Izzy pasted a fake smile on her face, shooting daggers with her eyes at her mother.
‘Hello.’
As if pulled out of a deep reverie, which Izzy suspected was completely fake, he raised his head, turned and strode forward, the kilt he was wearing flaring around his knees. Coming to a stop in front of her, he clasped her hand between his dry, cold hands in a gesture of over familiarity that could have been interpreted as warm but instead came across as overly manufactured.
‘Hello, my dear.’ He cast a quick look towards Xanthe. ‘The painting is most certainly authentic. I believe the painter is of the George Jamesone school, one of our most pre-eminent portrait painters of the seventeenth century. It could even be an original Jamesone, but I’d need to give it a more thorough examination to ascertain its true provenance.’ He turned back to Izzy. ‘Pleasure to meet you. This is quite some place you have here. You are a custodian of some fine history.’
His glance moved to Ross, who was standing behind her, and he stiffened, the corners of his mouth turning down in obvious disapproval.
‘Ross Strathallan. I might have known I’d find ye here.’
‘Godfrey, nice to see you too,’ drawled Ross, with a less than amused tilt to his lips.
Godfrey turned to Xanthe. ‘I wasn’t aware that I’d be in competition with anyone. I usually work alone.’
‘Oh, Mr Strathallan isn’t here in an official capacity,’ twittered Xanthe, patting Godfrey’s arm. ‘Oh no. He’s renting a room to write. He won’t disturb you.’
Godfrey pursed his lips, an expression of acute pain on his face.
‘Don’t you worry, Godfrey,’ said Ross. ‘I’ll leave the treasure hunting to you. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’ With surprising alacrity, he turned and left the room as if his shirt tails were on fire.
‘Hmmph.’ Godfrey shook his head. ‘These academics. Always think they know better. I’ve been in this business for over forty years. They seem to think they have a divine right to knowledge. Clearly he hasn’t found anything yet.’
‘I’m not sure he’s been looking,’ said Izzy, giving her mother a pointed look. ‘Not all of us are convinced the sapphires exist.’
‘Oh I’m sure they do exist, my dear girl. There’s been talk of them for many years but Bill McBride didn’t want anyone here to look for them.’ He lifted his chin and shook his shoulders, putting Izzy in mind of an outraged, bustling hen. ‘History is the business of everyone, not just the academics.’ This was said with a derisive, well-practised sniff, suggesting academics in general were a pet peeve. ‘You know what they say about teachers: those that can, do and those that can’t, teach.’ He followed this little homily with a self-satisfied smile.
Izzy was going to kill her mother. Where on earth had she found this pompous little fart?
‘Now, I’m in need of refreshment. May I procure some tea? And I don’t suppose you’ve any biscuits. It’s been a long journey from St. Andrews. And then I’ll get myself settled. I trust that you’ve prepared a room for me.’
‘Of course, Godfrey,’ said Xanthe, rushing forward. ‘I thought the blue room – one of our best – and I’m sure Izzy can let you use her little study while you’re here.’ She shot Izzy a warning glance. ‘It’s only for a few days.’
Izzy wheeled round and marched out of the room feeling completely wrongfooted by her mother. Presumably Godfrey wouldn’t be paying for his stay.
Her mother hurried after her. ‘Izzy, be nice. We’re not paying him and he’s here as a special favour.’
‘A special favour to whom?’ asked Izzy in a low voice, fizzing with pent-up frustration as she stopped by Godfrey’s luggage in the hall.
‘Me, of course.’ Xanthe patted her hair and simpered. ‘Don’t be so difficult. He’s not going to be any trouble and when he finds the sapphires, we’ll be rich and then you’ll change your tune.’
‘Yes, Xanthe,’ said Izzy. ‘In the meantime, I’ve dinner to cook, so you can sort his lordship’srefreshmentsout.’
‘That’s a very fine Claymore you have on the wall there.’ Izzy jumped and turned to find Godfrey behind her.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Excuse me, I need to—’
‘It’s an excellent example of sixteenth-century craftsmanship. Solingen steel from Germany, if I’m not mistaken. They were the greatest swordsmiths in Europe, you know. I’d hazard a guess it’s at least one metre, thirty. A very fine example. You ought to think about bequeathing this to a museum for the enjoyment of the whole Scottish nation.’
Izzy shot him a tight smile. ‘My great uncle was quite precise in his final wishes, and he was very specific in his instructions that the Claymore should not pass out of the family.’ The solicitor had been at great pains to emphasise this. In fact, rather surprisingly, the stipulation about the huge sword was the only one that her great uncle had made.
‘Hmph,’ said Godfrey, his mouth crumpling like a small prune in obvious displeasure. ‘It’s a national treasure. It ought to be restored to the nation. I’d like to take a better look at it some time.’
‘Mmm,’ said Izzy, evasively. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’ With that she hurried down to the kitchen, praying that he wouldn’t follow her, although she was reasonably confident in her assessment that despite his proclaimed ‘for the people’ tendencies, he was unlikely to step into what some might consider the servants’ quarters. Having him around was going to be a laugh a minute … not.
‘Who’s the pompous windbag?’ Jeanette asked, marching into the kitchen and dropping her cleaning box. Her small wiry frame was encased in a baggy sweatshirt covered in dust and leggings striped with cobwebs.
‘And what’s he doing in the blue room?’ Jim asked as he followed her in, with Ross and Duncan bringing up the rear.
