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The play-acting continued around them. Callan hadn’t paid attention to a single part of it. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘Do you have any idea who the murderer is?’
She looked up through her darkened lashes. ‘Of course I do, Callan. I’ve known from day one. But it wouldn’t be fair if I told you. You have to guess for yourself.’
‘But I don’t need to guess. I don’t have anything to inherit.’ As soon as he said the words he could feel them wash over his body like an icy wave.
It kept coming back to this. One of the people at the table would inherit the place he called home.
Part of him wanted to behave like a child. Part of him wanted to scream and shout that even though DNA might say they were related to Angus, none of them had been his family.
He was Angus’s family.
He’d been the one to make adjustments to Angus’s rooms so it was easier for him to get about. He’d been the one who’d eventually had to help him in and out of the bath and shower. He’d been the one who’d tried to persuade him to eat and drink as he’d started to fade away. He was the one that had sat by his bedside while his chest rattled night after night.
He was the one that held his hand while he died.
He was the one that shed a mountain of tears.
Not one person in this room knew a single thing about Angus. They weren’t family. No matter what the DNA said.
And it made him angry.
It made him angry to see relatives examining the antiques and trying to find their value on the Internet. It made him angry to hear them discussing market values. Had they no respect?
‘Callan? Are you okay?’
Laurie was looking at him with those big brown eyes again.
It was so easy to get distracted by her. It was so easy to forget that she might actually be the person to inherit Annick Castle.
Why couldn’t he have met her in a bar? Why couldn’t he have just met her in the street?
Anywhere but here. And any set of circumstances but these.
Callan was usually good with people. He could usually tell the charlatans at fifty paces.
And there was definitely more to Laurie than met the eye.
But could it all just be a game?
He had to remember she could inherit this place. He had to push aside the way his pulse quickened when she entered a room, and raced when she shot him one of her winning smiles.
She was a lawyer. She was on the ball. And despite how uninterested she acted, she’d probably checked out all the legal implications before she got here. Was there a chance she was playing him?
A horrible sensation crept over his skin. Who better to tell her everything she’d need to know about Annick Castle than him? There was no one. No one else.
He’d noticed her talking to Frank Dalglish yesterday when she’d arrived, but Frank wasn’t giving anything away. He was much too cautious for that.
And she’d just told him she already knew who the murderer was. At the end of the day that was all that was needed to inherit Annick Castle. He had no idea what would happen if more than one person got it right. Doubtless, Frank would have instructions for that scenario too.
He’d thought Laurie was genuinely interested in the place and the people. But maybe she was just killing time? Come Monday and the announcement of who would inherit, a totally new Laurie Jenkins might appear.
‘Callan?’ Laurie was tugging his arm now, concern written all over her face. ‘What’s wrong?’ she hissed.
Robin was finishing a long diatribe at the end of the table. It seemed everyone had been listening but him. Some people were even taking notes. Had he given away a clue as to who the murderer was—or wasn’t?
Truth was he didn’t have a clue. About anything.
‘Tomorrow night, more will be revealed as Annick Castle hosts its very own ball.’ Robin’s normally high-pitched voice was practically squeaking with excitement. ‘Formal dress will be required—all available from our costume room, of course. I look forward to seeing you all there.’
Laurie gasped and put her hand up to her mouth. He could almost see all her childhood fantasies dancing about in her head.
Callan pushed his chair out and stood up. ‘Sorry, Laurie, something’s come up. We’ll talk later.’ He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the thought of all this merriment in Annick Castle.
Not when Angus McLean wasn’t here to see it.
None of this seemed right. None of it at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THIS WAS, WITHOUT doubt, Laurie’s favourite room in the whole castle.
She leaned back in the well-worn leather chair and turned the pages of the book in front of her. It was one of the classics—Anne of Green Gables—and she’d never had the chance to read it before.
Her feet were tucked under her and the sun was streaming through the multi-paned windows. She took a deep breath. She loved that. The inhalation of the smell of books and wood.
The library was one of the grandest rooms in the castle. Set in the base of one of the large drum towers, the circular bookshelves ran along the inside of the room on three different levels. There was even a sliding set of stairs that allowed you to reach the books on the top level. But the real pièce de résistance was the views all around the tower. Sitting in the middle of the room Laurie could see the sea on one side and the beautiful gardens on the other. The room was every book lover’s dream.
The knock at the door startled her. She’d closed the door and turned the key in the lock in order to try and have a little privacy. Just her, the views, the books and a steaming-hot cup of lemon tea.
She shrank down into the chair. It was silly. No one could see through the door. No one could really know she was in here. Maybe if she just kept quiet they would go away?
But no. The knock was more insistent this time, sharper and louder. She cringed.
‘Laurie? Laurie, I know you’re in there. Can you open the door, please?’
She straightened in her chair. Callan.
After his abrupt departure last night she hadn’t seen him again.
She had no idea what she’d said or done to upset him. One minute they’d been almost flirting, the next second he’d disappeared. She’d made excuses as soon as she could and tiptoed up the stairs to bed. She hadn’t really been in the mood for socialising after that, her excitement about the ball all but crushed.
The knock came again. ‘Laurie? Will you let me in, please?’
She sighed. Callan. This was his home. She couldn’t really keep him locked out. He probably had a master key somewhere anyway.
She walked over and opened the door, not even waiting to speak to him but crossing back to her chair, sitting down and picking her book back up.
He was carrying a tray in his hands that he set down on one of the tables before turning and locking the door again.
The fresh smell of his aftershave drifted across the room. She was trying to make a point by ignoring him.
But ignoring a six-foot-four man who’d just locked them both in a room was kind of hard.
That and the smell of bacon rolls that was floating across the room towards her.
Her stomach betrayed her and rumbled loudly. A plate landed on her lap. ‘Can I interest you in some breakfast?’
She looked up. ‘Is this an apology?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s a peace offering.’
‘Did you bring ketchup?’
He lifted the bottle and shook it.
She held out her hand. ‘Let me think about it while I’m eating.’
He sat down in the chair next to her with his own bacon roll and a cup of tea.
He smiled. ‘I see you went for the old lock-the-door-and-keep-them-out trick.’
S
