The Moon Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Morning, Tiggy,’ Beryl said as I entered the kitchen to find her frying bacon. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’ve come to collect Chilly’s food. Oh, and is your office free by any chance? I need to check my emails.’

  ‘Yes, though our current guest normally commandeers it from nine o’clock onwards, so I’d be quick if I were you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said and made my way along the corridor to the office, shutting the door firmly behind me.

  ‘Right,’ I murmured as I went to Google and typed in ‘Lucía Albaycín’. The Wheel of Death turned intolerably slowly as the machine did its best to connect me with what might be my past . . .

  Finally, it managed to begin downloading, the information unfurling like a modern-day scroll on the screen. I clicked on the first link and saw it was Wikipedia, which surely must mean that Lucía had been famous and therefore what Chilly had told me about her hadn’t been a complete fantasy. On the other hand, she could be a horse trainer in South America, but . . .

  Just as the site began to download and I caught a tantalising glimpse of a black and white photograph showing her name and half a forehead, I heard the door open behind me. I pressed ‘print’, then minimised the screen.

  ‘Good morning, Tiggy, you’re up bright and early.’

  Before I had a chance to turn round, I felt two hands placed gently on my shoulders. I actively shuddered.

  ‘You are shivering?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes. I must be getting a chill,’ I lied as I immediately stood up.

  ‘Will you be long? I need to send an urgent email.’

  ‘No, I just have some printing to do, then I’m finished.’

  ‘Then I will go and get some breakfast while I’m waiting.’ Collecting the pages from the printer below the desk, I was gratified to see a grainy photograph of the woman Chilly had told me about, and the banner at the top, which read: ‘Lucía Albaycín – Flamenco Dancer’.

  Tingling with anticipation, I managed to restrain myself from diving in and reading it immediately. Instead I left the office and scurried out of the back door.

  I caught Cal just as he was about to leave and hopped into Beryl beside him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Avoiding Zed and hitching a lift down to Chilly’s,’ I said, indicating the Tupperware box I was holding. ‘I was also wondering, if we happened to be passing by the copse where I thought I saw—’

  ‘Y’know full well where I pass to get to Chilly’s,’ Cal sighed. ‘You’re on a road to nowhere with that little fantasy o’ yours. If there’s a white stag at Kinnaird, I swear that I will run around in the snow naked with only a haggis covering my bits ’n’ pieces!’

  ‘I look forward to that,’ I said. ‘Because I’m telling you now, Cal, I know what I saw.’

  ‘And I’m sure the stag was dancing with the faeries in the glen when you did.’ Cal laughed heartily as the back door of Beryl opened and I turned round to see Lochie climbing in.

  ‘Morning, both,’ he said as he slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Hello, Lochie, nice to see you again.’

  ‘Hi, Tiggy.’ He gave me a warm smile and we set off into the glen.

  Cal deigned to stop opposite the copse without being reminded, and I hopped out, understanding he had a lot to do and wasn’t impressed by what he saw as my flight of fancy.

  I walked across the bridge then trained my binoculars on the copse, but the deer had already moved up to the higher slopes, and I was too late.

  ‘Anything?’ Cal asked me as we drove off.

  ‘No, but could we please come out earlier tomorrow?’ I begged him. ‘Before they set off up the hill to graze.’

  ‘We can, even if it’s only tae convince you that you were seein’ things,’ he agreed. ‘Now, let’s get you tae Chilly, ’cos me an’ Lochie here have deer to count and fences tae be mended.’

  ‘Maybe it’s best if you take in Chilly’s food again, Cal. He’s less likely to cajole you into staying,’ I said, as we drew up near his cabin. ‘Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow!’ I shouted out of the window. ‘Send him my love.’

  *

  That afternoon, I rooted through the cupboards for ingredients for a curry I’d been promising to make Cal for ages. He’d been patient with me recently and I decided I needed to say thank you. The lack of almost everything I needed had me jumping into the spare Landy to race to Tain and gather supplies.

  ‘Hi, Cal,’ I said when he arrived back home that evening. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Very good, thanks,’ he said. ‘Lochie’s a gem – much stronger than he looks an’ he really knows his stuff too.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I said, as without further ado he headed for the bathroom. To my surprise I heard the taps running. Normally Cal – being the gentleman he was – would let me use the bath first.

  Maybe he’s fallen in deer poo, I thought as I went back to the kitchen to check on the curry.

  When Cal hadn’t emerged after fifteen minutes I knocked on the bathroom door and smelt a pleasant waft of aftershave emanating from behind it.

  ‘The curry’ll be ready in ten, okay? I told you I’d make it for you and I have,’ I called.

  The door opened and Cal emerged in his dressing gown, freshly shaved.

  ‘Tig, I’m sure I told yae that it’s my night for seeing Caitlin? I’m away tae Dornoch tanite.’

  ‘Oh, of course! I’d completely forgotten. Never mind, curries are even better after twenty-four hours. I’ll save you some for tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, and sorry about that, Tig.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ I said, following him as he made for his bedroom to get dressed. ‘And you really should bring Caitlin here for supper soon. I’d love to see her again.’

  ‘I will.’ He proceeded to shut the bedroom door in my face, then emerged ten minutes later dressed in a checked shirt and clean jeans, looking very un-Cal-like indeed.

  ‘Will you be back tonight?’ I asked him, feeling I was clucking round him like a mother hen.

  ‘If the skies stay clear, yes. Bye, Tig,’ he said, throwing on his jacket. ‘Keep out o’ trouble while I’m gone.’

  ‘Hah!’ I said to Alice as I fed her. ‘Chance would be a fine thing, but I will let Thistle in,’ I added, feeling subversive. I opened the front door and called him, feeling an icy blast of air that was already sub-zero.

  ‘Come on, darling!’ I called to encourage the dog.

  ‘That is a nice welcome,’ said a human voice as Thistle loped forward, followed a moment later by a man.

  ‘Hello, Zed,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘Do you need something?’

  ‘Yes. Someone to share this very good bottle of Château-Neuf-du-Pape with on a freezing winter’s evening. Something smells good,’ he said, sniffing the air. ‘Are you expecting company? I saw Cal go out.’

  ‘No, I just decided I fancied a curry,’ I responded, unable to think of a single reason – apart from blatant rudeness – not to invite Zed in. ‘You’re welcome to join me for a drink.’

  He stepped over the threshold, but Thistle positioned himself in front of me, his hackles raised, a threatening growl coming from his throat.

  ‘Scheiße, control that thing!’ Zed muttered, taking a step back.

  ‘Shh, Thistle, it’s okay,’ I said, laying my hand on the dog’s back. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him, he’s usually so calm and gentle—’

  ‘He’s obviously had no discipline,’ said Zed curtly.

  ‘Thistle,’ I whispered into his ear as the growling continued, ‘if you don’t stop, I’ll have to leave you outside.’

  Feeling horribly disloyal to my canine protector, but fearing complaints to Cal or Charlie about Thistle’s behaviour, I coaxed the dog out into the courtyard as Zed entered the cottage. As I closed the door behind us, I thought what an unfortunate trade-off it was. I tried to close my ears to the persistent whines coming from outside.

  Zed followed me into
the kitchen and I handed him the ancient corkscrew, which was bent and took serious skill to manipulate. I watched him struggle with it, before pouring the ruby liquid into two glasses.

  After his usual sniffing and swirling, he took a sip and put his head back, sluicing the wine around his mouth before finally swallowing. ‘It is good,’ he announced. ‘It would probably complement a curry perfectly.’

  ‘Is that a hint? If it is, you can have some, but I’m warning you, it’s vegan. Besides, I’m sure Beryl has something delicious waiting for you at the Lodge.’

  ‘It is Beryl’s night off so the half-wit serving girl was brought in to heat me up some soup,’ was Zed’s disparaging reply. ‘Even your curry sounds better than that.’

  ‘Er, thanks. Well, no harm in you trying some. And I’m starving.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’ he asked.

  ‘The fire probably needs stoking,’ I said, and as he wandered out of the kitchen, it crossed my mind that he most likely didn’t know how to stoke a fire. He probably had a minion to do it for him.

  ‘So where did you go to university?’ I asked him, for want of anything else to say, as we sat down to eat.

  ‘At the Sorbonne in Paris. I only realised a couple of nights ago why your name was familiar to me. I was there with your sister, Maia.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. We saw each other for a while actually. Nothing serious, but I do remember her telling me about her five adopted sisters with the strange names. I finished university and she had another year to go, so we lost touch.’

  ‘She’s never mentioned your name to me, but then she wouldn’t. She’s a very private person.’

  ‘So I remember. Sweet girl though. And incredibly beautiful of course.’

  ‘Yes, out of the six of us, she is known for that.’

  ‘And what are you known for?’

  ‘Oh, I’m the flake.’ I grinned. ‘They call me the “spiritual” sister.’

  ‘You mean you are a witch?’

  ‘If I am, I’m as white as the snow outside. It’s part of my problem actually. I don’t want to ever hurt anyone’s feelings,’ I said pointedly.

  ‘Now remind me, am I right in thinking that Electra is one of the D’Aplièse sisters too?’

  ‘She’s my baby sister – the youngest. Are you saying you know her as well?’

  ‘Our paths have certainly crossed socially in New York at charity events and such, yes.’

  ‘She does a lot of that kind of thing. Do you?’

  ‘I used to. It was fun, so why not?’

  ‘It’s exactly the kind of stuff I hate,’ I grimaced. ‘Big spaces full of vacuous people air-kissing each other, so they can be photographed and appear in magazines.’

  ‘Hold on, Tiggy.’ Zed put up a hand. ‘You cannot tar everyone with the same brush.’

  ‘I can, to be honest. Electra is empty and shallow these days and I reckon it’s all to do with the celebrity scene she lives in.’

  ‘Maybe it is not about the place, but the company,’ Zed suggested.

  ‘As a matter of fact, my life just now is all about the place, and not company,’ I smiled.

  ‘Well, like you say that you hate celebrity parties, I could not cope with the isolation up here. I fully admit to having a short attention span and the patience of a devil, rather than a saint. Being at Kinnaird is about facing my fears: limited internet, kilometres from the nearest town and no social scene or people, except you, of course, Tiggy. And at least you are excellent company.’

  ‘Thanks, even if you make Kinnaird sound like it’s some kind of ordeal. I mean, you’re not exactly roughing it, are you? The Lodge is beautiful and there is internet, however patchy.’

  ‘You are right,’ Zed agreed. ‘I am a spoilt brat. Now, tell me how your father is? Maia talked very fondly of him.’

  ‘Sadly, he died last June. We all adored him, and his loss was a big blow.’ For once, I actually stopped myself going into my spiel about feeling that he wasn’t dead – I simply couldn’t imagine Zed having a spiritual bone in his body.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss, Tiggy. My father died recently too,’ Zed said quietly. ‘Technically it was cancer, but having never had a day’s illness in his life, soon after he was given the terminal diagnosis, he took himself off on his yacht and committed suicide.’

  ‘Oh Zed, that’s really hard. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was probably for the best, he was very old – over ninety – and he had certainly lived a good life. He was at his desk in the office in New York to the end.’

  ‘What business did he run?’

  ‘Lightning Communications, the company I have inherited. I had been working for him for years, and I imagined I was well prepared, but it is a totally different ball game when the buck stops at your door.’

  ‘What was your dad’s name?’ I asked.

  ‘Kreeg, and Eszu is our surname. You may have heard of him. He was always in the papers, pictured at some social event or airing his opinions on TV. He was a larger than life character, that is for sure. So, what did your father do?’

  ‘I don’t really know. He was always off travelling when we were younger, but he kept his business interests well away from all of us girls. He said that when he was at Atlantis – that’s our family home in Geneva – it was our time together.’

  ‘Papa first took me into his office when I was a baby, so my mother told me. And I have barely left since.’ Zed offered me a rueful smile. ‘Especially in the past few months, there has been much to sort out.’

  ‘I can imagine. Is your mum still alive?’

  ‘Sadly not, even though she was thirty years younger than my father. He always called her his child bride. They divorced when I was in my teens, and there was a court battle over who I should live with. Papa won, as he always did – though why he bothered to fight to have me when all he did was send me off to boarding school, I do not know. Mama died in a skiing accident when she was in her forties. Tragic, really. Forgive me, Tiggy, I have no idea why I am telling you all this, but thank you for listening.’ He put a hand on mine. ‘And thank you for the dinner, it was unexpectedly good.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I like cooking. When I was a child, I used to spend hours in the kitchen with Claudia, our housekeeper. She taught me to make lots of tasty vegetable dishes.’

  ‘“Housekeeper”?’ Zed smiled, and I realised I’d given myself away again.

  ‘Please, Zed, can we leave that subject alone?’

  ‘Of course. So, tell me.’ He leaned forward. ‘What is your dream job?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Africa, work with the big game out there,’ I said.

  ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘Conservation mainly – that’s what I specialised in during my zoology degree. Though I’ve realised recently that I’m also interested in hands-on caring for the animals too.’

  ‘You mean, as a vet?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘For my money, conservation is far sexier.’

  ‘I’m not really interested in “sexy”, Zed, only in putting my skills to good use,’ I said as I stood up to clear the table.

  ‘Well, you are definitely sexy,’ he said, standing up too and following me towards the kitchen. He grabbed the bowls from my hands, put them down, then swung me into his arms. ‘Can I kiss you?’

  Before I had a chance to reply, his lips descended on mine. Shock was addling my brain as I tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

  ‘Evenin’ all.’ Cal stood in the doorway, the pile of snow on his hat making him resemble the Abominable Snowman. The vicelike grip on my back relaxed immediately. ‘Am I interruptin’ something?’ Cal said innocently.

  ‘No!’ I said hurriedly, as I walked over to him. ‘Zed was just leaving, weren’t you?’

  ‘Well, don’t do so on my account. Sorry tae disturb, but I took the spare Landy, it bloody well packed up. I had tae walk a couple o’ miles back here. I fancy a hot choccy tae warm me up. Care t
ae join me?’ he asked Zed, as he divested himself of his dripping outerwear.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Zed read the signs. ‘Right, I will leave then. Thank you for the curry, Tiggy. Goodnight.’

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  ‘Oh my God! Thank goodness you came in when you did!’ I said, flopping onto the sofa, shock and relief racing through me.

  ‘Well, I’m glad my ruined evenin’ wi’ my own lady-love had some advantages,’ Cal said wryly, moving to stand in front of the fire. ‘I gather that wasn’t a welcome advance?’

  ‘No, it definitely wasn’t,’ I panted, genuinely spooked. ‘He just grabbed me!’

  ‘He has the hots for you an’ that’s for sure.’

  ‘I felt as stalked as any deer during a shoot.’

  ‘Listen, I’m here now tae protect you, Tig. I’m off tae change into some dry clothes, but we’ll talk in the morning, okay?’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Cal.’

  I didn’t sleep a wink that night, having visions of Zed trying to jemmy open my window with a crowbar so he could pounce on me and have his wicked way . . .

  ‘Come on, Tiggy,’ I told myself the next morning as I staggered out of bed. ‘All he did was try to kiss you, not rape you. He’s obviously used to making the first move . . .’

  But what if Cal hadn’t come in when he had . . . ?

  ‘You look rough,’ Cal appraised as I met him in the kitchen by the kettle.

  ‘I feel it,’ I sighed. ‘I want to keep all the curtains shut just so I know he can’t be watching me.’

  ‘Yae’ve got yourself in a right ol’ pickle, you femme fatale, you.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Cal, really, it isn’t. I don’t know why, but he frightens me.’

  ‘Well, I’d reckon that if he realises he’s on a losin’ streak and can’t win yae over, the old lizard’ll be off back to whatever damp dungeon he crept out o’.’

  Venturing out after Cal left, I saw the snow was deep after another big fall last night, so I decided to take Beryl the Land Rover down to visit the cats. If it was this bad up here, it would come up past my knees in the glen. Understandably, the cats weren’t coming out to play, so I drove back up to the cottage, lit a fire and took the pages I’d printed off about Lucía Albaycín to the armchair by the fire, partly because I wanted to read what I could about her before I went to visit Chilly today, and also because it provided distraction from thinking about Zed.