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And he seemed fiercely loyal to a man she knew nothing about.
The lights flickered back on around them. It only took her eyes a few seconds to adjust. The blonde woman Ashley from earlier was now lying on the floor, with a blood stain on her dress. Thank goodness she could still see the woman’s slight chest rising and falling, otherwise she might have been totally convinced.
Robin—the man in hunting clothes—immediately launched into his act. ‘Call the police, there’s been a murder! Everyone stay where you are—you’ll all be questioned.’
Callan took a deep breath. ‘Oh, joy. Let the mayhem begin.’ He was shaking his head again and he moved his arm from her waist. She was surprised by how much she could feel the imprint of his hand on her side. She was even more surprised by how much she still wanted it to be there.
He took a few steps over to the door, looking back across the room. There was something in his eyes, and she couldn’t tell what. Was it a memory? Happiness or sadness? No, it was something else, a wistfulness.
‘Angus would have loved this,’ he said under his breath as he headed out of the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
LAURIE PUSHED OPEN the door to the kitchen. It was ridiculously early but there seemed to be a whole army of pigeons nestling outside her castle window. And the truth was she’d had the best night’s sleep in a long time. Whether it was the good Scottish clean air, or the immensely comfortably mattress, something had made her feel as if she were sleeping in a luxury hotel.
Marion the housekeeper was not in a sunny mood. She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only six. Do you want breakfast already?’ Her face was red, her brow wrinkled and her shoulders hunched as if an elephant were sitting on top of them. And there was a tiny little red vein throbbing at the side of her eye. The woman looked as if she were about to spontaneously combust.
Laurie crossed the huge kitchen and laid her hand on Marion’s arm. ‘No, of course not, Marion. I’m more than capable of fixing my own breakfast.’
Totally the wrong thing to say.
‘That’s what I’m here for, that’s what I get paid for! You shouldn’t be in here at all.’ Her feet were crossing the kitchen in shuffling steps like a tiny little wind-up toy. ‘I’ve got sixteen people to fix breakfast for and four staff. Then there’s the morning coffee and cakes and all the veg to prepare for lunch. The butcher meat hasn’t arrived yet and someone pushed this under the kitchen door.’ She brandished a crumpled piece of paper in her hands. ‘I mean, how many allergies can one person have? What on earth am I supposed to do? And did they have these allergies last night? Because no one said a word then—and all the plates came back clean. How am I supposed to deal with that?’
Laurie nodded her head and took the piece of paper from Marion’s hand. She blinked at the list. It was the kind of thing that got printed in national newspapers when movie stars handed them to their chefs. She glanced at the name and stifled her smile.
She put the piece of paper on the table and tried to smooth it with her hand. ‘Why don’t you let me deal with this, Marion?’ She met the woman’s angry eyes. ‘Let’s face it, if they were this allergic to food they probably died in their bed last night after the amount they put away at dinner.’
There it was. The tiniest glimmer of a smile. The slightest sag of her shoulders showing a bit of relief. ‘Do you think?’
Laurie nodded. ‘Leave it with me. If there’s anything that is a true allergy and not just a preference or a request, I’ll let you know.’
She looked around the kitchen, trying to choose her words carefully. ‘Is there anyone else to give you a hand? You’re not expecting to do all this yourself?’
Marion bristled and Laurie winced, bracing herself for another onslaught. But it didn’t come. It was almost as if it hovered in the air for a few seconds before Marion took a deep breath and calmed herself down.
‘One of the girls from the village nearby is coming to help out. She should be here at seven. She’s good with breakfasts—just not so good with baking.’
Laurie ran her hand along one of the dark wood worktops leading to the Belfast sinks. There was a huge Aga stove taking up one end of the kitchen and a gas hob with sixteen burners in the island in the middle. There was a huge range of copper-bottomed pans hanging along one wall and shining silver utensils hanging along another. At some point this kitchen had been renovated, keeping the best of the old with the most practical of the new. It was the kind of kitchen used in TV shows, or period dramas.
She loved it. She absolutely loved it.
There was a navy and white striped apron hanging on a hook at the side and she picked it up and put it over her head. ‘Okay, if you have help with the breakfasts that should be fine. I’m happy to help with the baking. What kind of thing would you like?’ She bent down and started opening cupboards looking for cake tins and mixing bowls. ‘I can do carrot cake, fruit loafs, lemon drizzle, cupcakes, tray bakes or sponges.’
She straightened up. Marion was looking at her in horror. ‘You can’t possibly help with the baking. You’re a guest.’ She looked as if she was about to keel over and faint.
Laurie smiled and shook her head. ‘And you’re a member of staff that has had their workload increase tenfold overnight.’ She sighed. ‘Let me help you, Marion. Baking is about the only skill I have to offer.’ She shrugged. ‘To be honest I’m not that enamoured by some of my potential relatives and I’d prefer to stay out of the way in the meantime.’ She glanced out of the kitchen window and across to the beautiful rose gardens. ‘I’d much prefer to be in here.’
Marion frowned. The wrinkles in her forehead like deeply dug troughs. It seemed to be the natural position her face returned to after every interaction. ‘You really want to help?’
Laurie nodded. ‘I really want to help.’ Just being in the kitchen helped. She could already feel some of the tension starting to leave her body, particularly around her neck and shoulders. The thought of staying in the kitchen and not having to participate in small talk with the crazy relatives was like a weight off her back.
The thought of not being under the watchful glare of Callan McGregor was also playing around the back of her mind. Why did he bother her? Why was he floating around in her thoughts? And more importantly, why had he hovered around the edges of her dreams last night?
Marion thudded a stained and battered recipe book onto the worktop. ‘Can you follow a recipe?’
Laurie smiled. ‘Of course I can.’
And that was it.
Acceptance. Acceptance into the murky depths of the castle kitchens.
Marion bustled around her. ‘You’ll find all your ingredients in here...’ she opened the door to a huge walk-in pantry ‘...all your fresh goods in here...’ another door to a chilled walk-in larder ‘...and all the equipment you’ll need here.’ She flung open a door to every baker’s dream—a full array of scales, mixing bowls and every baking implement known to man.
Marion folded her arms. ‘We’ve just had a delivery of strawberries. How do you feel about making a fresh cream and strawberry sponge?’
‘Sounds good.’ Her mouth was watering already.
‘And an iced gingerbread and some flapjacks too?’ The frown was on its way back.
Laurie nodded. ‘No problem, Marion. Leave it with me.’
Marion gave her a little nod and bustled off to the other side of the kitchen where the girl from the village had arrived and was hanging up her coat.
Laurie started to gather all the things she would need. Peace perfect peace. Just what she wanted.
* * *
Callan pushed open the door to the kitchen and immediately started to choke, the thick white smoke clawing and catching at the back of his throat.
But it wasn’t smoke, and the immediate burst of pure adrenaline started to fade. In amongst the whi
te cloud around him, all he could hear was raucous laughter.
And what was more he recognised that laughter. He just hadn’t heard it in a while.
Marion’s laugh seemed to come from the very bottom of her feet and reach all the way up her tiny frame to the top of her head. It was a deep, hearty laugh that should come from someone double her size. And he loved it.
Callan waved his hands in front of his face, trying to clear the white, smoky haze.
‘Marion? Are you all right in there?’
There was another sound, another laugh. This one verging on hysteria. And he recognised it too. He’d heard it at the train station yesterday.
The white haze gradually cleared, settling around his shoulders and every surface in the kitchen in a fine white powder.
Marion was holding onto the side of one of the worktops to keep herself from falling over. Laurie was sitting in the middle of the floor, a huge sack of white flour burst all around her, covering her hair, face, shoulders and legs and making her look like a snowman in the middle of summer.
He shook his head, taking in the scene around him. ‘What on earth happened?’
Laurie opened her mouth to speak, then burst into a fit of laughter again.
Marion shook her head. ‘Miss High-and-Mighty on the floor didn’t realise quite how heavy the flour sacks were. She thought she could just pick it up and throw it over her shoulder.’ Her shoulders started to shake again. Even though she was dusted in white powder her cheeks were flushed with colour. She rolled her eyes. ‘Seems like the sack taught her a lesson.’ She started laughing again.
Callan held out his hand. ‘Laurie? Are you okay?’
Her slim hand fitted easily inside his and he gave her a firm tug to pull her up from the floor.
‘Whoop!’
