Chapter Fifteen

By the time they drove the last of the pensioners home, the temperature had dropped to below freezing. A sheet of ice covered the road, forcing Marc to drive at crawling speed, and an arctic wind blew through the pine trees, which groaned and moved like living beings.

‘They’re gritting the road,’ Marc said after they passed a truck with orange lights flickering in the night. ‘At least the weather will keep your friend Rupert away from Raventhorn tonight.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it. Rupert is nothing if not determined. I’m sure he is desperate to assert his claim on Raventhorn and make sure you know he is Geoff’s heir. In fact, I’m surprised he has stayed away for so long.’

She leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes and let out a weary sigh. A confrontation with Rupert would ruin the rest of the day. Against all expectations, it had turned out to be an enjoyable afternoon, and the mood inside the doctor’s surgery had been buoyant as Marc led a disputed game of cards. He may think talking to people was a waste of his precious time, but once again got on surprisingly well with everybody there, especially Angus McLean, who in a rare accolade had given him four bottles of his homebrewed pine needle beer after they drove him home – and it was well known that Angus didn’t part willingly with his precious ale.

‘He said it was just what I needed to keep me going,’ Marc had said as he put the plastic bag with the bottles on the back seat. ‘He also suggested you drank some. He found you a little pale. He seems to think his beer has medicinal properties.’

She pulled a face. ‘Hmm. Well, one could say it does.’

He cast her a doubtful glance. ‘Really?’

‘That’s right. It’s full of … ahem … vitamins.’ She had no intention of enlightening Marc about the beer’s alleged aphrodisiac properties. It had been embarrassing enough to see Angus wink and give him a clap on the back as he handed him the bottles.

‘Angus used to work at The Glen, a brewery that shut down about six years ago,’ she carried on quickly before Marc could probe any further. ‘He has dreamt ever since of setting up his own microbrewery with his son and some of the staff who were made redundant when The Glen closed. He organised a beer festival last year, and even got Fiona to design labels for the bottles, but nothing came out of it. I guess he doesn’t have enough business experience to go ahead with his plans.’

‘It’s a shame. Microbreweries and real ale are rather trendy these days,’ Marc said as he slowed down to negotiate a bend in the slippery conditions.

She turned to him. ‘I know! Why don’t you talk to him about it?’

‘I’m not here to offer business advice,’ he answered coolly.

‘Of course you’re not.’ She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. ‘How silly of me to suggest you might want to help Angus. After all, you said it yourself – your job is to shut down businesses, and once you’ve destroyed someone’s dream, you move on to your next victim.’

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he glanced at her, shadows darkening his grey eyes. ‘Victim? That’s a bit strong.’

He sounded hurt. Already regretting her outburst, she swallowed hard and crossed her arms across her chest.

‘What was all that about with the receptionist at the surgery?’ he asked after a few minutes.

‘Kian’s girlfriend? I’m not sure. I was only trying to be friendly. Niall said Kian had an accident with his father’s car when driving home after the ceilidh. I don’t know why Stacey got so flustered when I asked how she was and how badly Kian had damaged the car. It was as if she was embarrassed and didn’t want anyone to know about it.’

Suddenly, Marc slammed on the brakes, and the cab swerved and came to an abrupt halt. ‘There she is again,’ he muttered under his breath.

Rosalie peered into the night and the dark forest at the side of the road. ‘Who? What?’

‘That Raven woman. Whoever she is.’

‘Isobel? Are you sure?’

But Marc had already jumped out and run into the woods and Rosalie’s words echoed in the empty cab. What did he think he was playing at, running into the night to chase after Lady Fitheach? It was dark, the snow was deep, an arctic gale was blowing and he didn’t know Corby Woods. She would have to go after him. Sighing, she zipped her anorak up, pulled her hat down and ventured outside.

‘Petersen, come back!’ The wind howling through the woods and the sound of pine tree branches swishing around her drowned her voice. Her feet sank into deep, frozen snow at every step, but she carried on in the direction he’d disappeared into. Within seconds her face and hands tingled with cold, and before long she couldn’t feel them any more.

At last she glimpsed his silhouette between the trees, and headed his way. ‘Did you see anything?’ she asked when she was close enough.

He shook his head. ‘She vanished before I could get to her.’

‘I could have told you as much and saved us both getting cold and wet. Since when do ghosts let themselves get caught?’

He looked at her as if she’d just said the most stupid thing he’d ever heard. ‘There is no ghost. Ghosts don’t exist. Anyway why did you come out? You should have stayed in the cab.’

‘And leave you on your own? You might have got lost. You could have tripped and got hurt.’

His jaw tightened. ‘What do you take me for?’

He strode back to the road, his face so grim she thought it better not to argue even if she struggled to keep up. Once they were both back inside the cab, he slammed his door and turned to her.

‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ His French accent sounded a lot stronger.

Rosalie’s throat tightened. He was annoyed. Very annoyed.

‘Contrary to what you and your pal Niall seem to believe, I am neither some fancy city boy nor a helpless fool of a tourist, and I certainly don’t need to be rescued from the woods by a girl in pink. Got that?’

He leaned towards her. The glow of the taxi’s overhead light cast threatening shadows on his face and turned his eyes almost black.

She nodded.

‘Good.’ He pulled away and started the engine and drove off.

‘So you think you saw Isobel again,’ she said to break the tense silence after a few minutes. ‘That’s twice you’ve seen her.’

‘Three times, actually,’ he replied. ‘I saw her on top of the tower at Loch Armathiel.’

‘You never said.’

‘It didn’t seem important at the time.’

Rosalie coughed to clear her throat. ‘Three times, that’s not good. I don’t want to worry you but—’

‘I know, you told me what happened to men who see her several times. The thing is, I don’t believe in ghosts. This is no spectre of doom, Rosalie, but someone playing tricks on us.’

She tutted. ‘This is completely ridiculous.’

He turned to her and arched his eyebrows. ‘Any more ridiculous than a vengeful ghost and her faithful crow?’

‘It’s a raven, actually. Anyway, who would play tricks on us?’

‘Someone involved in the hoax calls and the attacks on yourself and your cab.’ Marc turned off the main road, drove over the bridge and into the courtyard at Raventhorn where a black sports car waited with its engine on. Even though the security lights were on, the car’s dark windows prevented them from seeing who was inside.

Not that it mattered. Rosalie knew exactly who was waiting for them. She sighed. ‘I told you it would take more than a freezing gale to keep Rupert away.’

‘Nice car,’ Marc remarked as Rupert climbed out of it.

‘I wonder how he can afford it,’ Rosalie muttered under her breath.

Marc grabbed hold of the carrier bag on the back seat. The beer bottles clanked as he walked towards Rupert, who stood head tilted back, spine stiff and legs slightly apart as if bracing himself for a confrontation.

Marc extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Marc Petersen.’

Rupert made no move to shake Marc’s hand but stared at him, his lip curled in a sneer. ‘Ah, yes. The infamous Marc Petersen. Rosalie’s new driver, and the talk of the town.’ He turned to Rosalie. ‘Can we go in? I’ve been waiting for ages.’

‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ she said as she made her way to the kitchen door, clenching her key in her hand so hard the dents bit into her flesh. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Didn’t my mother tell you I was after some papers?’

‘You’ll be lucky if you find anything. The library is a mess, as usual.’ Rosalie unlocked the door, walked into the kitchen and started punching the alarm code in.

Rupert whistled between his teeth. ‘That’s a swanky security system you have here. It must have cost Geoff a packet to have it fitted, and yet he claimed he was broke when I visited him in hospital before his operation. Give me the code, so I won’t have to bother you next time I come back.’

‘We’ll talk about it inside.’ Marc pushed the door shut behind him. He put the carrier bag on the kitchen table and pulled the four beer bottles out. They all had a distinctive blue and green tartan label with a sprig of pine at the centre and ‘Angus’s Ale’ printed in fancy gold lettering.

Rupert pointed at the bottles. ‘Don’t tell me that old devil Angus McLean sold you some of his homebrew! I bet he said it would make you as randy as a stag during rutting season and was better than Viagra.’

‘Viagra?’ Marc stared at Rosalie who immediately looked down and busied herself with the zip of her anorak.

Rupert McBride laughed. ‘It looks like you’re in for a treat tonight, Rosalie.’

She let out a shocked gasp and her face turned bright red.

Marc set the last bottle on the table and looked at McBride. ‘What exactly is your point?’

Rupert must have heard the cold warning in his voice. He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a few times. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I was only making conversation.’

‘Well, I wish you didn’t. You’re talking rubbish as usual.’ Rosalie gestured towards the stairs. ‘Come on, then. If you want to find your papers, we’d better make a start.’

‘You don’t need to come with me,’ Rupert protested. ‘I’ll be fine on my own.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Marc said. He couldn’t explain why but he was uneasy about leaving McBride’s cousin alone in the library.

The place was indeed a mess, but he had grown to like it that way. It was odd that he, who favoured minimalist interiors both for his London and Paris apartments, and who knew exactly where every single item he possessed was to be found, didn’t mind towering stacks of books and a desk littered with papers, maps and folders here at Raventhorn.

Rupert whistled between his teeth and turned to Rosalie. ‘What a shambles. You know what you need, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘Me, of course. I could spend a few days reorganising everything and won’t even charge you a penny for it.’

‘How good of you to offer.’ Rosalie’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

‘No, I mean it. I worked here so I know Geoff’s filing system … I see he’s still crazy about all that Viking stuff. I forgot what he told me this alphabet was called.’

‘Actually there are two alphabets – Elder Futhark and Young Futhark,’ Marc said.

He felt Rosalie’s puzzled gaze on him and smiled, feeling a little smug.

Rupert shrugged. ‘Whatever … I can’t believe these old papers hold the key to the location of Harald’s treasure.’

Rosalie shook her head. ‘Geoff never said it was a treasure, at least not in the sense you imply.’

‘Of course it’s a treasure. Harald was going to a royal wedding. He must have carried a casket filled with coins or jewellery, precious gems or artefacts.’ He gestured to the pile of papers again and looked at Marc. ‘Marion said you were translating them.’

‘That’s right,’ Marc lied. He had only flicked through McBride’s papers late at night when he’d had enough of working on accounts and balance sheets. Despite what he’d claimed, he would be quite unable to decipher much without doing some serious work. Yet he felt it was important to pretend he could.

He didn’t trust Rupert McBride. He didn’t like his bullish attitude, but above all he didn’t like the way his small, shifty and bloodshot eyes stared at Rosalie and followed her every move like a predator about to pounce on his prey.

‘I still have quite a bit of work to do,’ he stated in a cautious voice, ‘but you’re right, the documents contain clues about Harald’s treasure.’

Once again, he was aware of Rosalie staring at him in surprise.

‘Now,’ he carried on, ‘what exactly are you looking for? I don’t want to be rude but Rosalie and I have had a long day.’

Rupert pulled a face. ‘I’m after some personal documents … and a diary I left behind when I resigned. The diary has a dark blue cover, and is about this big.’ He made a gesture with his hands and looked at Rosalie with an anxious look in his pale blue eyes. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you?’

Rosalie curled her fists on her hips and tilted her face up to look at him. ‘No, I have not. And you didn’t resign. Geoff sacked you.’

‘It was a misunderstanding. Geoff told me so himself when I visited him in hospital.’

‘I very much doubt it! You upset him very much that day.’

A cloud seemed to pass over McBride’s face. ‘Really? What did he say?’

‘He was worried about something, someone … a woman. Talking about women, I met your girlfriend at the holiday lodge.’

McBride frowned. ‘What girlfriend? I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

‘Dark-haired girl, pretty, a bit brash, London accent,’ Rosalie insisted. ‘I saw you with her in the hospital car park.’

‘Ah … well. What about her?’

McBride sounded so defensive Marc looked at him more closely.

‘Nothing. I thought it was a bit strange that she should be staying in such an isolated place, especially when the weather was that bad. She and her friend could have been cut off.’

McBride’s cheeks flushed. ‘Her friend?’

‘There was a man with her. He was in another room. I heard him. He sounded … angry.’ She shuddered and turned to Marc. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to my flat now. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Before Marc could insist that she stay at Raventhorn another night, she walked to the door.

‘She was always highly strung.’ One side of Rupert’s mouth lifted into a sneer and his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched her leave. ‘Shame about that temper of hers. Takes after her mother …’ Rupert shook his head. ‘Sophie Heart was a very attractive, but strong-willed, woman, like Rosalie. Always fancied her – well, both of them, really.’ He licked his lips and made a loud smacking sound.

Overcome with the gut-wrenching urge to punch him in the face, Marc clenched his fists and drew in a deep, long breath. ‘That’s enough, McBride,’ he growled. ‘I won’t have anyone talking that way about Rosalie.’

The man chuckled. It was a slow, slimy laugh that grated on Marc’s nerves. ‘Fancy her yourself, do you? Can’t say I blame you.’

Marc forced another breath down, and made himself uncurl his fists. He had to calm down. He really was turning into a Neanderthal, at least where Rosalie was concerned. ‘Get what you came here for and leave.’

He sat on a battered leather armchair and picked up a folder overflowing with papers and manuscripts. He didn’t believe Rupert’s story for a minute. The man had come to snoop around, but what was he after – his cousin’s will, or the location of Harald’s treasure, even if it only existed in Geoff McBride’s imagination?

Marc flicked through the papers. There were dozens of photos and transcriptions of runestones from all over Scandinavia as well as Orkney – presumably because this was where Harald had his estate. As he painstakingly deciphered a few lines, his grandfather’s tales started to come back. It was as if his memories were buried under a layer of dry sand a cool North Sea breeze was blowing away – the same cool, gusty breeze that swept across the long beaches and sand dunes he used to roam during his Jutland summer holidays.

A muttered curse at the other end of the room broke his concentration. He lifted his eyes from the papers. Rupert McBride was rummaging through the desk drawers, a bundle of what looked like bank statements in his hand.

Frowning, he rose to his feet. ‘These are your cousin’s.’

Rupert’s face reddened. He shoved the sheets of paper back in the drawer and slammed it shut with an impatient sigh. ‘Well, that was a bloody waste of time.’ There was the hint of desperation in his voice.

The two men walked down to the kitchen where Rupert glanced at the alarm. ‘I’ll have to come back, and it would make sense if you gave me the code. I don’t see why you should know the code when I don’t. You’re only an employee whereas this place is as good as mine.’

Marc gave him a cool stare. ‘So you keep saying.’

Rupert stood staring at him, waiting to be told the alarm code.

Marc ignored his request. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘would you mind giving me the name of your friends – the ones who were staying at the lodge?’

McBride stiffened. ‘Why?’

‘Rosalie and I had a serious accident on the mountain road – an accident caused by the driver of a black four-by-four who I believe was visiting the lodge. He didn’t stop to help us when our car went off the road. He didn’t even report the accident. We could have died that day.’

‘That had nothing to do with my friends.’

‘I’d like to check with them anyway. They might know who the driver was.’

‘They’re not in Irlwick any more. I have to go now. Goodnight.’

Marc hardly had time to step aside as McBride, suddenly in a great hurry to leave, flung the door open and rushed out towards his car.