Chapter Twenty-Two

Her mobile’s insistent ringing drilled through her foggy brain. What time was it, and why were there crumbs prickling her cheek? She must have fallen asleep at the kitchen table after snacking on tinned soup and buttered toast for lunch. Again. She sat upright with a moan, and her eyes still closed, reached out for the phone with one hand whilst brushing the crumbs off her cheek with the other.

‘Aye, Fiona.’ It sounded more like a grunt than a greeting.

‘Oh dear, what’s wrong with you?’ Fiona laughed at the other end. ‘Grab a pen and a pad, Roz, I have a few bookings for you, starting with an airport pickup at three thirty.’

‘I’ll have to hire another driver if Duncan stays in Edinburgh any longer,’ Rosalie said with a weary sigh. She had worked from dawn to late at night every single day since Marc had left. She really shouldn’t complain. At least business was good, and working kept her away from empty, gloomy Raventhorn and her equally gloomy thoughts.

‘Who am I picking up at the airport?’

‘A woman called Kirsty Marsh, who oddly said she was coming to Raventhorn. Who is she, Roz? You never mentioned her.’

Rosalie’s throat tightened. ‘Kirsty Marsh? Are you sure?’

‘Positive. Do you know her?’

‘Well, not personally. She is one of Marc’s colleagues.’ And most certainly his girlfriend, she finished silently, remembering the magazine photo.

‘I wonder what she wants.’

‘No idea.’

Fiona gave her details of several more bookings and hung up.

Rosalie glanced at the clock and jumped to her feet. She’d better hurry or she’d be late. She grabbed her hat and anorak and hurried out.

Questions swirled in her mind as she drove to Inverness airport. Why was Kirsty coming here? Was Marc sending her to set up the bus company because he was too busy to return? Perhaps he wasn’t busy at all, but he’d rather not come back and sending Kirsty in his place was his way of letting her know that their night together didn’t mean anything, that it had been another ‘error of judgement’ on his part.

This may be why he hadn’t spoken to her since leaving Raventhorn. She had phoned his office twice and both times his secretary had said he was in business meetings and would call her back. Unfortunately, she had been out driving when he had called, and she’d listened to his cold, slightly distant voice on the answerphone saying that he trusted she was all right and everything was in order at Raventhorn, and urging her to phone or text should she be worried about anything. Fergus had told her that he’d phoned Love Taxis too, and said that he was looking forward to coming back ... But he hadn’t come back, and now Kirsty Marsh was here.

Rosalie parked near the terminal and looked at her reflection in the rear mirror. With a resigned sigh, she wiped the smudged mascara from under her eyes, combed her hair back with her fingers, dislodging a few more greasy crumbs from her brown curls, and pulled her fluffy pink hat down.

Then digging out her heart-shaped board from the door’s side pocket, she scribbled Kirsty’s name with her purple felt pen and ran into the arrivals hall, just in time to hear the announcement that the London flight had landed.

Kirsty was the last of the two dozen passengers to stride into the hall, pulling a sleek, black designer case behind her. Tall and slim, wearing high-heeled boots and a long, expensive looking dark purple coat, and with her sleek blond hair swinging around her face, she was even more striking in the flesh than in the magazine photo. She stopped in the middle of the arrival hall, and her icy blue eyes surveyed the crowd.

Self-conscious, Rosalie pulled her jumper down to cover her bottom with one hand, and waved her board with the other. The woman saw her, nodded but did not move an inch. Rosalie plastered a forced smile on her face and walked over.

‘Good afternoon. I am—’

Kirsty pointed at the board. ‘Rosalie Heart, of course,’ she interrupted. ‘You look exactly like Marc described. All pink, from head to toe.’ Her eyes swept over Rosalie and a fleeting smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Somehow it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Kirsty indicated her case. ‘Please be careful when you pull it.’

Rosalie bit her tongue to repress the urge to tell the woman she could pull her own case. Instead she grabbed hold of the handle and led the way to the exit. The sliding doors opened onto flurries of wet snow.

‘Oh … That must be your taxi over there,’ Kirsty said, pointing at her cab. ‘Now I understand what Marc meant when he said it was quite … hmm … unique.’

That didn’t sound very flattering either. A lump rose in Rosalie’s throat. So Marc had been poking fun at her outfits, at her taxi … What else had he shared with Kirsty? The fact she liked silly pop music or ate too much chocolate cake? Surely not the fact she had made love to him with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a lovesick puppy. He wouldn’t do that if he and Kirsty were lovers.

Well, she’d soon find out. Kirsty Marsh didn’t seem the kind of woman who would spare her feelings. Rosalie focused on getting the cab doors opened and Kirsty’s designer case safely into the boot.

‘I’ve never been to Scotland before,’ the young woman remarked from the backseat as they set off, ‘but Marc warned me. He said it was bleak, very bleak. Between you and me, I think he was glad to have an excuse to leave.’

Another painful stab in the region of the heart. Rosalie glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘I thought he returned to London to go to a funeral.’

‘Is that what he told you?’ Kirsty sighed. ‘Well, it is true that we had to go to that ghastly funeral, but we didn’t stay a minute longer than necessary.’

Rosalie couldn’t help herself. ‘You make it sound as if Marc didn’t care, yet I know he was upset about the passing of his colleague’s wife.’

Kirsty laughed. ‘Upset? Marc? I don’t think so. He is the most unemotional man I know. We left the funeral as soon as it was polite to do so and flew to Paris. That’s where we’ve just spent the past two days. Two very nice days, actually, though we didn’t see much of Paris.’ She drew in a long, whimsical breath.

‘Paris is magical at this time of year and Marc has the most beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower and the Champ de Mars from his apartment, especially at night.’

‘Ah.’ Rosalie tried to focus on the road.

‘Anyway,’ Kirsty resumed speaking, ‘Marc asked me to take care of Raventhorn but I have to say I’m confused. I don’t understand why he allowed you to carry on with your little taxi business when it’s obvious it should be shut down immediately.’

Rosalie turned sharply round. ‘I thought I would be able to carry on until the bus company is set up.’

A loud klaxon made her look back at the road, just in time to slam on the brakes and avoid crashing into a white van.

‘The bus company? Yes … Marc did toy with the idea for a while. He asked me to look into it but I’m afraid we decided it wasn’t viable.’

Rosalie glared at her passenger in the rear-view mirror. Kirsty’s blue eyes glared right back. ‘I don’t understand. He promised.’

‘Marc would never commit himself until he had all the facts. I am quite sure he told you he’d look at the figures and projections before making a business proposal.’

Rosalie swallowed hard. It was true that Marc hadn’t really committed himself. He hadn’t even wanted her to tell Fiona and Fergus about it.

‘So if you’re not here to help set up the bus company, what are you here for?’

In the back mirror she saw Kirsty smile. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to do what Marc should have done before he got … hmm … distracted. I mean to start the procedure of liquidation of Raventhorn assets, strip the place down and sell it off.’

Rosalie gasped. ‘But that’s not possible! Marc would have phoned, he would have warned me.’

‘He’s had other things on his mind. He’s had to set off for Hong Kong this morning.’

‘Where is she now?’

Alice gave the counter another energetic scrub.

It was closing time. The café was empty. The chairs were stacked up on the tables and the cakes and pies safely stored in the fridge.

‘At Raventhorn. I was working all afternoon, so I had to leave her.’

‘I hope you told her about every single one of Raventhorn’s ghosts – that should give her a good fright!’

‘I didn’t think about it.’ Rosalie swallowed the painkillers Alice had pushed into her hand, then massaged her forehead with her fingers to relieve the headache that had settled there the moment she’d shown Kirsty into Raventhorn. The ache that clawed and tore at her chest every time she breathed, however, wouldn’t be so easy to soothe. Once again, she realised what a fool she had been where Marc was concerned. He had lied about wanting to help the people of Irlwick. He had lied about setting up a bus company. He had no intention of coming back after his trip to Hong Kong. Kirsty didn’t need to say so. Her very presence in Raventhorn was enough.

‘She is probably poking her nose everywhere, checking her inventory as we speak and ticking off the paintings, artwork and furniture from her list to be sold off at auctions or sent to private collectors.’

‘She can’t do that!’

‘She can. Marc sent her.’ She swallowed hard and whispered. ‘He won’t come back, Alice. I’ll never see him again.’

Alice’s hand stilled. She looked at her, and bit her lower lip. ‘Oh my. There’s more to it than just Raventhorn or Love Taxis, isn’t there? You slept with him, didn’t you, and now you’re in love with him.’

Rosalie pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle her anguished sob. ‘I slept with him all right but I’m not in love with him. How could I love a man who lies, who is cold and calculating, and whose only concern is with making money?’ She shook her head. ‘It goes against everything I believe in.’

Alice put her tea towel down. ‘Why don’t you phone him and ask him what he’s playing at? He can’t go back on his promises, that’s just not right. And he can’t treat you like this.’

Rosalie shrugged, and flinched at the twinge of pain in her shoulder. It ached tonight, probably because of all the driving she’d done these past few days, and because of the tension and the lack of sleep.

‘He is travelling to Hong Kong as we speak, and then he’ll have his father’s funeral to organise. The thing is, he never made any promises about Raventhorn,’ she confessed. ‘I naively assumed that he meant for Geoff, Lorna and I to carry on living there, at least for the foreseeable future.’

‘Well, at least he could come back to explain that he changed his mind. He owes you that much. How can he sleep with you then cast you aside as if it didn’t matter?’

‘You don’t understand. He warned me he didn’t want to get involved.’ She propped her elbows on the counter, buried her face in her hands. This time she didn’t even try to hold back the tears. ‘I’ve been stupid. It’s all my fault,’ she managed between two hiccups.

‘Oh, love, come here.’ Alice walked around the counter and enfolded her in her arms. Rosalie leaned against her. Her friend smelled of pine cleaning spray, of hot chocolate and tomato soup. She didn’t say a word but patted her back as Rosalie wept.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right to drive?’ she asked a while later as Rosalie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her pink jumper. ‘I could come with you, keep you company tonight.’ She scrunched her face into a fierce scowl and curled her fists on her hips. ‘I’d like to see that woman try to give you a hard time. I’ll put her in her place.’

Rosalie shook her head. ‘That’s very kind of you but you need to be up early to open up tomorrow morning, and I know how you don’t like being up late during the week – except on ceilidh night, that is. I’ve taken too much of your time as it is.’

Alice bit her lip. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you. I don’t quite know how to say it. It’s about Niall …’ She took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, we’ve been seeing quite a bit of each other this past week – going out, I mean, and … you know …’

Rosalie wiped away her tears and gave her friend a wide smile. ‘So at last he has opened his eyes and realised what a beautiful, smart and fun girl has been right under his nose all this time?’

Alice’s lips stretched into a timid smile. ‘We’re not there yet, but I hope that maybe, one day, he could see me as a proper girlfriend, rather than the boring, dependable Alice he’s known all his life. You wouldn’t mind if that happened?’

‘Mind? Why would I? You’re the best thing that could ever happen to him.’

‘Julia said you came round the other night and didn’t look very happy when she told you we were together.’

‘Julia is a troublemaker and she hates me. If I was a bit down that day, it had nothing to do with you two going out. I had been to the hospital to see Geoff. I was worried, and sad, and confused about Marc. You’re my best friend, so I am happy if you’re happy. I mean it.’

Alice let out a long breath. ‘I’m so relieved! I was dreading telling you. Now come into the kitchen with me. I’ll give you some leftover broth and a few brownies for tonight. You need all your strength to stand up to that Kirsty Marsh and I bet you’ve nothing in your fridge.’

Just over half an hour later, Rosalie parked the cab in the garage, and took out the two plastic containers Alice had given her. Crying had left her drained and she ached all over as she locked the garage door then walked across the courtyard. She would have preferred to go up to her flat and spend the evening alone, but there was no way she would leave Kirsty Marsh alone at Raventhorn.

She was opening the kitchen door when she saw headlights in the distance. A car had stopped on the lane on the other side of the old bridge.

Clutching the plastic containers against her chest, she peered into the night, but the car was too far away for her to see what make, shape and colour it was. What if it was Rupert coming back to search through the library again, or the driver of the four-wheel drive who had chased after her on the forest road? The police had failed to find out their identity, or the identity of the thugs who had smashed Duncan’s windscreen.

The lights flickered and disappeared, and Corby Woods became dark once again. Still uneasy, Rosalie hurried inside. She put the food containers on the kitchen table and climbed the stairs to the ground floor.

She found Kirsty in front of a slim laptop in the drawing room, a plaid shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

‘About time you came back,’ the young woman complained. ‘Is there no heating in this dreadful place? I swear I’m about to freeze to death.’

‘The heating has just been fixed, but this is an old castle and I suppose you’re just not used to it.’ Rosalie looked at Kirsty’s mobile phone. ‘Have you had any news from Marc?’ The words were out before she could help it.

Kirsty nodded. ‘He just messaged me. The Hong Kong authorities have closed the enquiry into his father’s death, and he can now make arrangements for the funeral.’

‘How sad for him to be alone at a time like this,’ Rosalie remarked.

Kirsty arched an eyebrow and said in a cold voice, ‘Yes, it is sad indeed.’ But she didn’t sound sad at all. ‘Why don’t you sort the heating out then get us something to eat?’ she asked.

Rosalie’s cheeks became hot but she forced a calming breath down. She may hate the woman’s tone, or the assumption that she was to wait on her, but she didn’t want to antagonise her. There was too much at stake. As Marc’s representative, the woman could turn her out of Raventhorn that very same evening if she wanted to.

‘By the way,’ Kirsty added as Rosalie was leaving the drawing room, ‘I had a look around and saw some of Marc’s things in the room with the four-poster bed. I’ll sleep in there too.’

This time Rosalie had to lean against the wall for support. She had changed the bedding and tidied up since Marc had left, but the thought of Kirsty sleeping in the very bed where Marc had made love to her only a few nights before made her want to be sick.

There was nothing however she could do, or say.

‘Suit yourself. I’ll sort out something to eat now,’ she whispered, before turning on her heels and walking out.