Page 40 of A Scottish Country Escape

I nodded.

Robert Masters rubbed at his clean-shaven chin. ‘After all this time.’ He sat forward in his study chair, his long limbs appearing stiff. ‘What did she do? Did she say anything to you?’

An uncomfortable inflection crept into Dexter’s deep rumble, as he mentioned her touching his arm and then clutching at her crescent moon necklace.

Robert Masters’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. I noticed him squirm in his chair.

Dexter carried on talking. ‘It was as I was walking away that I began to feel a bit odd. At first, I wondered if I was coming down with something.’

Robert Masters had grown paler.

Dexter moved to speak again but Robert Masters cut across him. ‘I believe you.’

Dexter and I started at his admission.

A concoction of relief and shock swamped Dexter’s handsome, dark features. ‘You do?’

I didn’t know what to expect when we came here, but to hear him so emphatically agree with Dexter’s unusual take on events still gave me a jolt.

‘Linda Carlucci did the same to me,’ he managed, rising up from his chair. It gave a leathery creak.

He wandered back over to his study window again; his gaze drifting out towards the rise and fall of woodland beyond. I could see his shoulders stiffen under his shirt. ‘I haven’t told anyone about this, apart from my dear friend Bertie Boyd, God rest his soul.’

Fran’s husband, I reminded myself.

Robert turned away from the window, a slight shadow cast down one side of his distinguished face. He spoke with a sardonic smile. ‘I suppose I was like you.’ He was addressing Dexter now. ‘I thought that if I did tell anyone, they wouldn’t believe me anyway. I struggled to even believe it myself.’

He returned to his desk and stood there for a moment, his hands rising and falling down again by his sides. ‘Sometimes when I remember about it, I think I must have imagined the whole bloody thing anyway.’

A release of something – like a bubble of pressure – permeated the study. Robert sank back down in his chair and toyed with a pen. His shoulders, under his white shirt, had shaken off the aloofness of before. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking about this after all these years.’ He blew out a cloud of air. ‘Still, I hope what I am about to tell you might help.’

He straightened his back in his chair as he talked. ‘It was 24th September 1962, at Lakeland Manor, which was our family home. My father was forever throwing fatuous parties, which used to bore me to death, but he insisted I go. They cost a fortune, didn’t achieve anything, and seemed to be nothing more than an excuse for Jacob Masters to illustrate his power and wealth in a goldfish bowl like Fir Haven.’

He gave a wry smile as he talked. ‘I remember standing there, drinking champagne and deciding I would sneak off.’ He carried on reminiscing, his eyes softer. ‘I shrugged off my dinner jacket, loosened my bow tie and dumped them on the staircase when this figure flashed past me. I remember her hair was like a long black flag with burgundy strands.’

Robert Masters paused.

‘Her eyes were a deep blueberry. She reached up to her hair and scooped it back into a tight bun at the base of her neck.’ He smiled at the recollection. ‘She was wearing a simple black dress, court shoes, and a frilly white pinafore. I knew she must be one of the extra members of waitressing staff my mother had recruited for this evening.’

He paused again, clearly remembering her profile.

‘She was about to disappear into the dining room when I found myself walking towards her. She was stunning.’ Then he grinned. ‘We said hello and she told me she had been warned that the master of the house was a tyrant. She had no idea who I was. I asked her what she had heard about Robert Masters. I suppose I wanted to find out what she knew about me.’

Robert Masters looked dazed, lost in the past, as he continued: ‘I remember her glancing around herself and saying, ‘I hear he has a reputation.’’ Then his smile faded. ‘She excused herself, saying she would be late for work if she didn’t hurry. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.’

Robert Masters sighed. ‘I asked her, ‘What’s your name?’ She stopped, reddening to the roots of her black hair. ‘Marina, sir,’ she replied, blushing at me. Marina Carlucci.’

Dexter and I swapped surprised glances.

‘Marina Carlucci?’ I asked.

‘Linda’s younger sister,’ Robert clarified, memories clouding in his cool stare. ‘Even in that waitressing uniform she was beautiful and outshone all those show ponies.’

My heart twitched for him. So, he had fallen for Marina, Linda’s sister, over fifty years ago.

‘What happened?’ I asked, failing to conceal my desperation to know more.

Robert pulled a gnarled hand down his face and reached for a coffee pot behind him. We both declined his offer, keen to hear where his story twisted and turned from here. We watched him pour fresh, hot black coffee into a clean mug he produced from a drawer.