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Maybe the tug was a little more than he realised, as she catapulted straight towards him, her flour-coated hands landing squarely in the middle of his navy jumper. ‘Oops, sorry, Callan.’
She even had flour smudged on her nose. And he resisted the temptation to wipe it clean.
‘What are you doing in the kitchen, Laurie?’
She tried to shake off some of the flour. ‘I’m helping. I got up early and offered to help Marion with the baking for later.’
‘You did?’ He was astounded. It was the last thing he was expecting.
Laurie was a potential inheritor of the castle and estate. Why on earth would she want to be helping in the kitchen? She was a lawyer, for goodness’ sake. His suspicions were immediately aroused.
She reached over and started trying to brush the flour from the front of his jumper. Long sweeps with the palm of her hand across the breadth of his chest, sweeping lower and lower... His body gave a jolt at his immediate reaction. He stepped back. Seemed as if it wasn’t only his suspicions that could be aroused around Laurie Jenkins.
He lifted his hands and brushed the cloud of flour off for himself. ‘Leave it,’ he said a little more brusquely than he meant to.
Laurie stepped back and rested her hand on Marion’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Marion.’ She looked around the powdered kitchen. ‘I’ll clean up, honest, I will.’
But Marion shook her head firmly. ‘Forget it. You’ve done enough this morning.’ She gave her an unexpected wink. ‘Anyway, you’ll not clean to my standards. June and I will manage.’
Callan shook his head. ‘Marion, if you needed help in the kitchen, why didn’t you let me know? I could have tried to get you some extra help for the weekend.’
He was cursing himself inside. He should have planned ahead. But the truth was, he’d been so angry about the whole scenario—the whole some-stranger-will-inherit-Annick-Castle—that he hadn’t properly considered the staff there.
He knew they’d been catered for in Angus’s will. But that wasn’t the same. That wasn’t the same as considering the pressure they would be under this weekend, or the way they would feel about having to deal with a whole host of strangers—one of whom could become their new potential boss. It wasn’t just the twelve potential inheritors—some of them had brought husbands or wives with them, then there was the Murder Mystery Weekend staff too.
It wasn’t like him to be so blinkered. He hated that he hadn’t considered the people he’d been amongst for years.
But Marion didn’t seem so bothered. It was odd. For as long as he’d known her she’d been prickly and difficult. As if a little invisible force field stopped those around her from getting too close.
The laughing he’d heard a few moments ago had been the first he’d heard her laugh like that in years. She had a twinkle in her eye. Laurie Jenkins was currently digging her way under that force field. And he’d no idea how she’d managed it.
Marion tilted her chin, a stern look in her eye. The kitchen was her domain. ‘Let me manage things in here, Callan.’ Her hand swept towards the table at the far end of the kitchen. ‘Laurie seems to be managing fine. She’s done a good job.’
He tried not to flinch. Praise indeed from Marion and he followed her gaze to three cakes covered with glass domes and protected from the flour attack, sitting on the far-away table.
He walked over. ‘You made these?’ It didn’t matter that he tried to hide his surprise, the rise in inclination of his voice was a dead giveaway.
He felt Laurie appear at his side, their arms almost touching. She was smiling. She looked happy—no, she looked relaxed. The first time she’d appeared that way since she’d got here. ‘Strawberry sponge, orange-iced gingerbread and flapjacks for Mr Allergy.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Allergy?’
She waved her hand. ‘Don’t ask. I think a pop music diva has a shorter list of demands than he has.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘So, if you’ve made all these, what’s with the flour?’
She smiled. ‘I was going to make a chocolate cake for dessert tonight.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be taking part in the Murder Mystery Weekend?’
His head was spinning. Surely, the whole point of coming here was to see if she could be the potential inheritor of Annick Castle. Everything had been clearly spelled out in the letter. Why on earth was she wasting her time in the kitchen?
‘Yeah, well, I suppose so.’ Her eyes fixed on the gardens outside, drifting away to her own little world. What was the story about Laurie Jenkins?
There it was. That little flicker on her face. Did she even know that happened? That little glimmer that looked a lot like hope. Right now it was fixated on the rainbow explosion that was the rose flower beds outside. Usually the castle gardens had regimented colours, red in one, pink in another, yellow and white in others. But this year he suspected Bert the gardener had fallen foul of his own poor eyesight.
Nothing had been mentioned. Nothing had been said. And the effect was actually startling. An explosion of colour right outside the kitchen windows.
Laurie turned to face him. ‘To be honest I was hoping to take a walk around the gardens today.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve already shown me the maze—how about the rest of the gardens? Isn’t there a swan pond?’
Callan nodded automatically. ‘Aren’t you supposed to take part in all the designated activities?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll make an excuse. As long as I hand in my card at the end saying who I think the murderer is, I don’t suppose it will matter. Anyway, I’ll be there for dinner tonight.’
She really didn’t care. She really didn’t want to take part.
He was astonished. Did she know what she was giving up?
But Laurie was peering out of the window again, across the gardens to the wall next to the sea that was lined with cannons. ‘Can we get down on the beach from here?’
He nodded. ‘It’s not the easiest path.’
‘I think I’ll manage.’ She
’d lifted one eyebrow at him, as if daring him to imply anything otherwise.
He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or intrigued.
The whole purpose of the weekend was to find out who would inherit the castle. Laurie was a lawyer. Maybe she’d found a loophole in all this and knew she could mount a legal challenge. The thought sent a prickle across his skin.
He’d been assured that no matter how crazy this whole scheme appeared, legally it was watertight—whether he liked it or not.
But that would be an explanation as to why she didn’t really want to engage with the Murder Mystery Weekend. Why she wanted to spend her time exploring the estate. Maybe she was already drawing up plans in her head about what she wanted to do with the place, or how to sell it off for the highest profit.
‘Callan?’ Her voice was quiet and her hand rested gently on his.
His mind was running away with him again. Every time he thought about this place or the people in it, his mind naturally went for the worst-case scenario.
He looked down, trying to ignore the warmth spreading up his arm. She was looking up at him with her smudged nose and hair and her big brown eyes. Questioning the fact that for a few minutes he’d been lost in a world of his own.
There was still a light dusting of flour across the pink shoulders of her shirt. Her dark brown hair was swept up in a clasp, with stray strands escaping. The flour was like the first fall of snow at the start of winter.
She blinked, her cheeks flushing a little as he continued to stare. Her head tilted to the side. ‘What time can we meet?’ she prompted.
He started. Meet. Yes. That was what he was supposed to be doing.
‘Half an hour.’ His words came out automatically. ‘I’ll meet you in the entrance hall.’
She gave a little nod of her head and disappeared through the kitchen door.
Callan stared at his hand. The skin that she’d touched felt on fire. He couldn’t understand. It just didn’t figure.
Laurie just didn’t figure.
A movement caught his eye. Marion was staring at him with her arms folded across her chest.
