Silence ensued as I continued to stroke Zara’s hair. It lasted so long that I actually wondered if she had fallen asleep, but her head suddenly bobbed up.
‘I know! I could ask Dad if I can stay here with you and Cal at the cottage! I could say you needed me to help you out until the end of the holidays!’ Her face lit up with excitement at her new idea. ‘Could I, Tiggy? I promise I wouldn’t be any trouble. I can sleep here on the sofa, as long as Cal wouldn’t mind, which I’m sure he wouldn’t because we get on really well and he likes me and—’
‘I’d love to have you here, Zara, but your mum hardly knows me and I doubt she’d trust her precious girl to a stranger.’
‘Well, Beryl’s at the Lodge and Mum trusts her and Dad’s known Cal since he was born and—’
‘Zara, all you can do is speak to your parents. If they’re happy for you to stay here with me and Cal, then yes, we’d be happy to have you.’
‘I will,’ she said, ‘and if they don’t let me, maybe I’ll just run away.’
‘Don’t say that, Zara, it’s a threat, and if you want everyone to believe that you’re grown up enough to make your own decisions, that isn’t the way to handle it. Why don’t you go back to the Lodge and ask them? If they agree, you need to give them time to come down and see me before they leave,’ I encouraged her.
‘Okay, I will. Thanks, Tiggy.’ She stood up and walked to the door. ‘One day, I swear I will come and live here at Kinnaird. Permanently. And even Mum won’t be able to stop me. Night, Tiggy.’
As I’d expected, there’d been no visit that night from either Charlie or Ulrika, and the missing Range Rover the next morning confirmed that the three of them had left for Inverness.
‘Poor wee kiddie, caught in the middle o’ all that,’ Cal said as he sipped his coffee. ‘Dysfunctional families, eh? Mine isn’t perfect, but at least I’d say we’re fairly normal. Right, that’s me off.’
Cal walked to the front door, then bent down to pick up an envelope from the mat. ‘You’ve got mail, Tig,’ he said handing it to me as Thistle’s head appeared longingly round the open door. ‘An’ you’re comin’ with me, Thistle,’ he said, shooing the dog out.
I opened the envelope and read the short note inside.
Dear Tiggy – in haste – I apologise for my abrupt departure and for not coming to see you. A legal issue has cropped up. I’ll be in contact soon.
Many apologies,
Charlie
I had no idea what he meant but I had to presume it was something to do with the big argument Zara had mentioned.
I went to my bedroom; all this talk of families making me miss mine. I opened my bedside drawer and pulled out the letter Pa Salt had written me. I’d read it so many times, it was starting to look grubby. Unfolding it, I started to reread it, comforted just by the sight of Pa’s looping, elegant handwriting.
Atlantis
Lake Geneva
Switzerland
My darling Tiggy,
Well now, there is little point in spending time writing the usual platitudes about my sudden disappearance from your life – I know you will refuse to believe that I have gone. But gone I have. Even though I know you will feel me still all around you, you must accept that I am never coming back.
Of course, I write this letter at my desk in Atlantis, still here on this earth, so I cannot yet tell you what the beyond is like, but the one thing I am not is afraid. You and I have talked many times about the miraculous hand of fate, of destiny and a higher power – God to some – touching our lives. It saved me when I was a child, and my belief in it – even through the harder times I have had in my life – has never wavered. Neither must yours.
With your other sisters, I have been careful to make sure that I only gave them limited information about where I originally found them, because I didn’t want to disturb their lives. However, you are different. When your family gave you to me, it was on the condition I promised that one day, when I felt the time was right, I would send you back to them.
You are part of an ancient culture, Tiggy, one that these days is derided by some. I believe it is because many of us humans have forgotten our roots in nature and where our heart and soul lies. You, I was told, come from a special line of gifted seers, although the woman who handed you over to me made it clear that the gift often misses a generation, or does not grow to its fruition.
I was told to watch you as you grew, and I did so. From a fretful sick baby, you became an inquisitive child who loved nothing more than surrounding herself with nature and animals. Even though you were unable to have your own pet due to Ma’s allergy, you still dedicated yourself to every wounded sparrow you found, and the hedgehogs in the garden that you fed.
Perhaps you don’t remember the moment you came to me when you were five or six, and whispered in my ear that you’d just spoken to a fairy in the woods. She had told you that her name was Lucía, and that the two of you had danced together, barefoot in the forest.
Well, it’s hardly uncommon for a child so young to believe in fairies, but in this case, it was then I knew that you had inherited the gift. Darling Tiggy, Lucía was the name of your grandmother.
So now, I fulfil the promise I made by telling you that at some point in your life, you should travel to Spain, to a city named Granada. On a hill opposite the magnificent Alhambra, in an area called Sacromonte, you must knock on a blue door situated on a narrow path called the Cortijo del Aire and ask for Angelina. There you will find the truth of your birth family. And perhaps your own destiny too . . .
Before I close, I must also reveal to you that if it hadn’t been for one sentence offered by a relation of yours many years ago, I would not have been given the gift of all my beloved daughters. She saved me from despair and I can never repay my debt to her.
All my love to you, my darling, gifted girl. I am so very proud of you.
Pa x
I then drew out the paper that contained the information that had been engraved on the armillary sphere, which had suddenly appeared a few days after Pa’s death in his special garden. Each of the bands upon it bore our names, a quotation in Greek and a set of coordinates, which indicated where in the world Pa had found us.
Pa’s quotation for me, translated by my eldest sister Maia, had brought tears to my eyes, because it suited me so perfectly:
Keep your feet on the fresh carpet of the earth, but raise your mind to the windows of the universe.
As for the coordinates, Ally, who was a sailor and used to that kind of thing, had worked them all out for us. Mine had corresponded exactly with what Pa had told me in his letter. Until today, I hadn’t really dared to understand what Pa had meant about coming from a special and ‘gifted’ line. Yet Chilly had seemed to know who I was, and had even told me I had ‘power’ in my hands. I stood up and walked to the small mirror that hung on the wall above the chest of drawers. I studied my features – my tawny-brown eyes, dark eyebrows and olive skin. Yes, if I dragged my hair back, I probably could be taken for someone with Mediterranean blood. Yet my hair, even though it was dark, had a rich chestnut tinge to it. All the gypsies – if that was what I was – I’d ever seen on TV or in pictures had jet-black hair, so even if I did have some Romani in me, Chilly himself had told me I was not pure-blood. But then, who was these days? Two thousand years of interbreeding meant we were all mongrels.
I knew nothing about gypsies, except that many tended to live on the outskirts of society. I was aware that they didn’t have the best reputation, but as Pa had often said to me and my sisters, ‘Never judge a book by its cover. A dull clump of earth can hide the most precious jewel . . .’
And I had always prided myself on believing the best about everyone until proven wrong. In fact, perhaps my greatest weakness was my naivety about others, ironically engendered by my best quality: my unerring faith in the goodness of human nature. Other people rolled their eyes when I stated that good always triumphed over evil. After all – in simplistic terms – if i
t didn’t, then all the evil souls would have murdered the good ones, and then murdered each other, so the human race would no longer exist.
Whatever race Chilly came from, I knew he had a good soul. He was the first gypsy I’d ever knowingly met and I definitely wanted to learn more, I thought, as I replaced the precious letter in my bedside drawer.
7
On New Year’s Eve, I woke up, looking forward to the Hogmanay celebration that Cal was taking me to in the local village hall, so I could see in the New Year in traditional Scottish fashion. Arriving back at the cottage after feeding the cats, I found Beryl pacing our sitting room, anxiety painted on her features like a mask.
‘Tiggy, how are you?’ she said.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Beryl. You?’ I could see she was uncharacteristically flustered.
‘Some . . . unfortunate circumstances have cropped up, but they’re not for bothering you with just now.’
‘Right.’
I wondered if the ‘circumstances’ were anything to do with the sudden departure of the Kinnaird family, but I knew Beryl well enough by now not to press her on the subject.
She gathered herself together with considerable effort and continued. ‘However, my most immediate problem is that Alison has called in sick this morning. Apparently, so her mother told me, she has a terrible cold, but it’s left me high and dry. The New Year guests are arriving at four o’clock today – eight of them – expecting a full high tea! I have a mountain of unironed sheets – I had to strip all the beds because the dust from the renovations had fallen again, so each room needs to be hoovered, the furniture polished, the dining table and all the fires to be laid, and that’s on top of the dinner to be cooked and I haven’t even plucked the pheasants yet—’
‘Can I help?’ I offered, registering Beryl’s barely disguised need for assistance.
‘Would you, Tiggy? The gentleman who’s booked the Lodge for the week is a billionaire apparently, and very influential. The Laird is counting on him to spread the word about Kinnaird amongst his rich friends, and what with everything else that’s happened recently, I can’t let him down.’
‘Of course you can’t. I’ll come up to the Lodge with you now.’
Cal, who’d been listening from the kitchen, offered his services too, and for the rest of the day we ironed sheets, made beds, hoovered floors and laid fires as Beryl slaved away in the kitchen. By three o’clock we joined her for a cup of tea, all of us worn out.
‘I can’t thank you both enough for today,’ Beryl said as we all enjoyed a piece of warm shortbread. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you. At least everything’s prepared for tonight.’
I glanced at all the food laid out on the kitchen centre unit and in a plethora of covered dishes and pans on the worktops.
‘Have you got someone coming to help you serve it tonight?’ I asked.
‘No, Alison was going to be my waitress too, but I’m sure I can manage.’
‘Listen, I’ll stay and help you, Beryl. You can’t do all this by yourself, certainly not properly as the Laird would want it.’
‘Oh no, Tiggy, I won’t ask that of you. It’s Hogmanay and Cal’s taking you down to the ceilidh.’
‘He was, but I can go another time. Beryl, you need me.’
‘Yes, I do,’ she admitted, ‘although the Laird has asked that the help serve in uniform.’
‘Och, Tig, I cannae wait tae see you dressed up as a French maid!’ Cal winked at me.
‘I feel terrible about this,’ Beryl sighed. ‘You’re a wildlife consultant with a degree, not a serving girl.’
‘As a matter of fact, I worked an entire summer in a silver service restaurant in Geneva once.’
‘Then that seals it, but I’m going to call the Laird tomorrow and tell him that if we are opening what he wants to be a five-star hotel, then he has to allow me to employ some proper staff. It’s not fair on you – or me.’
‘Really, it’s no problem. Do you want some help with afternoon tea? I’d better get my maid’s uniform on pretty fast.’ I grinned as I saw it was half past three.
‘No, you go home, have a bath and get some rest. Dinner’s at eight, but I’ll need you from six to serve drinks, if that’s all right by you?’
‘It’s fine, Beryl.’
‘Could you possibly take this down to Chilly before you leave?’ I asked Cal as we walked across the courtyard to our cottage and handed him a container of pheasant stew I’d spooned out of one of Beryl’s dishes. ‘Wish him Happy New Year from me and tell him I’ll be down to see him soon.’
‘O’ course. Shame you cannae come with me tonight, but you’ve won a place in Beryl’s heart forever now.’
I was back up at the Lodge at six, and Beryl gave me my uniform for the night, complete with white apron.
‘Alison’s would have drowned you, so I dug this out of an old chest in the attic. It smells of mothballs, but it should fit,’ she said. ‘Put it on in the laundry room, and I’m afraid you’ll have to tie your hair back too.’
I did as she’d asked and when I was ready, I walked back to the kitchen. ‘How do I look?’
‘Lovely,’ Beryl said, hardly glancing at me.
‘Do I really have to wear this as well?’ I asked her, holding up the white headband with a black stripe that I was meant to tie across my forehead.
‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Now, they’ll all be down in a few minutes, so you’ll need to open the champagne. There’s sparkling water and elderflower cordial for any teetotallers in the fridge over there. The spirits are laid out on top of the drinks cabinet in the Great Room. You just need to add a bucket of ice.’
‘Right.’ I scurried off to go about my duties.
I’d always enjoyed acting in school plays, and I really got into character whilst I was handing round the champagne in the Great Room, almost wanting to add, ‘Yes, m’Lord’, ‘thank you, m’um,’ and perform a quick bob before I moved on to the next guest. From my vantage point near the drinks cabinet, I could see the guests were a well-heeled bunch; five men dressed in black tie, three women in cocktail dresses and expensive-looking jewellery. Even though they spoke English as a group, I could also hear a variety of accents, ranging from German to French.
‘How’s it going in there?’ Beryl asked as I appeared in the kitchen and ran to the fridge.
‘Fine, although we’ve finished the first six bottles of champagne already.’
‘I’ll call them in for dinner in about twenty minutes or so. I just hope that Jimmy the Bagpipes remembers he’s meant to arrive at the front door to play in the New Year.’
I returned to the Great Room with the fresh tray of champagne, and all eyes turned to me.
‘Ah! Here she is! For a moment, I wondered if the staff had drunk all the cases I had sent up!’
The entire party laughed and I presumed that the man walking towards me was the host. As he drew closer, I saw he was shorter than average, broad shouldered, with dark blond hair, aquiline features and unusual deep-set green eyes.
‘Thank you.’ His eyes swept over me in appraisal. ‘What is your name?’
‘Tiggy.’
‘That is unusual, is it Scottish?’ he asked as he held out his champagne flute for me to fill.
‘No, it’s a nickname. My real name is Taygete. It’s Greek.’
I was surprised to see a fleeting glimpse of recognition cross his features.
‘Right. Is that a French accent I can hear?’
‘It is, although I’m Swiss.’
‘Are you indeed?’ he said thoughtfully, studying me again. ‘Well, well. Do you work here?’
In any other circumstance – for example if we’d met in a bar – I could understand why he was asking me all this, but here, where he was the host and I was ostensibly the ‘help’, it felt distinctly odd.
‘Yes, but not normally in this capacity. I’m just helping out for the night because the maid is off sick. I’m a wildlife consultant on t
he estate.’
‘I see. Are you sure we have not met before?’
‘Quite sure,’ I said. ‘I never forget a face.’
‘Where’s that champagne?’ one of the guests called from across the room.
‘I’d better go,’ I said with a polite smile.
‘Of course. By the way, my name is Zed. Good to meet you, Tiggy.’
*
I arrived home at two in the morning, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other, and decided that all waitresses were totally undervalued.
‘Give me lions and tigers to care for any day,’ I groaned as I stripped off my clothes, put on the thermal pyjamas Cal had bought me for Christmas and fell into bed.
The good news was that the dinner had gone like clockwork. Between us, Beryl and I had pulled off a successful evening that had flowed seamlessly from one event to the next. I closed my eyes gratefully as my pulse slowed down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, I kept seeing Zed’s green eyes, which – although maybe I had imagined it – I’d felt had followed me around the room all evening. Just before midnight, when I’d arrived with further champagne and whisky, Beryl had pressed a piece of coal into my hand.
‘Get round to the front door, Tiggy. Here’s an egg timer and it’s set for eleven fifty-nine and fifty seconds. When it buzzes, knock as hard as you can on the front door. Three times,’ she’d added. ‘Jimmy the Bagpipes is positioned there already.’
‘What do I do with this?’ I’d asked her, studying the coal.
‘When the door is opened, Jimmy will start playing and you hand the coal over to the person who’s opened the door. Got that?’
The Moon Sister Page 9