‘Oh, my God,’ says Millie in a squeaky voice. ‘That one reallyisa ghost.’
‘That’s not a ghost,’ says Hannah, scornfully. ‘That’s just Dougie.’
To everyone’s surprise, she goes bounding up the stairs and takes the old man by the hand. ‘Ah, Hannah,’ he says, beaming down at her. ‘You’re here. Good. Now, where’s that nephew of mine? I need him to get all of these intruders off my property. Damn nuisance they are. Shouting and arguing loud enough to wake the dead.’
He attempts to shake his walking stick at us all, but ends up wobbling so dangerously he has to grab hold of Hannah’s shoulder to steady himself.
‘Is that the Laird?’ says Ian from the back of the crowd. ‘We’ve been wanting a word with him. Let me through, will ye .?.?.’
‘The Laird?’ yells someone. ‘I thought the Laird was dead? I heard a rumour that the handyman murdered him?’
‘Aye, I heard that as well,’ says someone else. ‘The murdering bastard!’
Outrage fizzes through the crowd like electricity, everyone shouting at once about how we should call the police, or, at the very least, barricade the doors to make sure no one can escape until justice can be served.
I shiver, despite the heat from the fire.
‘Are you all daft?’ pipes up Izzie, as if it wasn’t her who started the rumour in question. ‘The Laird’s alive and well, as you can plainly see. Well, he’s alive, anyway. Now let’s all pipe down and hear what he has to say. Is the bawbag nephew here too, though? I thought he was in Glasgow?’
The entire room seems to hold its breath, and Idefinitelydo, staring up at Lord Glenmuir as he stands at the top of the stairs, and feeling quietly smug about the fact that he looks almost exactly as I imagined him: magnificently cantankerous, and just a tiny bit like Albert Einstein.
‘Is the nephew in Glasgow meeting with the people from WanderNest?’ says Daniel Foster, obviously forgetting that this whole WanderNest thing is supposed to be a big secret. ‘Is the sale of the hotel going ahead, then?’
‘Sale? What sale? What are you talking about, camera boy?’ Izzie elbows her way towards us, her sharp eyes focused on Daniel, who seems to sober up a little under the force of her gaze.
‘Ask him.’ He shrugs, nodding in the approximate direction of the Laird. ‘He’ll know more than me. It’s his nephew who’s trying to sell the hotel. That’s why he’s in Glasgow. At least Ithinkthat’s why he’s in Glasgow.Ishe in Glasgow? Dante’ll know. Where’s Dante?’
He turns around on the spot, then promptly falls over, stumbling into the arms of Callum, who manages to catch him just before he crashes to the floor.
‘Where’s this nephew, more like?’ says someone else. ‘That’swho we need to speak to, surely?’
I bite my lower lip, telling myself not to get involved; that it’s none of my business, really, and unmasking Dante would be the very worst thing I could choose to do right now. Then I catch sight of Bex, in her ‘bloodstained’ dress. I remember the knife sticking out of the turnip.
Zara’s right. This is all getting out of hand – and now it’s time to put a stop to it.
‘It’s Dante,’ I blurt out, unable to contain myself any longer. ‘Danteisthe nephew.He’sthe one who’s been speaking to WanderNest.’
There’s a painfully long drawn-out silence, then Izzie starts laughing.
‘Dante Romano?’ she says incredulously. ‘The Laird’s nephew? Have you been on Ian’s special brew, Rosie?’
I open my mouth to tell her what I know, but, before I can speak, the crowd around me parts, and Dante himself appears, his dark hair dishevelled, as if he’s been raking his hands through it.
‘What’s going on?’ he demands, looking from me to Izzie, and then up at the Laird, who’s still standing on the stairs, looking as bemused as everyone else. ‘Did someone say my name?’
‘Aye,’ says Izzie. ‘It was Rosie. She reckons you’re the Laird’s nephew. Have you been telling people you’re related to royalty again, Dante? Because I know your mother’s had to speak to you about that before.’
She glares at him sternly.
‘I waseightwhen I used to say that, Izzie,’ Dante replies, looking uncharacteristically flustered. ‘I haven’t said it foryearsnow. And I’m not the Laird’s nephew, as you very well know.’
‘But .?.?. but Daniel heard you on the phone to Wander-Nest,’ I say tremulously, still sure my theory must be right, although I’m growing less certain with every moment that passes. ‘And there’s a photo of a man who looks just like you in the library. He .?.?. he must be a relative of yours. I saw you looking at it earlier today.’
‘Aye, he is,’ Dante says, his eyes so narrow it’s a wonder he can see out of them. ‘He’s my great-great grandfather – or something like that, anyway. My mum told me about the photo in that book; she’d seen it when she used to work here. I was just curious about it, that’s all. It’s not a crime, is it?’
He folds his arms across his chest defensively.
‘So heisrelated to you?’ I reply, wondering why none of the people around me seem as surprised by this admission as I am. Can’t they see what it means? Can’t they see that Dante is .?.?.
