Chapter Fourteen

Fergus’s voice crackled over the radio. ‘Mornin’, son. And how are you on this fine day?’

‘Good morning, Fergus. I’m all right, thank you. And yourself?’

‘My old bones are creakin’ in this cold weather, but apart from that everything’s tickety-boo.’

It never ceased to amaze Marc how quickly people had accepted him. Even Frosty Fiona had thawed and ventured a pleasant comment once in a while. It seemed all that mattered was that he was helping Rosalie run Love Taxis and staying at Raventhorn to look after her while Geoff was in hospital and Lorna away on holiday. Things would no doubt change the moment they found out who he really was and what he was there for. He would miss Fergus’s easy camaraderie when that day came.

‘Your first pick up is at eight thirty from Irlwick, Myrtle Lane to Aviemore railway station. Then it’s back to Irlwick for Little Angels, followed by the Knitting Ladies and Flora’s supermarket trip. And after lunch, don’t forget our pensioners’ GP run. Rosalie will give you the directions. Got that?’

Marc winced. Thursday. Mothers and toddlers. Screams, tantrums, bad smells, and sticky fingers … Had it only been two weeks since the Thursday he’d encountered those crying babies from the nursery group for the first time? He loosened his green scarf in case the kid pulled it off him again and breathed in Rosalie’s sweet, fruity scent that clung to it ever since she’d worn it as a sling.

‘I got it. Thanks.’

‘One more thing, lad.’

‘What is it?’ Marc smiled. He’d never been called a lad before.

‘Take care on the road,’ Fergus added. ‘There’s a weather warning for extreme cold later on.’

The passenger door opened and Rosalie sat down next to him. Her pink anorak and woolly hat instantly brightened up the dark November morning.

‘Are you sure you want to drive?’ she asked as a greeting. ‘My shoulder is a lot better, you know, and you might want to stay at Raventhorn this morning, since today is—’

‘Thursday, which means toddlers, knitting busybodies and Flora’s supermarket run,’ he cut in as he started the cab and drove towards the old bridge. ‘I know. Fergus already briefed me.’

He accelerated and the cab bumped over the potholes that pitted the lane. He would have them filled in as soon as the weather improved, … if he hadn’t sold Raventhorn by then, of course. ‘Don’t worry. It is after all my second Thursday ferrying toddlers to their playgroup. I survived last week, didn’t I?’

‘Just about. You only just managed to keep hold of your scarf, and when the boy tried to give you a kiss, I thought you were going to be sick.’

He shuddered. ‘He was very smelly, what do you expect? However, today, I’m up for it.’

And in a strange way, he was. The past ten days had disappeared in a blur of frantic activity. There had been daily visits to the hospital where a heavily sedated McBride struggled to recover from his operation, which meant both Rosalie and the police had been unable to talk to him about his accident in the Porsche.

He had driven back to the holiday lodge to confront the couple there, but it was empty, and his request to check the identity of the holidaymakers had been met by the police’s polite, but firm, refusal. ‘They’ve done nothing wrong, sir,’ the constable had declared, and nothing Marc said could change his mind, even when he’d suggested that the four-wheel drive must have been going to the lodge that evening, and that it was unacceptable that the driver hadn’t reported their accident to the emergency services.

Since official lines of enquiry appeared closed, it was up to Marc’s friends to dig out information about McBride and his cousins. Cédric was out of the country on an assignment, but Luc had promised to get in touch with his contacts and get back to him. In the meantime, Marc had had a basic security system installed at Raventhorn and paid a hefty bonus to have the installation completed in record time. Of course, he’d had to lecture Marion and Rosalie about taking care of the house keys and not broadcasting the code for the alarm. He had also contacted a local electrician who was sorting out the heating and the hot water.

Evenings had been busy too. He had examined the accounts for Raventhorn estate and Love Taxis, both of which made for depressing reading, and once again he wondered why his father had got involved with McBride when even a superficial audit of the books would have told him he was wasting his money.

Lastly, there had been driving the cab. Although reluctant at first, Rosalie had come round to the idea that he could help keep the business going while she recovered and Duncan was away. She grudgingly sat next to him to order him about every day. But however short-tempered she was with him, she never showed anything but kindness and good humour to her clients. Much to his surprise he found he liked listening to her chattering about sweet nothings. Most of all, he enjoyed seeing her smile. And she smiled a lot, at least to her friends and customers, if not to him.

Yes, he thought as he negotiated the road through Corby Woods, his life had changed beyond recognition, and he wasn’t sure whether the fact he was actually enjoying it was a good thing or not. He hadn’t told Kirsty about driving Rosalie’s taxi – yet – but had explained his extended stay at Raventhorn by the amount of paperwork he had to go through. She’d snapped at him on the phone a few times, but couldn’t really complain too much since he still managed to get the work done on his most pressing files.

Rosalie switched on the radio and a loud, catchy dance tune filled the inside of the car. She turned to him, cocked her head to one side and grinned mischievously. ‘This is just what we need. Nice, happy music to cheer us up.’

She probably expected him to tell her to turn the music down or change radio stations. He didn’t. He had grown accustomed to Happy Baby Radio’s upbeat songs and over enthusiastic disc jockeys – so accustomed in fact that he’d caught himself drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a tune or two.

The station run went smoothly. The toddler group less so. This time he lost his scarf in the tug-of-war with the two-year-old he had defeated before.

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t understand why he likes your scarf so much when he has plenty of his own,’ said the boy’s apologetic mother as he unloaded the buggy from the boot and unfolded it on the pavement for her. Marc had assured the blushing young woman that he really didn’t mind, and to prove he didn’t bear any grudges he had even accepted a moist, sticky kiss on the cheek from the boy.

‘I know!’ Rosalie looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes as soon as he started the cab again. ‘I’ll ask one of Elaine’s ladies to knit you a new scarf. I hope you have nothing against pink.’

‘Pink?’ he grunted as the beginnings of a headache needled the back of his eyes.

Rosalie smiled. ‘You have to wear pink if you drive a Love Taxis cab. It’s the staff uniform.’

He refrained from saying that as the new boss he could change the staff uniform to grey or black if he wanted to, and that there most probably wouldn’t be a Love Taxis soon anyway, but she seemed happy this morning, and he wanted very much to see her smile, so he said nothing. Rosalie’s smile faded quickly when Elaine got into the cab a little later.

‘Rupert needs to call at Raventhorn for some papers he left behind when he and Geoff had that silly misunderstanding last summer,’ Elaine said.

Rosalie arched her eyebrows. ‘What papers?’

‘He didn’t say. He still has his keys so if you give me the code for that new alarm you have had installed, he’ll be able to let himself in later today.’

Sensing Rosalie’s hesitation, Marc answered. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

Elaine drew in a sharp breath and he saw in the rear-view mirror that two bright red spots had appeared on her cheeks. ‘And what business is it of yours, may I ask? You’re only Rosalie’s trainee.’

He glanced at Rosalie. She shook her head, the familiar plea softening her brown eyes. No one was to know he was Raventhorn’s new owner yet. Very well, he would indulge her a while longer.

‘The system is difficult to operate,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want your son to inadvertently trigger the alarm and alert the police.’

Elaine’s mouth tightened in a thin line and her eyes hardened.

‘I wonder what Geoff would say if he knew his own cousin wasn’t allowed to go in and out of Raventhorn as he pleases. The place will be his to inherit after all – and perhaps sooner than you think with Geoff being so ill.’ Without waiting for her change, or for Marc to help her get out, she flung the door open and slammed it behind her.

‘How I hate that woman!’ Rosalie’s cheeks were almost as pink as her anorak. ‘No wonder she drove her husband to an early grave and brought her son up to become an arrogant thug. She spoiled him rotten, gave him the notion he was destined to be Raventhorn’s future laird and was far superior to everybody else around here.’

‘What misunderstanding was she talking about?’

‘There was no misunderstanding. Four years ago, at about the same time I started Love Taxis after …’ she swallowed hard ‘… after my mother died, Geoff relented to Elaine’s pestering and hired Rupert as his estate manager. He was too preoccupied by his research to give Raventhorn his full attention, and I was busy setting up Love Taxis so I couldn’t help as much as I used to. Rupert was a disaster. He would turn up late, disappear for hours on end, and he bossed us around, and was horrible to Lorna and Marion.’

Her voice became indignant. ‘He even used to sneak out and drive off in Geoff’s vintage cars. I know for a fact he took some paintings and artefacts and sold them off. In short, he behaved as if he already owned the place and we were his servants.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I never understood why Geoff tolerated him for so long, but he finally came to his senses last summer. They had a massive row and he sent him away.’

She took off her hat, and combed her fingers through her brown curls. Her fruity scent filled the inside of the cab, hitting his senses. For a few seconds he was transported back to the night he found her in the bath. The memory of her lovely nakedness was so potent his throat went dry. His body hardened, his blood caught fire, and his heart started thudding. He closed his eyes, gripped the wheel and took a deep breath.

Behind them a couple of cars blasted their horn.

‘What’s the matter, Petersen? You look a little tense. Are you not feeling well?’ She leant closer, put her hand on his forearm, her thigh brushed against his.

He gripped the wheel harder, clenched his jaw. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Then you’d better get a move on or we’ll cause a jam.’

‘Sure.’ He took a deep breath, forced himself to focus on the road, and drove on. ‘So what happened after the argument?’

‘Rupert scuttled off to London. I don’t know what he did there but now he’s back and up to no good. He had the nerve to visit Geoff in hospital before his operation, and left Geoff in a very agitated state.’ She frowned, as if remembering something. ‘So agitated he was almost delirious. He kept talking about a dangerous man, about a woman hiding and keeping secrets. He didn’t make any sense at all.’

She tapped her index finger against the dashboard clock. ‘Anyway, let’s hurry or we’ll be late for Flo’s supermarket run.’

It was after eleven when they returned to the old lady’s terraced house to put her shopping away, eat a slice or two of Battenberg cake and drink a cup of tea so strong it made his heart rate shoot up.

After a few more fares they stopped at Alice’s for a coffee and a late lunch.

‘Hello, there.’ Alice gave Rosalie a hug, flashed Marc a smile and led them to a table near the window.

The café was almost empty but warm smells of herbs, soup and freshly baked bread filled the air. A moody Scottish ballad played in the background, in perfect harmony with the grey skies outside. Marc took his jacket off and sat down.

‘I’ll have my usual,’ Rosalie said before making her way to the ladies’ at the back of the café.

Alice handed Marc a menu. ‘I hear your training is going well. Is the boss going to give you a permanent job?’

‘The boss?’ He must have looked blank, because she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

‘Rosalie, silly. It was real lucky for her you were here, although I know a certain mechanic who wasn’t pleased when he heard you’d be doing all the driving for a while. In fact, Niall was furious. Still is, I think.’

‘He’ll get over it. I’m only standing in for Rosalie until she is able to drive again.’

‘Try telling him that.’ Her eyes filled with sadness. ‘He wanted to be the one helping her out, as usual.’

Once again, the mention of Niall left an unpleasant sensation at the pit of his stomach. ‘You said they were engaged once.’

‘That’s right. For a few months, but that was over four years ago, after Rosalie’s mum died. Rosalie broke it off when she set up Love Taxis.’

‘May I ask how Rosalie’s mother died?’

‘She had a stroke whilst out on a walk. By the time she was found, it was too late to save her. She was in intensive care for weeks but never recovered.’ Alice stared at a point in the distance. ‘It was so very sad. Poor Rosalie was heartbroken, and Geoff too – he was a wreck and spent days in a drunken stupor. He was even too distraught to attend the funeral service.’

‘What about Rosalie’s family – her father? Did he not come to the funeral?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Rosalie doesn’t even know who he is. Her mum wasn’t from round here, but from London – or at least somewhere down south. She didn’t like to talk about her family or what she did before coming to Raventhorn.’

He frowned. ‘So Rosalie doesn’t have any relatives?’

Alice shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. She always said that her mum, Geoff and Lorna were the only family she had – the only family she wanted.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, Love Taxis was Rosalie’s salvation. She put her heart and soul into it. You should have seen how proud she was the day she drove her pink taxi for the first time! It may not be the most profitable business in Scotland but she kept it going. In fact she was featured in the Inverness Courier in the spring. “Girl in Pink drives Love Taxis,” was the headline!’

She shook her head. ‘I never understood why Geoff was so angry at Roz when he should have been so proud of her. I thought he was going to have a fit when he read her interview and saw Sophie’s photo in the Gazette.’

‘Sophie’s photo?’

‘Rosalie told the reporters she set up Love Taxis in honour of her mum, and that it was her way of remembering her.’

‘Why is that?’

Alice smiled. ‘Because helping others was what Sophie liked to do. She was a kind, loving and generous woman. Rosalie is a lot like her. The only difference between them was that Rosalie loves bright colours whereas her mother only wore dull, boring clothes – it was almost as if she wanted to blend into the background and not be noticed, which of course was impossible because she was a strikingly beautiful woman. She could have been a model … if she’d enjoyed being photographed, that is. She was always finding an excuse to disappear when someone was taking photos.’

‘I saw a few pictures of her in Rosalie’s flat.’

‘I think they’re the only ones she ever agreed to have done, and only because Geoff took them. Roz would be lost without her taxi business, and without Raventhorn, of course.’ She chuckled. ‘And Irlwick would be equally lost without her. The toddler group would probably have to shut down, and so would other local services like the old people clinic, the library … even my café would suffer. You wouldn’t believe how many people use Love Taxis, especially since the bus service was cut down. Rosalie could make so much more money if she charged proper fares, but she won’t hear of it, of course!’

Guilt stabbed at him but he made himself dismiss it. He wasn’t responsible for Rosalie’s happiness, or for the future of Irlwick’s small community.

‘Hey! Why do you two look so glum?’ Rosalie’s cheerful voice made them both jump. ‘Have you run out of my favourite chocolate brownies and are too scared to tell me?’

Alice laughed. ‘Of course not. Don’t worry. I have made a fresh batch so you can eat as many as you fancy and the whipping cream is on the house.’ She took her pad and biro out of her apron pocket, turned to Marc. ‘So what are you having for lunch?’

He ordered a cheese and onion pie and a coffee, and tried not to stare as Rosalie took her pink anorak off to reveal yet another of her deliciously clingy pink jumpers.

As soon as Alice brought their orders over, Rosalie reached out for a bread roll, but instead of eating, she toyed with it until she’d reduced it to a pile of crumbs. ‘Have you by any chance taken a decision about Love Taxis?’ She paused. ‘I know you’ve been busy with Raventhorn but I saw you looking at the books again last night … I know they aren’t great, well to tell the truth, they are dismal, but I have thought of a way of improving our service, and making it more profitable.’ She looked at him, her eyes full of hope, and he found himself lost for words.

Damn it. He’d never been indecisive in his whole life. Right now he had no idea what to do about the small taxi business that should have been closed down long ago. The only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t bear to see Rosalie upset, and even less be the one responsible for it.

‘I haven’t made any decision one way or another yet,’ he answered in a gruff voice.

Her face lit up. ‘You mean there’s still a chance you’ll keep it going?’

‘I only said that I hadn’t made up my mind.’

He was suddenly aware of a middle-aged woman staring at him from a table at the opposite end of the café. ‘Do you know that lady over there? She seems very interested in you – in us.’

Rosalie turned round and waved. ‘That’s Julia Murray – Niall’s older sister. She’s our local librarian, and one of Elaine’s knitters.’

The woman waved back at Rosalie, but he noticed that she tightened her lips together in a thin, disapproving line before gathering her coat and bag.

Rosalie put her cup of tea down, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘The woman hates me. No doubt she’s now on the way to the garage to tell Niall she saw us having lunch together. Then Niall will call and I’ll have to explain myself.’

He frowned at the mention of the mechanic, his mood suddenly turning as dark as his coffee. Muffled, soulful musical notes of a bagpipe tune resounded from his coat pocket. It took him a few seconds to realise it was the ringtone of his new mobile.

Rosalie laughed as he took the phone out. ‘Braveheart? That’s a little sentimental for you, isn’t it?’

He pulled a face. ‘The shop assistant didn’t give me a choice. He said it was their most popular ringtone here in Scotland and set it up for me.’

He hadn’t wanted to rebuff the young lad at the time but now promised himself to change the ringtone back to the discreet and innocuous one he had before. He looked at the number flashing on the display screen and cursed under his breath. He really wasn’t in the mood to put up with Fitzpatrick’s empty promises and pathetic excuses.

His grey eyes were hard, his face stony and his voice sharp as he lifted the phone to his ear and took the call.

‘Fitzpatrick, what can I do for you?’

There was a pause as Marc listened and frowned. ‘This isn’t how things work, Fitzpatrick, and you know it. You should have followed my instructions through. Now it’s too late and we’re doing things my way.’

Rosalie’s throat tightened. How cold and inflexible he sounded. And she, who’d foolishly believed he had mellowed over the past few days, become more approachable, more friendly, was far too naive. Marc Petersen was a businessman. The only thing he cared about was his bank balance, and the only reason he was driving her taxi was to protect his investment. It wasn’t Braveheart he should have chosen as a ringtone, but Cold, Cold Heart!

She looked at him and swallowed hard. The winter daylight pouring into the café made his eyes a lighter grey, and his hair a burnished blond, and emphasised his strong profile and broad shoulders. She remembered what it had felt like to rest her cheek against his chest and feel his arms around her waist, and experienced the usual yearning that made her heart ache for him. How she despised herself for the silly crush she seemed to have developed and that had spiralled out of control.

She rose to her feet, snatched her anorak from the back of her chair and marched to the counter where Alice was busy rearranging her cake display.

‘What’s up? Didn’t you like the brownie? It’s a new recipe but I’ve only had positive comments so far.’

‘The brownie was great,’ Rosalie grumbled.

‘Is it your shoulder?’

‘No, I can hardly feel it any longer.’ The time had come to take her friend into her confidence and tell her the truth about Marc. ‘It’s Petersen,’ she started in a whisper.

Alice’s eyes widened. ‘I knew it! You’re madly in love with him, aren’t you? I can see the way you blush every time he looks at you. So tell me, have you slept with him yet or are you still thinking about it?’

‘Have you lost your mind?’ Rosalie hissed, feeling her cheeks burn. She hated that her friend could see through her. ‘All I want is to get rid of him, pretend he was never here and for things to go back to the way they were before he arrived.’ That, at least, was only a partial lie.

‘I don’t understand why you dislike him so much. You must admit he’s done a good job standing in for you since last week. People are raving about him. They like him.’ Alice winked. ‘Especially the ladies.’

‘I wonder why. He’s a cold fish. A snob. Never makes small talk. Rarely smiles or laughs at people’s jokes. Doesn’t even like my Happy Baby Radio. The man claims only classical music or modern jazz are civilised enough for him. If I didn’t do all the chatting, the cab would be as gloomy as a morgue.’

That wasn’t completely true. Marc had changed over the past week, enough to smile or join in a conversation with a customer, even share the odd joke. She had even seen him tap the beat of a few pop songs when he was driving.

Her friend smiled. ‘He may be the silent and brooding type but that only makes him more attractive. At least you must admit he’s rather handsome with his soulful grey eyes … and his French accent is so very sexy.’

‘Handsome? I never noticed,’ Rosalie lied, turning to look at Petersen who was still talking on the phone. ‘As for his French accent, he only turns it on when he’s annoyed with me, and that would be most of the time since he finds me stupid and irritating. Listen, I said I owed you the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but the thing is, Petersen is a businessman, a property developer. Geoff sold Raventhorn to him and the only reason he’s here is to complete an inventory and sell the estate’s assets – and that includes Love Taxis.’

Her voice quivered, unwanted tears filled her eyes, and blurred her vision. Alice stared at her open-mouthed. She put down the plate piled high with her homemade scones and leaned over the counter.

‘What did you just say?’

‘Raventhorn now belongs to Petersen.’

Alice shook her head in dismay. ‘Geoff sold Raventhorn? But why?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t been able to talk to him, with the accident and his heart operation … I suppose he needed money.’

‘What was he thinking of? You grew up there, it’s your home. And what about Lorna who has spent years looking after the place, and after him?’

‘Yep.’ Rosalie’s voice broke and Alice gave her hand a squeeze.

‘You know you can always stay at my place and work here if you need a job. Although I’d rather you kept out of the kitchen.’

Rosalie’s breath hitched in her throat. ‘Thank you.’

‘You must tell Niall,’ Alice added. ‘He’ll want to help. Although he’ll no doubt propose again when he finds out you’re jobless and homeless.’

‘No,’ Rosalie said. ‘Nobody is to know just yet, and I won’t be marrying anyone, let alone Niall. It’s about time he accepted it.’

‘You know what he’s like. He’ll never let you go.’

Rosalie closed the gap between them and gave her a tight hug. She was well aware of her friend’s feelings for Niall – Alice had never made any secret of them – and it made her sad and angry that Niall carried on chasing after the memory of their brief romance instead of opening his eyes to see the beautiful, warm and caring young woman who had loved him for years.

‘You should tell him how you feel,’ she said.

Alice shrugged. ‘It’s you he wants, you he’s always wanted.’ She stepped back. ‘So what will happen now?’

‘I’m trying to convince Petersen to keep Love Taxis running, but I don’t think he’s interested. As for Raventhorn, he said he might turn it into a hotel.’

‘It’ll be a blow to Rupert and his darling mother.’

‘I suppose I should tell them. It’s only fair they know.’

‘You don’t owe them anything, Roz. They’re both greedy and mean and were always horrible to you and your mum.’ She glanced away and whispered, ‘Petersen is heading our way. I take it I’m not to breathe a word of what you just told me.’

Rosalie nodded. ‘That’s right. Pretend you don’t know anything.’ Swinging round, she found herself almost against Marc Petersen’s chest.

‘Ready for the doctor surgery run?’ she asked in a tight voice.

‘Can’t wait.’ His face sombre, he nodded and pulled the cab keys out of his pocket as well as a handful of banknotes that he left on the counter.

He walked out into the frigid cold afternoon without even waiting for her. Outside the sky was filled with low, pale grey clouds and Rosalie squinted against the glaring white light that reflected onto the snow-covered pavements, the roofs of houses and the distant hills.

‘It looks like the ice storm is heading our way,’ she remarked.

Marc walked to the front of the cab and pulled out the piece of paper that stuck out from under the wipers. He frowned as he read it, then slipped it into his pocket.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing important. Don’t worry about it.’

But for some reason she felt that she had every reason to worry.