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‘It takes a lot to keep this place running, Fraser. You know that.’
‘Aye. I do,’ Fraser replied. ‘And I’d be ashamed of myself if the estates I managed looked like this.’
From behind his father, he saw Elspeth make a move towards him. For a split second Fraser could taste acid in his mouth as he imagined her walking across the floor. He could almost see the wood breaking apart beneath her feet, could see her falling through to the room below.
He moved faster than he’d known he could, and stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t,’ he said, aware that his voice was still tainted with anger, that he was speaking too harshly to her. ‘The water has been coming in through the window and the roof. It’s rotted the floorboards. It’s not safe for you to be in here.’
The thought that something might have happened to her if she’d come up here before he’d pulled back the rug and seen the damage to the floor focussed his anger to a white-hot rage. If she had got hurt it would have been Malcolm’s fault. Because of his neglect of this beautiful castle. Of the place where his family should be flourishing if he hadn’t thrown it all away over a midlife lust for someone new and desirable.
The castle hadn’t looked like this all those nights Fraser had dreamed of it. There had been no broken windows. No rotting joists. He dreaded to think what else he was going to find. How much time and money it was going to take to put it right.
It wasn’t his responsibility yet, he tried to tell himself.
Except it was.
If he wanted to come home here one day. If he wanted to raise a family here, he couldn’t just leave it to rot away. He had a responsibility to this place. And Ballanross clearly needed him.
He threw another angry look at his father. ‘I can’t believe you’ve let this happen.’
‘Son, I don’t want to argue with you.’
Son? Fraser crossed his arms. Malcolm had lost the right to use that word a long time ago.
‘I’m not arguing,’ Fraser pointed out. ‘I’m asking a very simple question about why vital repairs haven’t been done. I’m asking whether you even had a plan to stop this tower rotting straight through to the bare earth. When would you have stepped in? When would you have done something?’
‘I had a plan. I have a plan for all the repairs. But they can’t all be done at once.’
At once? Fraser thought. He hadn’t seen a single thing that his father had done for this place. No doubt once the new wife had moved in there hadn’t been time for thinking about floorboards.
His father had chosen his love-life over his responsibilities time and time again. It was clear that his stepmother hadn’t cared for this place. He knew that she’d only lived here for two years, but there wasn’t a single sign of her. His father had ruined their family for a relationship so insubstantial that it had already disappeared without a trace.
‘You haven’t done anything,’ Fraser said. ‘It has to start somewhere.’
‘Right, lad. And who’s going to pay for it?’
Fraser scrubbed his hands through his hair, either side of his head, trying to keep his temper in check. Trying not to lose it with his old man in front of Elspeth. But his father was testing every ounce of his reserve.
‘Are you telling me there’s no money?’ He forced the words out through gritted teeth, the effort of not shouting them making them come out short and clipped. ‘What’s happened to it?’
Malcolm threw his hands up, but the helplessness of the gesture did nothing to calm Fraser.
‘I’m telling you it’s impossible to keep up,’ Malcolm said. ‘I’ve tried. I am trying. But this place soaks up every penny and then comes back asking for more.’
‘We have an entire estate to support us. What’s happening to all the rents? What about the investments?’
The money that Fraser had inherited and invested had been doing so well for so long he couldn’t believe that the estate that had generated the capital in the first place could be struggling. If he’d known....
What would he have done differently? Forgiven his father and come home?
‘I’m doing everything I can, Fraser,’ Malcolm said. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
Fraser gestured towards the rotting floorboards. ‘Apparently not.’
‘Well, I’d love to hear your suggestions—because I’ve been doing this on my own for the past fifteen years and I’m out of ideas.’
How dared he throw that at him? Fraser thought. Make it his fault because he wasn’t here? He’d wanted to be here. He’d wanted his father to choose him. But Malcolm hadn’t. He had chosen some fickle attachment to a woman who hadn’t stuck around.
It had been bad enough when Fraser had thought that it was only feelings that had got hurt. If he’d known that his father was going to sacrifice Ballanross on the altar of his doomed second marriage too, perhaps he’d have been back here years ago, giving him a piece of his mind. Making sure his children’s legacy was protected.
