by Alicia Hope
A sudden thought occurred to her. ‘Say, would you happen to be a member of the McAlister family by any chance?’
‘Why yes, I’m Emma McAlister, joint owner in equal shares with my mother Kathryn and brother Byron.’ Emma’s heavy emphasis on the word ‘equal’ tickled Claire-Rose’s super-sensitive curiosity.
There’s definitely a story here.
‘Oh, lucky you.’ Her tell-tale left eyebrow, the one that insisted upon twitching at the merest prospect of a mystery, headed for her hairline. She bent as though to examine her suitcase, giving her eyebrow time to find its non-committal place again. It was such a giveaway, and she didn’t want the whole world knowing she had a nose for mystery. Straightening, she glanced at Emma, observing that once again the young woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she muttered softly, ‘Yes, lucky me.’
Mon, 7 October, 18:21:12
From: Claire-Rose.Brande
To: Connie.Brande
Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 1 (part 2)
Well Mum, I’m all settled into my room in what was originally the castle’s stable block but has been transformed into ‘The Lodge’. I’ve got a big Queen Anne bed covered in a thick doona, comfy winged armchair (a good reading spot), French doors onto a balcony, a picture window overlooking the harbour, and my own little fireplace. And you won’t believe it, a cat was waiting at the door when I arrived, and is now toasting himself on a mat by the fire (now I just need a ‘holey’ for the mouse, and a clock going tock in the corner of the room, and a kettle, and a cupboard ... but I’ll skip on the big, stiff broom!). He’s a handsome grey tabby with striking eyes – get this – topaz coloured! Yep, a cat version of the ‘Brande Topaz’ eyes. The same brown-gold, green-flecked hazel.
BTW, have I told you before how glad I am to have inherited your eye colouring? It’s WAY more interesting than straight blue or brown. And the effect on some people is fascinating – their reactions give me insight into their characters.
Hey, guess where I’m having dinner tonight? In the castle’s dining room with the owners, the McAlister family, and other guests. I’m looking forward to meeting them – people-watcher extraordinaire that I am! The snooty receptionist, one of the McAlisters, said guests are welcome to dine in-house whenever they choose. She pushed the whole ‘haunted castle’ angle, which doesn’t work on me but does on others, judging by the spooked guest rushing to depart as I was checking in. Some people are so gullible!
I’m glad I still came on this holiday, even though I had to leave you at home. And I think you’re right; a break away and a family mystery to solve could be just what I need to put ... it ... behind me, once and for all. And it’ll be good for me to spend some time on my own again. You and Gran have been wonderful, helping me through this, but now at last I feel like I’m ready to fly solo again. And when I say ‘solo’, I mean solo, Mum. I know you have hopes I might get back on the relationship horse again, but the only equine of interest to me now is the flesh and blood variety. There’ll be no more serious hook-ups for this little black duck. Commitment and I are simply not compatible, as was made clear in a way none of us will ever forget.
Anyway, enough of that. Dinner is at seven-thirty, and tonight we’re having (and I quote from the elegant printed menu on display in my room), ‘a three course table d’hôte menu of cream of mushroom soup, roast lamb with Yorkshire pudding, followed by baked custard and caramelised pears. Postprandial port and coffee will be served in the drawing room.’ Apparently the family likes their guests to experience true castle-style meals, so who am I to refuse? Mmm mmm! And after all, I have to keep up my strength for days of sightseeing, followed by more sightseeing, and then, for something different, I’ll finish the week with some sightseeing! ;-)) Don’t worry, I’ll be taking careful notes so I can E you all about it.
Well I’d better get ready for dinner. Will give you a full run-down on it tomoz.
Luv,
CR xxx
Chapter Two
The Butler Did It
Freshly showered and dressed in one of her favourite linen trouser suits, its smooth folds skimming over her curves and complimenting her trim figure, Claire-Rose strolled through the garden in the chilling air. The grey tabby who’d claimed her as his ‘roomy’ sauntered by her side in the early evening light. She eyed him affectionately, feeling honoured to have been chosen as his cohort.
As she made her way to the castle’s rear entrance, Claire-Rose admired the golden beauty of her surroundings. Dusk was creeping softly over the countryside, gilding everything it touched. At the castle’s rear courtyard, she lifted the latch on the wrought iron gate and paused for one more look around the garden. After taking a deep breath of the brisk, slightly salty evening air, she murmured, ‘This place is really something isn’t it, Puss?’ She looked for her feline companion, but he’d disappeared. With a shake of her head and an indulgent shrug, she smiled to herself, cats – so fickle, yet so loveable.
Stepping carefully through the shadowy courtyard, feeling rather than seeing the moss shrouding every surface, she opened the heavy door leading into the castle proper. Taking her first step inside, she paused to close her eyes and absorb the old building’s presence. It felt slightly damp and chilly ... and invitingly complicated.
And is that a hint of mystery on the air? Mystery, the most delicious of spices?
As she walked past the butler’s pantry, her eyes skimmed over its contents. She took in the freshly scrubbed bench tops, neatly stacked crockery gleaming from dark wooden shelves, and porcelain canisters standing at attention on an imposing dresser beside an antique meat safe. A large bunch of old-fashioned keys hung from a brass key ring on a hook on the wall. She found herself wondering if they opened anything or were merely decorative.
At the doorway to the suitably austere dining room, she was met by the lady of the house, Kathryn McAlister. She welcomed Claire-Rose warmly to ‘our beloved castle’, and invited her to join the eight other diners in a pre-dinner glass of wine, and some appetisers.
The dining room felt cosy and inviting. It was lit only by candlelight, which cast a soft glow over everything. Claire-Rose paused to take in the room and savour its warm feeling of welcome.
‘Would you like a sherry madam, or can I tempt you with a sparkling sauvignon blanc – both excellent locals, of course?’
The butler was looking at Claire-Rose appraisingly, a compliment gleaming in his eyes. He held a sherry glass in one hand and a champagne flute in the other, and had a starched white cloth draped over his right arm.
‘Hmm, don’t think I feel like anything too heavy. What’s the sparkling like?’ Claire-Rose smiled at him, thinking what nice eyes he had. They held what looked like mischievous amusement.
‘Well, if you believe the blurb,’ he recited formally, but with a cheeky grin dancing around his mouth, ‘it is ... crisp, fresh and rich in tropical fruit flavours with a touch of sweetness on the finish. As such, it is the perfect aperitif.’
‘Well then, the perfect aperitif it is.’
They beamed at each other, and the butler turned to extract a tall bottle from an ice bucket on the drinks cabinet. When he bent to pour her wine, Claire-Rose took the opportunity to study him.
So, our butler is about my age, she thought idly, and a bit of a TDnH. Her eyes flicked over his snug-fitting outfit. With what may well be a nice physique under the butler garb.
Turning her attention to the impressive dining room, she allowed her eyes to stray over the antique furnishings and fine tapestries on display, all lit by golden candlelight from the chandelier above. She could feel a special atmosphere in the room, no doubt created by the countless meals, conversations, arguments, and love affairs that had taken place within its walls.
A deep voice by her ear said, ‘Your drink, madam.’ The butler’s eyes lingered on her face as he bowed slightly and held out the chilled glass of bubbles and a linen napkin.
As she took
the proffered glass, Claire-Rose noticed how nicely in proportion his hands were. Like the rest of him, they projected a smooth sense of refinement but also a masculine strength. When she glanced at his face again, she discerned a hint of five o’clock shadow along his angular jaw line and tapered chin.
Stubble like that would be hard to avoid, given his dark hair, she concluded, and anyway, it just makes him look manly. And what woman doesn’t like a man who looks like a man?
His well-made, but well-washed, traditional black and white butler’s outfit was manly too, she decided. He wore his hair slicked back from his wide forehead. Beneath a pair of dark eyebrows, his heavily lashed brown eyes might have appeared serious if not for their roguish glint. Teamed with the upward tilt at the corners of his mouth, the effect was striking.
Her own eyebrow gave a tiny, coquettish twitch, and she said with exaggerated stiffness, ‘Why, thank you, Jeeves.’
Chuckling quietly, he touched his forehead in a small salute. Then he grinned at her once more before returning to his drinks cabinet.
Claire-Rose couldn’t help smiling as she took the first sip from her chilled glass. She found herself well pleased. The blurb was spot-on. The sparkling sav blanc was just right for an aperitif and was obviously a quality wine. Both it, and the person serving it, fell into the ‘seriously tasty’ category....
But as soon as that thought occurred to her, she could imagine Antoinette Brande enquiring imperiously, ‘Dallying with “the help” Claire-Rose? Is that a good idea, darling granddaughter?’ A small, annoyed frown crinkled her smooth brow and she quickly moved away, taking another generous sip of wine as she did so. Shaking her head as though to turn off the uncalled-for internal commentary, she focused her attention on the pale green-gold drink in her hand.
Mmm ... this delicious tipple bodes well for the wines being served with dinner. Speaking of which, I’m starving! I hope the servings are generous.
At the thought of food, her stomach gave an expectant growl. Like her mother, Constance, or Connie as she preferred to be known, Claire-Rose loved good food. She quickly continued her tour of the room to cover her tummy’s murmurings, and this time found herself grinning at the memory of her gran’s declaration that, ‘No sound emanating from a lady’s stomach should ever be heard in polite company’. An image came easily to mind, of Antoinette drawing herself to her full height to deliver this proclamation, with a level of regal bearing only she could pull off.
When Claire-Rose passed the other diners standing by the fireplace, they invited her to join them and there were introductions all round. They were a multi-cultural group with Claire-Rose the lone Australian and the only diner on her own. The others were all couples – from the UK, India, Germany and the US.
‘We were talkin’ about the castle’s colourful history, and of course, about the ghosts....’ There was a ripple of self-conscious laughter at the American’s words.
Claire-Rose raised her eyebrows and smiled crookedly. ‘Oh? You all believe in ghosts, then? Is that a prerequisite for guests here?’ She hoped not.
Then again, it might be fun being the only pariah.
There was a flurry of shaking heads and an unconvincing chorus of, ‘No, of course not,’ which the more honest among them appended with, ‘Well, not really….’
Claire-Rose went on pleasantly, ‘When I was checking in, I saw a man rushing to leave as though the hound of the Baskervilles was nipping at his heels! Clearly something creeped him out.’
‘Oh yes,’ the American’s wife said in a low, mysterious voice. ‘We heard about that. Apparently the guy got thoroughly spooked by all the ghost talk and started smellin’ cigar smoke everywhere he went, even though smokin’ isn’t allowed inside.’ She widened her eyes and nodded her head slowly. ‘From all accounts, there are a lot of disturbed individuals in this castle – present company excepted of course – and not all of ’em have human form.’
This met with a collective breathy murmur of ‘Oooh,’ and the exchange of significant glances from all except Claire-Rose. She gave a silent snort and took a sip from her wine glass as the others returned to their discussion of spectral ‘experiences’.
Imaginings more like it, she sniffed to herself.
The group warmed to their topic over glasses of sherry and bubbling sauvignon blanc, pausing occasionally to nibble the hors d’oeuvres offered unobtrusively by the ‘seen but not heard’ butler. Bored with the ghost talk, Claire-Rose found herself surreptitiously studying the butler. He had donned a pair of white gloves to serve the selection of delicacies from a silver tray, and to her eyes, the gloves only emphasised his masculinity.
One large-ish lady eyed the tray when he drew near and licked her lips, enquiring, ‘What do we have here?’
‘Well madam,’ came the formal but gracious response, in the rich voice Claire-Rose was finding more and more appealing, ‘these little morsels are “Devils on Horseback”. And if I may be so bold …,’ at which point he gave Claire-Rose a quick wink, ‘I would say this is an appropriate dish to serve in light of your recent topic of conversation.’
He paused to allow the chuckles to subside before adding loftily, ‘To the layman, these “Devils” are fat, sweet dates stuffed with creamy Stilton cheese and wrapped in crisp, salted bacon.’
There was a communal intake of breath at his appetising description, so he threw himself enthusiastically into the culinary commentary.
‘And here,’ he said, pointing a gloved finger at another part of the tray, ‘are their nemeses, “Angels on Horseback”. Juicy, lightly salted oysters also wrapped in smoky bacon.’ His eyes twinkled as he glanced around the group, adding, ‘And in this case, ladies and gentlemen, good and evil are equally delicious.’ This was delivered with a poker face and an air of exaggerated pomposity, and the performance met with appreciative guffaws all round.
The guests obligingly helped themselves to the butler’s ‘little offerings’ until he withdrew with an empty tray. Shortly afterward, Kathryn rang a crystal bell. It was time to be seated for dinner.
The dining table was classically dressed in a satin-edged white linen tablecloth, with starched napkins at each setting and an antique crystal candelabrum as the centrepiece. Candlelight flickered over everyone and everything, and danced off the sparkling wine glasses and silver cutlery.
Claire-Rose found herself sitting beside the affable American couple, Alan and Sally Jenkins. Sally turned to her and said in a low voice, ‘So, don’t ya find the castle just fascinatin’?’ At Claire-Rose’s smiling nod, Sally went on, ‘So many stories within these old walls, both ancient and modern.’
‘Modern-day stories?’
‘Oh yeah, didn’t ya hear? It’s not only the castle with tales to tell, the McAlisters have stories of their own. Like, did you know that Kathryn and her husband,’ at which point both women glanced discreetly over at the lady in question, ‘split because of her fixation with restorin’ the castle?’
‘No, I didn’t know that. Wow, she must’ve been obsessed with it?’
‘Well, enough that he felt he was playin’ a very poor second fiddle, apparently.’
‘Ah yes, men don’t much care for that spot in the relationship orchestra, do they?’
‘No, that they don’t.’ Sally chuckled and glanced a little sheepishly at her own husband, who was engaged in animated conversation with the person beside him.
And Claire-Rose found herself thinking of Kris.
She rarely allowed her mind to dwell for longer than a brief, painful instant on memories of her passionate but short-lived love affair with pathologist Dr Kris De Voss. He too had been unhappy playing second fiddle to her first passion, which ironically also involved a woman’s obsession.
Connie Brande’s single-minded focus was on establishing an internationally reputable, and now highly lucrative, consultancy firm, and she’d expected her daughter to display the same devotion when setting up the firm’s human resources department. And Claire-Rose had been happ
y to do just that, even though it spelled a grisly end for her and Kris.
‘A fair trade, is that what you’d call this?’ he’d growled through clenched teeth during their last and most ferocious fight.
Although knowing it was inevitable, Claire-Rose had both anticipated and dreaded this encounter, sensing instinctively it would deliver the final stroke to their relationship.
‘Or maybe sacrifice is a better term. Our love, sacrificed for your mother’s corporate aspirations.’ He spat the words from bitter, twisted lips. ‘Oh, but hang on, is love the right word in this case? And doesn’t sacrifice mean giving up something you care about?’
At that point he’d put his face uncomfortably close to hers, and glared directly into her eyes. At such close quarters, Claire-Rose was reminded of the difference in their ages. His face sported the beginnings of frown and laughter lines, while hers still shone with the dew of youth. Despite telling herself, with the selfish conceit of the young, that this physical evidence of their dissimilarity was reason enough to avoid a serious attachment, Kris’ next words had carved a deep gouge into her tender heart.
‘You’ve made it abundantly clear to me that love only applied to one half of this equation,’ he ground out, ‘the same half that regards this as a sacrifice because, unlike you, I actually did care. I should’ve known better than to get involved with a thoughtless child—’ He abruptly closed his mouth and straightened, as though reminded of the need to preserve his dignity. Raking his eyes over her face, he said through tight lips, ‘Goodbye, Claire-Rose,’ and then turned and stormed out of her apartment for the last time.
On his way out, Kris had snatched the duffle bag he’d hurriedly packed and left by the door. It contained the pathetically small assortment of personal belongings she’d allowed him to keep at her place.
She’d remained stock-still during his tirade, standing with mouth welded shut, taking on the chin the full force of his anger, hurt, and disappointment. But the fat tears brimming in her wide, sorrowful eyes finally breached their confines and rolled down her smooth cheek, to drop heavily off that same sad, quivering chin.