“Of course, as agents for the owner, we have a responsibility to find the right tenant for the property.”
“But you don’t think I’m the right tenant?”
“Exactly.” He sounded pleased.
“Tell me something, Mr. Hansard. Who would be the right tenant?”
“Well, I…” His voice faded into silence.
“I will see you at three o’clock.” She hung up, looking down at the cellphone in shock. Who was the woman who’d just taken that call? That wasn’t her. Since when was she that assertive?
She smiled to herself. She could get used tobeing that woman. After all, that Hansard guy had never met her. For all he knew, she was the most confident woman in Scotland. Fake it until you make it. She stood up, folding her arms and looking at herself in the mirror. Shoulders too rounded, that wouldn’t do.
She stood up tall, taking several deep breaths. That was better, straight back, no smile, a face that said, I make the decisions around here. Confidence. She could do it.
They would give her the castle to live in.
She would finish the book.
She was a decent catch.
She needed a pee.
After getting out of the bathroom she changed into the most formal thing she owned. Charcoal gray trousers, matching jacket over white shirt, plain black shoes. The kind of person you could trust to take on a house. She just needed to play down the unemployed loser thing. Keep that to herself.
Driving north toward the castle, she felt increasingly nervous. She tried to blame it on the condition of the car. Would it survive the journey?
The roads were surprisingly quiet for the time of day so she got there early. The drive had takenher out of the village, along the lochside and then up through the trees, the car engine straining to cope with the steepness of the mountain roads.
They wound slowly upward back and forth, zigzagging along the slope until she finally emerged into the open about halfway up.
From there she could see the village across the other side of the valley. A strange thought occurred to her. She might never see it again. Why on earth would she think that?
Reaching the driveway that led to the castle, she came to a halt. The wrought iron gates were closed. She was about to step out of the car when they suddenly swung inward. Were they automatic gates? They didn’t look like it. They looked as if they’d been there at least a hundred years.
There was a strong wind. Maybe a gust had blown them open. Either way, what mattered was she could continue along the driveway. Either side of her the trees were overgrown, reaching overhead until they touched, blocking out the light. Branches whipped the side of her car as she drove past, adding a sense of gloom to her increasing anxiety.
She was glad when she emerged into the light again, the castle towering above her.
She brought the car to a halt and stepped out,amazed to be so close to the castle she felt she knew so well. The earthworks were overgrown, the drawbridge replaced by a wooden one, a couple of the planks looking close to rotten, moss covering more than half of them.
She doubted a car would survive the journey across. As it was, they creaked alarmingly when she walked over. She stopped halfway, looking down into the earthworks. Someone climbed through that, she thought.
The image entered her mind from nowhere. A boy, clutching a letter. It was dark and he was scared.
The breeze picked up and blew the image away. She frowned as she turned back to the castle. Where had that come from? It was quarter to three. There was no sign of the letting agent’s car.
She wasn’t sure what to do. She tried the front door but it was firmly locked. Turning back to the drawbridge, she was just crossing over it when a car appeared from the driveway. The occupant waved to her as he pulled up, parking beside her own vehicle.
Out stepped a man in his mid-sixties. He wore a plain black suit but his tie made up for it, filled with more colors than a bumper box of crayons. Lowover his head was a flat cap which he lifted as he approached to reveal a shock of white hair. “You must be Miss MacCallister,” he said, holding a hand out toward her. “I’m Albert Drayton. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
She shook, surprised by how warm his hand felt. “Nice to meet you.”
“Mr. Hansard asked if you would reconsider your position. The place isn’t really fit for human habitation. Lots of damp and creepy-crawlies.”
“You’re selling it brilliantly.”
“It’s not my job to sell the place. If it were I’d be done with it by now. But no, the owner wants it let so we’re to try and let it. But I must say-”
