“So,” Donna said. “You’ll be needing another new phone then.”
Chapter 6
Donna had run after she’d trashed his phone, using errands in town as an excuse to get out of the mansion. Little coward. She was up to something, he’d bet the mansion on it. She’d also managed to fill his head with yet more paintings while she’d talked to him, which is why he found himself pacing up and down in the corridor outside his studio. He was so focused on the closed door of the room he couldn’t quite bring himself to enter, that he almost tripped over a strange woman.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
“I’m the new cook. And you must be the lord of the manor.”
She looked him straight in the eye. No fear, but a healthy sense of self-preservation, he respected that. She clasped her hands in front of her as her lips thinned. In a glance, Duncan knew this wasn’t a woman who would let his snarling intimidate her. She wore grey polyester trousers with a pressed line down the front of the legs, a pink blouse that had obviously been starched, and had grey hair that was short and neat. She was all about control, and she wasn’t about to give any up to her difficult boss.
“The kitchen’s that way.” Duncan pointed in the general direction. It was big, and full of appliances, it wasn’t hard to find.
“Aye, I know. I’m looking for the housekeeper. I need to sort out the shopping and she forgot to leave me the mansion’s account details for the local stores. There’s nothing in the house except biscuits, white bread and potato scones.”
Duncan stopped pacing. “No bacon?”
“No nothing.”
“She must be going through another vegetarian phase then,” he said. “Make sure you add bacon to the list.”
“I don’t think so. If you eat too much of that, you’ll have a heart attack.”
He stopped dead and stared at her. “I like bacon. And meat. And salt and vinegar crisps.”
“Well, you should have hired the guy that cooks at the pub instead of me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I could still do that.”
“Aye, I heard about your itchy trigger finger. If you’re planning on firing me, can you wait until the end of next week? I’ve got an order of fresh vegetables coming from the farmers’ market this afternoon, and I don’t want them to go to waste. From what her sisters tell me, if I leave them here for you and Donna, they’ll either die of old age or get accidentally cremated.”
His lips twitched. The woman was funny. “What’s your name?”
“Grace Blain, and you’re Duncan Stewart.”
“I’ll give you until the vegetables run out.” He felt the need to be honest. “But you damn well better cook the food I like.”
“That might be hard. I threw out the fryer an hour ago.”
Now she was just pissing him off. “Why did Donna hire you?”
“Because she was desperate?” The woman grinned at him.
“Can you even cook?”
“Aye. And I’m good at it too.”
“We’ll see,” he grumbled. And then a thought occurred to him, and he studied her suspiciously. “Why did you take the job? You didn’t, by any chance, hear about the severance cheques she hands out when she fires someone? Because I can tell you now, there will be no money when you leave here. I’ve put an end to that.”
She shook her head at him as though disappointed. “I took the job because you needed a good cook. And I’m a good cook. I won’t bother you further. I’ll send Donna a text message.” She paused at the bend in the corridor. “I also took the job because I understand.”
As she turned away, Duncan couldn’t stop from asking, “Understand what?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him. “I understand what it’s like to lose your spouse.”
Duncan felt like he’d been punched in the gut. She was there out of pity? He didn’t need pity. He wanted to roar after her. To fire her for daring to suggest such a thing, but she was already gone. And he was left pacing a corridor, outside a room he couldn’t enter, because he’d lost the courage to do so when he’d lost his wife.
***
“Oh crap.” Donna read the text message from their new cook. She’d hoped it would be months before Grace met Duncan. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to tell her not to hunt him down.
She hurriedly texted Grace back. I promise he won’t fire you. Yet. Just order what you need from the store, and I’ll sort things out this end. I’m in Campbeltown anyway. And once I get back, I’ll make sure you have all the account info you need. Sorry I forgot to give it to you before I left. Before she’d run out the door to scheme behind her boss’s back.
Life was getting far too complicated, and seriously stressful. There was no doubt about it—she was going to crack. It was a certainty. The only thing she couldn’t predict was the timing. She wasn’t cut out for subterfuge. Mairi and Agnes were experts, but like her oldest sister, Isobel, Donna couldn’t lie worth a damn and the guilt from trying made her stomach ache.
Which was why she’d arranged a meeting at a café in town, to tell the Women’s Institute the truth.
“You mean he has no idea the ball is happening?” Flora said with a look of pure bewilderment on her face. “None at all? But it’s definitely going ahead?”
Donna put her phone down on the table in front of her and looked at the three women. They were in Campbeltown’s Nice ‘n’ Icy café—because she’d needed the sugar and the café for famous for going heavy on the icing.
“I thought it was best to hold the ball without his knowledge,” she confirmed before tucking into a massive piece of chocolate cake.
“In other words,” Joyce said, “we’re running the thing behind his back.”
“Exactly,” Donna said around a mouthful of icing.
“And you haven’t even asked him?” Flora still looked confused.
“No. I don’t need to. He’ll be out of the house that weekend, so he won’t even know the ball is happening.” Fingers crossed. So far, she hadn’t managed to get him even the slightest bit interested in talking to his old art school.
“I don’t agree with this course of action.” Ann scowled down at her plain scone. It was no wonder she was testy. The woman needed more sugar. “It’s underhanded, deceitful, and dishonest.”
“And brilliant,” Joyce added with a grin. “Everybody wins. We get the ballroom. The guests get an exclusive look inside the mansion. Donna gets to keep her job. And Duncan gets to remain antisocial and oblivious to everyone around him.” She lifted her cup of tea and toasted Donna. “Well done, lassie.”
“No. Don’t toast me,” she said. “I wanted to tell him, I just…”
“Didn’t have the guts?” Ann said.
“Didn’t want to upset him?” Flora said.
“Didn’t think he’d agree, so you went around him?” Joyce said with a cackle that turned into a hacking cough, making her face so red that people reached for their phones to call an ambulance.
She held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” she said once she could talk again. “Just a wee cough. You know what they say, it isn’t the cough that carries you off, it’s the coffin they carry you off in.” She cackled again.
“Stop it,” Ann snapped.
Joyce sobered. “You’re a killjoy, Ann Dunbar. No wonder you’re still single.”
“I’m single through choice.”
“Or lack thereof,” Joyce mumbled.
Donna had a horrible feeling she was getting a glimpse of herself and her sisters in the future. It wasn’t pleasant. “Can we get back to the point? If we’re holding this ball without Duncan’s knowledge, then we need to be stealthy about it.”
“Stealthy?” Flora said.
“Sneaky,” Joyce said.
Flora frowned at Donna. “Then why didn’t you say so.”
“I need more cake.” Donna waved at the woman who owned the café. “Diane, I need more cake. Lots of it.”
Diane glanced around the t
able and nodded. “I can see that. I’ll be right over.”
The door to the café opened, and Agnes and Mairi walked in.
“You called in your sisters?” Ann said in disgust.
“Who do you think is helping me get Duncan out of the mansion?” Honestly. She was seriously beginning to regret her decision to help these women out.
Agnes and Mairi grabbed chairs from a vacant table and squeezed in on either side of Donna.
“Sorry we’re late,” Agnes said. “Please tell me you didn’t let the three witches talk you into anything in our absence.”
“I resent that label,” Ann snapped.
“I resented all the detention you gave me in high school,” Agnes shot back. “So, suck it up.”
Great. She’d asked her sisters to come as backup, not to start a fight. She rubbed her temples and wondered if she should order migraine medication instead of chocolate cake.
“Ladies,” she said. “Let’s focus on organising this ball. Okay?”
“Wait a minute,” Mairi said. “I’m only here as muscle. Not for a job. You know I don’t have time to organise anything. I’m trying to set up my business. There are geeks out there who need my services, or they’ll spend their lives sad and alone—like Ann.”
“I should have had you expelled,” Ann said.
Mairi blew her a kiss.
“That’s it!” Donna shot to her feet and jammed her hands onto her hips. “If you lot don’t stop bickering and help with the planning, I’m calling everything off.”
“You can’t do that,” Flora said. “Think about the babies.”
“I don’t care about the babies!”
A gasp went up around the café, and Donna pressed a hand to her stomach as it did somersaults. She really did care about the babies.
“Fine,” she caved fast, as usual. “I do care about the babies. But I will call every hotel, hall and pub to find you another venue for this ball if you don’t behave.”
The three women from the institute lowered their eyes and looked sheepish. Agnes looked shocked and Mairi gave her a thumbs up. Meanwhile, Diane came over to the table with a huge slice of chocolate cake. She patted Donna’s shoulder.
“I added extra butter-icing. You look like you need it.”
“Thanks.” She reached for the cake, but her hands were shaking too hard to hold it.
Diane gave her a sympathetic smile and placed it on the table in front of her. With as much dignity as she could muster, Donna sat back down.
“Now, we need to get people in and out of the mansion without Duncan noticing, and we need to make sure he doesn’t enter the ballroom.” She picked up her dessert fork. “Any ideas?”
Thankfully, the women were able to stop fighting long enough to actually come up with some. As Donna took notes, she ate her way through enough sugar to keep her going indefinitely.
***
Duncan couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to draw. Although, he couldn’t enter his studio. Not yet. But he suspected it was coming. He felt like he’d boarded a runaway train. The need to paint had become almost unbearable, and he hoped to squash it by sketching.
With trembling fingers, he reached for the sketchpad and charcoal he’d found in a cupboard in his office and took them over to the window seat in his living room. The window overlooked the garden and the rose bushes Fiona had loved. After the gardener’s butchering, there wasn’t much of them to see, but he hoped that if he sketched the view she’d loved so much, his working again wouldn’t feel too much like betraying her memory.
As soon as he made his first mark on the pristine white paper, something inside of him that had been rubbing wrongly slipped into place. Soon, everything that pressed down on him—the emotions he didn’t know how to cope with, the conflicted feelings he had about letting Fiona go, the world in general—all faded away. There was nothing but the view in front of him and his drawings.
His hand moved faster with each sketch. Flying across the page, capturing ideas and images before he was even consciously aware of what they were. He felt like he was soaring. Free at last. He felt the way he used to feel—invincible. Untouchable in this own private universe, made up of line and tone and colour.
It was only when the light changed enough to affect the shadows in his work that he realised hours had passed. Torn pages from his sketchbook lay scattered on the floor around him, and his hands were black with charcoal dust. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Which was followed by the peace of knowing a day filled with work.
Stiff from sitting in the same cramped space for so long, he stood and stretched as he scanned the pages at his feet. Hills. Rose bushes. Tree branches. And then, in the later ones, a person appeared. His breath hitched as he bent to retrieve one of the final drawings. Had Fiona crept into his work when he wasn’t looking? She’d often done that. A lone figure in the distance. Someone peeking out of a house. A person walking through the woods. All Fiona. All unintentional additions to work he’d meticulously planned.
But this one didn’t show a figure sneaking into his planned compositions. No, this was something else. This was the painting he’d been dreaming about. The figure was front and centre. And it wasn’t his wife. It was his housekeeper.
“Damn.” Duncan’s head fell forwards as he clutched the page. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered.
He sank to the floor, his back against the wall as he studied his work with a critical eye. It was black and white—emphasising the drama of the lighting as he’d seen it the night Donna had stood in front of the open fridge. In his head, he saw the scene in colour. He saw the brush strokes dancing over the canvas, the rich hues he’d use in the shadows, and the saturated colours he’d dab into the lighter areas. He saw it all as though he’d already painted it.
And he knew then, from a lifetime of experience, that the image would haunt him every minute of the day until it was realised. Until he saw it on a canvas in front of him.
Until he’d painted Donna.
“Damn,” he muttered again. “Damn.”
Chapter 7
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Grace said when Donna staggered in for breakfast a few days later.
All Donna could manage in response was a hysterical laugh. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she’d started scheming to get Duncan out of the mansion.
“Here, drink this, it looks like you need it.” Grace placed a mug of tea in front of her.
“You are an angel.” Donna sipped the tea while she leaned back into the bench in the breakfast nook.
“Well, maybe you should listen to your guardian angel and give up on your daft plan. Duncan isn’t going to leave the mansion so you can throw a party.”
“I’m not the one throwing the party.”
“Aye, that’s the most important part. Let’s focus on that.” Shaking her head, she returned to the state-of-the-art stove. Fiona might have wanted to restore a lot of the mansion’s Georgian heritage, but she’d drawn the line at wood-burning stoves. Thank goodness.
“Has he taken the bait yet?” Grace said as she cracked eggs into a mixing bowl.
“No.” Donna sipped her tea and resisted the urge to groan.
Duncan was nowhere near accepting the request to lecture at the college. The fake request, she reminded herself. The one she’d been finessing in an ongoing email exchange with the art college dean where she pretended to be Duncan. Right now, the dean was excited about having Duncan come out of his self-enforced retirement to teach her students. And Donna had no idea how to get him there.
It was a mess. One of her own making. She pressed a hand to her stomach and added ‘buy antacids’ to her to-do list. By the time the ball came around, she was going to have a hole in her stomach the size of her fist.
“I hate to add to your stress,” Grace said, “but the Women’s Institute rang, and they’re coming over today to check out the location and work out the details for their ball.”
&nb
sp; “Kill me now.” With a groan she rested her forehead on the table. “I told them to wait until I contacted them.”
“Aye, apparently you don’t have a good track record for following through on those commitments, so they’ve taken matters into their own hands. They want to see the ballroom, to plan decorations and table layout. And they want to discuss catering with me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Seeing as I’m the catering liaison.”
“I’m…sorry?” Yeah, that didn’t sound remorseful at all. She turned her head, opened her eyes and silently begged the woman to cut her some slack. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”
Grace snorted. “I won’t hold my breath. You girls have been making trouble your whole lives.” She shook her head sadly. “I wish your mother had half your backbone.”
Donna almost choked on her tea. “My backbone?”
Grace’s eyes were dancing when she looked over at her. “Maybe Agnes’ backbone. Now, are you vegetarian today or do you want bacon?”
“I thought you were against bacon?”
“I am.” She sighed. “Working here is lowering my standards. Now do you want bacon or not?”
“Bacon, please.” She thought about it. “Is there any cake?”
The cook frowned at her. “I’ll give you bacon with your omelette, but I draw the line at cake for breakfast.”
“Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?”
“Aye, I do. I also think you could cut it in half just by saying no to people when they corner you.”
“That is so much easier said than done. Trust me, I’ve tried. Now, how am I going to get Duncan out of the way while the Women’s Institute are here?”
“You’ll think of something.”
“That doesn’t help at all.”
“You know what I think about this situation,” Grace said. “You need to come clean with Duncan. Sneaking around and lying to him is just going to backfire.”
“How exactly? It isn’t like he’ll fire me. I’m the only person around here he doesn’t want to get rid of.” And wasn’t that an honour?
Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2) Page 7