She smiled, deciding that this was as close to a truce as she was going to get and she should make the most of it.
‘So when you’re not here, where do you stay?’
‘Edinburgh,’ he said as he pulled mugs from the cupboard.
She felt she’d be prying if she asked whereabouts in Edinburgh and he wasn’t very forthcoming about anything personal anyway. Although she wasn’t a naturally nosy person, she herself was quite open. ‘I lived in Edinburgh for a while. I worked at the Festival last summer.’
He winced. ‘That must have been interesting.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ she said with an involuntary sigh, thinking of all the time she’d wasted waiting for Philip to notice her. Deliberately she smiled. ‘I love the Festival though, there’s nothing quite like it. There’s such a buzz in the city. And I love walking down the Royal Mile when everyone is giving you leaflets and trying to persuade you to see their shows.’
’Yes, some of the shows are brilliant. I dip in and out, and it is a hotbed of creativity.’
‘It’s also a wonderful city. I loved living there.’
‘Did you leave to come here?’
‘No.’ She turned her back on him and reached for the blender. She didn’t want to unburden herself to him and tell him that she’d left three months ago after three years of unrequited love, when she’d finally realised that she was a handy crutch for Philip who was never going to commit to her. The sound of the blender meant that any further conversation was forgone and Duncan soon trooped through the door, distracting them both.
‘Smells like I’m here in the nick of time,’ he said. ‘That woman will be the death of me. I’ve carried umpteen chairs down three flights of stairs for her. Afternoon, Ross.’
‘Duncan.’
‘You two have met then?’
‘The man’s been here for two weeks,’ said Duncan. ‘He’s quite the explorer.’
‘I like walking, it helps with the plot … clears my mind.’
Izzy had assumed the man sat in his room all day writing.
Just then a phone buzzed and Ross glared at his mobile as he rescued it from his pocket. ‘Bethany. Hi. Yes.’
He cocked his head, cushioning the phone between his neck and his ear as he opened a drawer and took out three spoons.
The conversation was very one-sided, with Ross saying the occasional, ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘I’ll do my best’. He finally hung up with a scowl and a heavy sigh, placing table mats from the dresser on the table and finding the butter dish to put in the centre, all without being asked.
Izzy and Duncan exchanged a glance, but neither said anything. There was a degree of tension in the air that hadn’t been there five minutes earlier. In silence Izzy dished up the soup into three bowls and carried them over to the table, sitting down opposite Ross and next to Duncan. ‘Sorry about that,’ said Ross suddenly, as if realising he’d put a damper on the atmosphere. ‘Just my editor chasing me. Isn’t Xanthe eating?’ he asked, warily glancing at the door. Izzy was amused to see that Duncan followed suit. Her mother had that effect on people.
‘No, she doesn’t like routine. She’ll eat when she’s ready,’ said Izzy, knowing that when distracted her mother could quite happily go several days without eating a proper meal. She was rather like a demanding Persian cat, completely self-contained and aloof when it came to food, expecting it to be left out for her, but if it wasn’t fresh enough when she finally deigned to eat it, she’d turn her nose up.
After a surprisingly companionable lunch, during which Ross seemed to cheer up a little, he rose to wash the dishes while Duncan disappeared out the door, grumbling slightly about her ladyship as he headed upstairs to carry down the last of the chairs. Izzy put the rest of the soup in the freezer – she’d made a double batch, planning to stock up for those days when she was busy with other things – and when she returned to the kitchen, Ross had gone, leaving the dishes draining.
Keen to get some fresh air before she started cleaning the paintwork in the morning room, and drawn to the stillness of the loch, she pulled on her Converse and set off through the trees down to the water’s edge. A grey wispy mist had come down over the moorland beyond the castle, the tendrils seeping across the ruddy brown bracken and patches of gold and russet bilberry plants. It deadened the cries of the birds who appeared almost wraith-like when they loomed like shadows out of the sky.
The only other sound she could hear was the coarse rustle of her coat and the swish of her feet through the crisp, curling leaves on the ground. Around her the trees were silent and still and she felt as if she were the only person around for miles. Izzy took in a deep breath. Much as she’d enjoyed living in Edinburgh, she loved this intense quietness and the sense of peace and being at one with the world.
When she emerged from the quiet shadow of the woodland, she saw a little red tent perched in a sheltered spot surrounded by gorse bushes on the edge of the loch.
‘Hello,’ she called, as someone with a woolly hat jammed over a flurry of dark curls came into view.
‘Hi, there,’ came the friendly response from a small pixie of a woman who jumped up from the log she was sitting on. She was wrapped in dozens of layers and brought to mind a small Christmas pudding on legs.
‘Gosh you’re brave. Isn’t it a bit cold for camping this time of year?’ Izzy asked with a small internal shudder. She certainly didn’t fancy it but then she was more of a camping by Marriott type of girl.
The woman shrugged and suddenly looked wary. ‘S’all right.’
‘Are you staying long?’ asked Izzy.
