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She took a deep breath. What was she doing? She had no idea who Callan McGregor was. Every time she was around him she was unsettled.
She couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit envious of the fact he’d grown up here.
She couldn’t help but feel even more envious that Angus never had any expectation of him beyond going to university.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. This was disloyal. She wasn’t even going to allow herself to think like that.
It was time to get a hold of herself. Time to stop with the crazy thoughts and focus on the reason she was here—to try and get to know her family members.
She lifted her head and walked back outside into the sunlight.
CHAPTER SIX
‘KNOCK, KNOCK.’
Callan cringed. He’d recognise that high-pitched voice anywhere. It was Robin, the Murder Mystery Weekend organiser. It didn’t matter where in the castle he tried to hide, the guy seemed to have an inbuilt antenna and could find him anyway.
Robin stuck his head around the door. ‘Dinner will be served in ten minutes. We were hoping you would have made it to the pre-dinner drinks. You did agree to participate.’ There it was. That tiny disapproving edge to his voice that he seemed to have in every conversation with Callan. It was almost as if he were an eighty-year-old grumpy headmaster trapped inside a gangly twenty-five-year-old’s body.
Callan tried not to say what he was really thinking. He stared at the crumpled piece of card he’d been given earlier with his instructions. They included Flirt with Lucy Clark, get into an argument with Philippe Deveraux. No problem. If the man was drunk again and put his hands on Laurie he’d do more than argue with him.
Where had that come from? The thought surprised him. He’d only known the woman two days and already she was getting under his skin.
Who was he kidding?
She’d probably got under his skin from the second the smoke had cleared at the railway station and he’d caught sight of the curvy brunette. But when they’d been standing on the steps earlier and he could see her brown eyes filled with tears he couldn’t help but feel protective towards her. Something was going on with Laurie Jenkins—and it was nothing to do with inheriting a castle. The question was, did he really want to find out?
Did he want to get to know any of Angus’s relatives who were milling around the place he thought of as his home? Once one of them inherited it, he would have to clear out his things and start staying in his Edinburgh town house. And even though he owned a beautiful home he couldn’t bear the thought of that.
The place he called home was here.
‘Callan, can I count on you?’
Robin. He’d forgotten he was even there. He gave the organiser a quick nod and watched him scuttle off.
Callan closed his computer. He was doing exactly what he’d been dreading. Examining the castle accounts. In the interim period between Angus dying and the castle being handed over he’d been appointed as caretaker. The upkeep of the castle was huge. Heating, lighting and maintenance costs were astronomical. The roof needed some repairs. They needed to employ more staff to help Bert with the grounds. Whoever inherited Annick Castle was going to get a nasty shock.
A horrible little coil of guilt was snaking around him. He should have stepped in earlier. He should have spoken to Angus about how run-down parts of the estate were becoming.
But the truth was he had too much respect for Angus to ever have done that.
But maybe there was a little hope. Maybe if he made more of an effort to talk to the relatives he could plant the seeds about how costly the castle would be. With any luck he could put in a generous offer and buy the castle, just as he’d always wanted to.
It seemed mercenary. It seemed calculating. But none of these people felt the way he did about the castle. The only one who’d shown any real interest in anything other than its retail value was Laurie, and even she’d admitted that she’d be out of her depth.
He picked up the jacket that was sitting on the Louis XV armchair. It was the same one he’d worn the night before. He’d no idea whose idea it had been that all the guests should dress in 1920s clothes but this was as far as he’d go.
He could hear the noise in the main drawing room as he descended the stairs, some laughter louder than others.
He saw Laurie as soon as he entered the room. She was sitting next to another woman on one of the red velvet chaises longues. It was Mary, from Ireland, the one aunt that she’d really wanted to talk to.
She was wearing an emerald-green dress with beading around the scooped neckline. It skirted the top of her knees and she had a matching pair of shoes. Her hair was swept back on one side with an elaborate clasp made of jewels and blue and green feathers. Was that a peacock? He couldn’t help but smile.
The dress could have been made specifically for her. It skimmed her curves, hinting at them without giving too much away. The dress colour accentuated the light tan of her skin and the glossy chestnut of her hair that hung in curls around one shoulder. She’d applied some heavier make-up, her eyes outlined in kohl and her lips red and glossy. It was all he could do to stop himself staring at them.
But what he noticed most about her was how animated she seemed. She was clutching a photograph in one hand that she’d obviously been showing to her aunt and the two of them were talking at once. Her eyes were sparkling, her other hand gesturing frequently, and her aunt Mary seemed equally engaged.
Laurie was the only person in the room he was interested in talking to, but he couldn’t disturb them. He walked over to the sideboard where a vast array of drinks was laid out. He didn’t for a second imagine that any of the bottles had been half empty when they’d been put out, but most of them were well on their way to being finished.
He poured himself some soda water and gritted his teeth. He did drink alcohol himself—in moderation. But he hated being around people that were drunk. Having an alcoholic as a father did that to you. When his father had succumbed to alcoholic liver disease a few years ago Callan had actually felt a sigh of relief. It was as if he could finally shake off that part of his life.
He looked around the room again. He was still finding it hard to get his head around the fact that he was surrounded by Angus’s relatives—Angus’s family. Twelve people who’d never had a single conversation with Angus McLean in their lives, one of whom could inherit the thing he’d held most dear. No matter which way he looked at it, it still didn’t make sense.
But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was noticing a few similarities in some of the guests. Two of the sons definitely looked like Angus—one so much so that Marion had commented it was like being around a younger version of him.
One of his daughters had identical blue twinkling eyes and a dimple in her right cheek. He couldn’t see any physical similarities in any of the other relatives.
Family. Why hadn’t Angus surrounded himself with these people?
He’d never really understood the whole ‘Annick Castle should be kept in the family’ ethos and had questioned Angus about it on more than one occasion.
But Angus had made comments about family on other continents. Callan’s problem was he’d imagined that was some distant far-flung second cousin who’d eventually inherit the castle. He’d always had the thought at the back of his mind the said cousin wouldn’t want to move continent and change their life, so would be happy with a financial offer instead.
But he hadn’t imagined this. He hadn’t imagined children.
It made it all so much more personal.
He watched as Laurie threw back her head and laughed, revealing the paler skin of her throat. It was the same hearty laugh he’d heard in the kitchen earlier. He liked it, but from the way Laurie had acted earlier today he guessed she didn’t get to do it often enough.
It was as if the rest
of the room just faded into oblivion whenever she was around. At least that was what happened in his head. This woman was invading every part of his senses. Even when he wasn’t with her he was thinking about her, and when he was with her it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.
What had she meant—What if you can’t find your place in life? She was a lawyer living in London. She’d gone to Cambridge to do her degree. Surely she’d already found her place in life?
He knew she was successful—he’d Googled her. There didn’t seem to be any bad reports about her work and the case she’d quoted the other night—about winning a client half a million pounds—had been entirely true.
And why was Laurie Jenkins intriguing him so much? Why, when she’d looked as if she was about to burst into tears on the coastal steps, had he just wanted to put his arms around her?
Everything about her drew him in like a magnet. Her sparkiness, her ability to cut through the crap, but still have a hint of vulnerability about her. She spoke with love about her father, disappointment that he hadn’t got to meet Angus McLean and she didn’t try to hide her disdain that Angus hadn’t met his children.
