where he presumed his great-grandmother had been born and raised?
None whatsoever, but if there were private papers and photos, he thought it best to keep them for posterity, so to speak, and also because he was interested in history, which was one of the reasons he’d wanted to visit Venice all those years ago.
He and his mate had also trailed around Paris, Rome, Prague, Vienna and numerous other places, until one historic building had begun to look like another, and the cities had blended into one.
Apart from Venice. Venice had stood out in his memory because of Giselle.
As Rocco climbed the staircase to his room, he smiled to himself. An erotic and passionate night with a gorgeous girl was bound to stick in any guy’s memory. How ironic he should meet her again here, of all places.
As he reached his door, he changed his mind about doing some work and turned on his heel, heading to the south-west turret and Mhairi’s rooms instead. He may as well get started, and there was no time like the present. After all, that was the reason he was here, to sort things out, not take a trip down memory lane or immerse himself in Mhairi Gray’s past.
But as he pushed open the door, his phone rang, startling him.
‘How is the mouldering old pile?’ his mother asked.
‘Old but not mouldering.’ He was surprised to discover he felt a little defensive about it being calledmouldering. ‘It’s quite impressive, actually.’
He glanced out of the window, his gaze drawn to the boathouse and jetty, and the white-tipped waves. The wind had picked up, he noticed. It looked choppy out there, and he didn’t envy anyone out on it. He wasn’t the best of sailors; the ferry from Venice to the town of Porec in Croatia was the last time he’d been on a boat, and he’d been sick for the whole of the three-and-a-half-hour crossing. He much preferred planes as a mode of transport, but cars were his passion, especially his Aston Martin DB9 in midnight blue.
Beverly asked, ‘What are your thoughts?’
He assumed she was referring to the estate’s value. ‘Several million, but exactly how much is yet to be determined.’
‘You should have let Claire come with you. Or you could have handed it over to Jermyns. I’m sure they can find a rich American with Scottish heritage who would kill to own a piece of history. You needn’t have bothered going all that way.’
‘I wanted to see it for myself.’ He hadn’t wanted to hand it over to the estate agent to sell sight unseen, and he definitely hadn’t wanted Claire to accompany him. This was his issue to deal with and nothing whatsoever to do with the business, although he may well ask her advice if he needed to. He’d speak to Jermyns soon, though, because their reputation for selling upmarket property was second to none, and besides, he would need it valued for probate. Anyway, it wasn’t every day one came into possession of a castle, and part of him (the little boy who’d once owned a wooden fort and a boxful of toy soldiers) wanted to revel in its ownership, even if it was only for a short while.
Changing the subject, Rocco filled her in on a development with one of their clients, but as he spoke, his mind was only half on the job. The other half was bubbling with increasing excitement. It had been easy to be objective and clinical about this unexpected inheritance when he’d been the best part of seven hundred miles away, but now he was within its walls, the reality of owning it was beginning to sink in.
Thank you, Mhairi, he thought.
‘When are you due back?’ Beverly asked.
‘Not sure. I’d originally planned to fly back tomorrow, but I might stay a little longer. There’s a lot to get through. If that’s all right with you?’
He could sense her exasperation as she asked, ‘How much longer?’
‘Three days?’ He wished he didn’t sound as though he was asking her permission. ‘Don’t worry; I can work from here.’
Her voice was sharp. ‘This really is quite inconvenient, Rocco.’
He wanted to retort that it wasn’t his fault Mhairi had popped her clogs and left him a bloody great big castle at the other end of the country, but there was no mileage in annoying her.
All he said was, ‘I appreciate that, but there’s a significant amount of money involved.Mymoney.’ Or it would be his money once the property was sold.
She said shortly, ‘Let the professionals handle it – that’s what we pay them for.’
‘Don’t worry, I will. But you’re the one who says to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. That’s what I’m doing.’ She could hardly argue against her own advice, could she?
She didn’t. ‘Very well. Keep me appraised.’
