‘The ruin is signposted on the map and it doesn’t say anything about this road or anywhere in this area being private land,’ Deb replied coolly, holding up her phone so that the mancould see the map and the little red pin where the ruin was located.
‘Am I speaking French? I just told you it was private land,’ the man repeated. ‘I need you to go up the lane, turn around and head out. I’ve got two trucks arriving any minute and they won’t be able to get up here with you blocking the way.’
‘Well, that’s really not my problem,’ Deb argued. He’d really irritated her now and, frankly, now she didn’t care if she was in the wrong or not. She was damn well going to hold her ground.
‘It will be if you can’t get your Surrey tractor out of the lane, love.’ The man raised an eyebrow. ‘This is a dead end. The lane ends on my land.’
‘You’re very keen for me to know it’s your land, aren’t you?’ she snapped. ‘And I’m not yourlove.’
‘That’s for damn sure.’ He returned her stare. ‘And I’m notkeenfor anything right now apart from to get on with my day. So, if you wouldn’t mind?’ He made a circle motion with his index finger. ‘On your way.’
Rude.
‘You don’t exactly look like a landowner,’ Deb said, looking him up and down, pointedly. It was hard not to notice the faint outline of defined muscle under his sweatshirt. She blinked, looking away, not wanting to notice his tanned, muscled forearms as he pushed his sleeves up in impatience. There was a tattoo on one wrist: a black infinity sign, the figure eight on its side.
Whatever. He was an attractive man, then. But he was still unbelievably rude.
‘I own the land at the end of the lane,’ he repeated. ‘I guess we don’t all walk around with a poker up our arses like the Laird, but I can show you the paperwork, if you want.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ Deb closed her window and drove slowly up the lane to turn around. She was fuming. Her lovelymorning of exploring had been ruined by this boorish moron. Howdarehe be so rude to her?
She turned the Land Rover in a small dirt turning circle at the end of the lane, stopping briefly to see if she could sight the old folly. There were a few cars parked in front of a large stretch of grass that led out to the horizon; somewhere beyond that, there would be the cliff edge, like at Queen’s Point, which overlooked the loch.
She couldn’t see a folly, which was like a kind of pretend castle tower, from what she’d read. Rich lords and ladies in the past had built follies and grottoes and all manner of entertaining, eye-catching buildings and structures on their land as diverting objects of interest.What a life that must have been, Deb thought.To build a mini castle because you had some friends coming for the weekend.
Of course, in those days, guests might stay for weeks at a time and expect to be fed, watered and entertained. Deb imagined what it would have been like to plan a party for the Laird in the 1930s. It would no doubt have been lavish – but, in those days, the Laird would probably still have had a full staff of maids, cooks, housekeepers, drivers and butlers to do his bidding. Then, he wouldn’t have needed a party planner at all, because presumably all he’d need to do was summon someone and demand something to be done, and that would be it.
There was an outcropping of trees visible to the left, and Deb thought that she could see a suggestion of brick through them. Perhaps that was where it was, then. Well, she wasn’t going to get to see it today, or perhaps ever, now that this guy was guarding it like it was the crown jewels.
She drove slowly back down the lane and past the man, who was on the phone again. He watched her as she drove past, but she deliberately ignored him. If he wasn’t nice enough to bepolite in the first place, then she certainly wasn’t going to give him the time of day now.
Deb was sick to the back teeth of men. And today’s little performance from this one hadn’t done anything to change her mind.
FIVE
‘Good mornin’. Ye must be Deborah.’ Hal Cameron strode into the large castle drawing room, a silky-eared brown spaniel trotting obediently at his heels.
Deb stood up slowly, steadying herself against the dark brown leather sofa she’d been sitting in since she arrived. She’d been shown into a large lounge that featured a huge stone fireplace, leather sofas and formal dark wooden furniture that definitely looked antique. She admired a writing desk which might have been mahogany, with a detail of ivy leaves climbing up its delicate legs; everywhere she looked, she saw something else that she loved.
This room was one of many that led off from a long, magenta-carpeted hallway. Anna, the housekeeper who had welcomed Deb to the castle, had done a mini-tour as they’d walked along: Deb had been shown a billiards room, containing a drinks cabinet, more leather sofas and leather-bound books, another large lounge, a palatial bathroom decorated in pink marble, a boot room and a corridor that led down into the cellar. Down a hallway, Anna had shown her double doors that led out to a large patio and extensive, manicured gardens.
The view over the loch was breath-taking. Rows of sharply trimmed privet hedges reached down towards the loch in intricate patterns. In the squares and triangles created between the hedges, topiary trees in the shape of animals dotted the view alongside evergreen trees. Wide stone steps led down from the terrace outside the patio and, at the bottom of a grassy hill, joined a long stone wall that ran around the whole edge of one side of the castle. Deb had felt incredibly privileged to be working at such a grand location, but she was also instantly stressed by the task of having to plan a party which was fitting for such a glamorous and spacious venue.
‘Good morning,’ she replied, shaking the Laird’s hand and hoping that her expression didn’t show her surprise. Of course, Deb knew Zelda, who was the Laird’s girlfriend, and Zelda was in her thirties, the same age as Deb, roughly. Yet, when Zelda had mentioned that she was going out with the Laird of Loch Cameron, Deb had still imagined a more portly, middle aged man, perhaps with thinning hair and a waistcoat.
This Hal Cameron was young, dashingly handsome and in strikingly good shape. He wore a simple white T shirt, blue jeans and trainers with a dark blue cardigan over the top. Deb had no doubt that even though he was dressed simply, the clothes were of designer quality. Especially if Zelda had been involved anywhere in the decision-making process. Deb remembered Zelda very well: like everyone atHomes and Interiors Magazine, she was impeccably dressed and styled. However, unlike some people at the magazine, Zelda was also genuine, warm and had a great sense of humour.
‘How are ye? Find it okay?’ Hal asked. ‘This is Finnegan, by the way. Are ye okay with dogs? He’s a friendly fella. But gentle,’ Hal bent down to stroke Finnegan’s soft ears. The dog gazed up at his owner with adoration, and sat down next to the leather chair which was at a right angle to the sofa. ‘Please, sit. Dinnaestand on ceremony,’ Hal added, and sat in the single seater and gestured at the housekeeper who had let Deb in. ‘Anna. Ye’ve met Deborah? She’s gonna be workin’ on the party organisation, so I expect ye’ll have plenty o’ conversations aboot this an’ that.’
Anna, a pleasant-looking middle aged woman dressed smartly in dark wide legged trousers and a cream short-sleeved knitted top, nodded at Deb as she approached.
‘Yes, we met just now. Happy to help with anything you need,’ Anna said, politely. ‘Would you both like some coffee? There’s a nice madeira cake to go with it, also.’
‘That’d be grand. Thanks, Anna.’ Hal nodded.
‘Yes, I’d love a coffee. And some cake,’ Deb added with a smile.
‘I’ll bring it up shortly.’ The housekeeper let herself out of the drawing room.
