The Christmas Secret

by Karen Swan

  Borrodale House, Perthshire, Saturday 16 December 2017

  ‘Family honour is restored!’ Ambrose cried, holding up his sherry glass and raising a toast to the Arbuthnotts’ MacNab hat-trick. They were all sitting in the library in their finery. Alex’s dress had arrived with her shooting kit this morning although she rather wished it hadn’t, for it would have given her a perfect excuse to get out of coming tonight. It wasn’t that she was exhausted – her hot bath and a power nap had restored her energy – but it was almost more than she could bear to see Lochie’s disappointment.

  He’d been gracious, in the circumstances. Something – instinct? – had startled the deer as she had handed over the gun and it had been gone from sight by the time they had looked back. She had been conflicted by how it made her feel – on the one hand, she was glad it had escaped. It was too beautiful an animal; she couldn’t bear to see it killed, culled, whatever it was. On the other hand, she had wanted Lochie to get his hat-trick; his desperation on the river bank had been palpable and when she had miraculously landed the salmon, he had been euphoric; she had been so swept up in his delight, it had done what the river had not, and almost lifted her off her feet. So to have let him down when victory had been within their – her – grasp . . . she had done the very thing she had stood in a river for four hours to avoid: she had made him fail.

  He was standing by the bar, one hand in the pocket of his tartan trews – all the men were wearing them – and looking a different man to the vision they’d all seen at breakfast. He had showered and shaved, his skin still flushed from a day out in the elements, and his body was looser-limbed than it had been for days. The doctors had been right – fresh air and exercise was just what he’d needed. But though he smiled and joined in the conversation, she could see the disappointment beneath the surface. He was a true stoic, keeping his feelings to himself, but she alone knew she had ruined his weekend and for what? He was no closer to either listening or talking to her about Skye, but his overreaction again had only convinced her that she was right and she felt certain now that this had to be her principal strategy for getting into his head. If they could be reunited, Alex was sure it would be a case of mission accomplished for her too.

  ‘That dress is to die for,’ Elise said, coming to sit beside her on the velvet sofa. ‘I wish I could wear black.’

  Alex smiled, grateful for the compliment. It was Dolce & Gabbana corded lace, with no sleeves and a deep V neckline, a black ribbon beneath the bust. Its long, slim – but not tight – silhouette was flattering but also easy to wear. ‘I would have thought you’d look lovely in black.’

  ‘No,’ Elise sighed, looking radiant in silver. ‘It really washes me out.’

  Alex met Anna’s eyes and they shared a smile. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Another bloody trout,’ Anna sighed. ‘It’s becoming my nemesis. We were only twenty minutes behind Butthead, apparently.’

  ‘Such a shame.’

  ‘How about you?’ Elise asked.

  ‘Well, I did manage to get a salmon although I almost had to contract pneumonia first.’ She took a weary breath. ‘No, I’m afraid it was the stalking that did for me.’

  ‘I thought Lochie said you were a crack shot?’

  Did he? It surprised her to think that he had been talking about her in any positive terms at all. ‘Well, it was more of an . . . emotional issue. I wussed out.’ She bit her lip. ‘I just couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Oh, but you mustn’t worry about that,’ Elise said kindly, seeing she was upset.

  ‘I just feel so bad.’

  ‘I can totally sympathize. They’re such incredible creatures. You need to be really committed and understand what it is that you’re doing. Otherwise, you just feel like you’re killing Bambi.’

  ‘Exactly.’ She bit her lip again. ‘But Lochla— I mean, Lochie’s just so disappointed. He seemed to really want the hat-trick.’

  ‘Look, I know it was a nice idea but it’s not like his dad is going to care now.’

  Alex frowned. ‘His dad?’ She looked over at Anna – she was a grounded, steady sort. She could explain, surely?

  ‘Lochie promised his father he’d get the hat-trick,’ she shrugged.

  ‘But . . . his dad’s dead, isn’t he?’

  Anna gave a reluctant smile. ‘Yes. He promised him . . .’

  She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Alex gripped her cheekbones with one hand, feeling even worse. He’d made a deathbed promise.

  ‘Apparently it had been an ambition of his father’s.’

  Elise patted her knee. ‘But you mustn’t worry. He can always do it next year.’

  ‘But it won’t be the same, will it? This would have been three on the trot. It’s not a hat-trick in the same way.’

  ‘Oh God, don’t tell Ambrose that,’ Daisy groaned as she came through with a bowl of olives.

  ‘Hey,’ Emma said, joining them and looking lovely in her dress. She had twisted her hair up, revealing an elegant neck and beautifully creamy skin. ‘Everyone recovered? My legs are still throbbing,’ she said, joining Anna on the ottoman.

  ‘Well, thank God you’re wearing long then,’ Anna smiled. ‘That could look alarming in a mini.’

  Jess – who had been in the kitchens with Daisy – came back through, clapping her hands. ‘The coach is outside,’ she said. ‘All good to go?’

  Everyone murmured their assents, draining their glasses and smoothing out their clothes with their hands. Alex’s eyes slid across to Lochlan and she was surprised to find his were already on her. She gave another sorry smile. It was his big night tonight; he was no doubt wondering whether she was going to ruin that for him too.

  The last time she had been on a coach had been on a school trip, but this vehicle was a world away from that experience – just a ‘baby’ size, it nonetheless had tinted windows and extra-wide quilted leather seats, multi-entertainment screens and a fridge stacked with gold-topped bottles. It was the private jet of the coach world and Ambrose kept everyone in champagne – and strong voice, instigating a singalong, mainly of Scottish rugby songs – as they sped up the A9 in luxury.

  Lochie was looking nervous, his leg jigging more and more quickly as they approached Pitlochry, his smile matching everyone else’s, but he kept looking out of the windows to see exactly where they were.

  Soon enough, in the village of Blair Atholl, they turned into a tree-lined lane and passed through a set of grand – and towering – stone-flanked gates. Everyone stopped singing as they looked out of the windows at the magnificent park-like grounds, the lawns clipped and pristine with a nearby lake shimmering in the moonlight, groupings of full-skirted fir trees stopping the eye from seeing everything in one sweep. To her dismay, Alex saw they were driving through a deer park of all things, and as they passed close by a standing herd, she kept her eyes down on her hands in her lap.

  They drew up before a grand white castle and even before the doors had opened, she could hear the haunting sound of the bagpipes; it always gave her goose bumps. They stepped out, one by one, onto a red carpet flanked on each side by soldiers in full ceremonial dress, with kilts and sashes, feathered caps and muskets by their sides.

  Alex was the last off and she was surprised to see Lochie waiting for her, the others already walking ahead in their pairs. He held out a velvet-jacketed arm for her to take, looking down at her with unreadable eyes.

  ‘Shall we?’

  If she had thought Borrodale House was grand, Blair Castle was positively regal with a double-height entrance hall that was almost armour-plated, such was the density of historic weaponry hanging from its walls. Waiters stood in the same rigid lines as the soldiers outside, but they were holding out silver trays with champagne on them and she and Lochie each took one. She could feel his nervousness.

  ‘It sounds like a big deal, being made a master,’ she said to him as they waited in the short line that had bottlenecked at the entrance to the ballroom.

  She felt
his torso stiffen against her arm in reply. ‘It’s just a ceremonial thing. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Except that you’re highly regarded by your peers,’ she countered.

  He looked down at her but didn’t reply.

  ‘You know, you should learn to take a compliment,’ she smiled.

  ‘I could say the same about you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You look very beautiful in that dress.’

  Alex whipped her head up, looking at him in astonishment; she didn’t know what to say.

  He chuckled and looked ahead. ‘See?’

  The line moved and they began walking again, Alex emitting a small groan, the sound imperceptible above the bagpipes, as she saw a stag’s head mounted over the entrance to the ballroom above them. Really? Was she to be faced with her failure all night?

  Lochie must have felt the vibration through her body, her arm still linked through his, for he looked down at her and then followed her eyeline. ‘Just forget about it,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘But . . .’ She didn’t know what was wrong with her. What had happened to her out there? She wasn’t sentimental about country sports; she understood the economies behind them and the agricultural livelihoods they supported. What had made her flake? ‘I’m just so sorry.’

  ‘I know. You’ve said it a hundred times now.’

  ‘But that was before I found out about the promise you made. To your father, I mean.’

  He looked down at her again, that suspicion always in his eyes.

  ‘Anna told me.’

  He inhaled, clearly irritated. ‘It was just a . . . challenge. A dare even. It doesn’t mean anything in the scheme of things.’

  They were quiet for a moment.

  ‘Besides, it was fairly enlightening,’ he said, his eyes dead ahead, the words scarcely more than a murmur.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I guess it proves you have a heart.’

  ‘What?’ She frowned, knocked sideways by the comment.

  ‘I was beginning to wonder,’ he shrugged. ‘But it looks like you don’t have it after all, the killer instinct.’

  ‘Yes, I do!’

  He looked straight at her. ‘No.’ His voice was calm, almost too calm. ‘You had him in your sights and you could have taken the shot. But you didn’t. You couldn’t do it.’ His gaze was piercing, so direct she felt he could see straight through her.

  Whether his remark had been intended as a compliment or an insult she wasn’t sure, but she took it as the latter. Offended, she tried to remove her arm from his but he clamped his elbow in to his side – effectively trapping her – as a photographer suddenly pointed his lens at them; they both flashed fake smiles and the camera snapped.

  The bottleneck had cleared now and they walked into the ballroom. In spite of its great size, it was packed and their progress through the crowd was slow as Lochlan was backslapped and greeted by almost everyone they passed, the great and the good of the whisky industry clamouring for their moment with him. Alex smiled and went through the motions as introductions were made but for once, she wasn’t storing names or clocking the non-verbal cues that always alerted her to prospective clients; she felt distracted and unlike herself, off her game, his words replaying over and over in her mind, and it was a relief when she spotted Ambrose’s curls springing a half-head above everyone else.

  ‘God, I hope they feed us quickly. I am starved,’ Emma said, looking around the room restlessly. ‘I brought cake up to our room with tea earlier and Max ate it all whilst I was in the bath! Honestly, and he’s the one telling his patients to cut out hydrogenated fats.’

  Alex knew she should be hungry too but her appetite felt dampened. Lochlan’s words still cut like blades, drawing blood. What was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she taken the shot?

  ‘Lochie’s looking nervous, don’t you think?’ Anna murmured to them as the guys began to tease and heckle him about something.

  ‘Mmm, but handsome though,’ Elise smiled, looking – for some reason – at Alex.

  ‘He always did look nice in those trews,’ Jess said, sipping on her champagne and looking over at him with studied concentration.

  ‘Oh-ho,’ Daisy laughed, slapping her playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t let Sam hear you saying that!’

  ‘Why not?’ Jess grinned. ‘It’s just an honest observation.’

  ‘Honest observations are not allowed about your ex. We all know Sam’s convinced Lochie thinks you’re the one who got away.’

  Alex looked at Jess in surprise. She was his ex?

  ‘They were together at university,’ Elise said, seeing her surprise. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  Alex shook her head. ‘No. We, uh . . . well, we don’t talk about our private lives.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s right – you’re just colleagues,’ Emma said, a wicked glint in her eyes.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you say so,’ she grinned, one eyebrow cocked.

  Alex looked puzzled. ‘We are! There’s not – there’s not anything like that between us.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Anna laughed. ‘We’ve all seen how he looks at you.’

  ‘We’ve all seen that he doesn’t stop looking at you!’ Elise rejoined.

  ‘That’s not true,’ Alex protested, feeling her colour begin to rise. They didn’t know the first thing about it; they hadn’t heard how he’d just spoken to her and the things he’d said. They didn’t know that this supposed ‘friendship’ was just a charade, a brave face in front of his friends whilst they battled it out, each with their own agenda for rescuing their professional pride. They didn’t know that he hated her, that he couldn’t stand the sight of her, that a week from now she would be home and they’d never have to see each other again.

  The sudden realization of it almost winded her with relief. A week from now, life would be back to normal: she would return to her pristine flat and early-morning Pilates sessions; she would be able to wear heels again and have her chef-developed lunch delivered to her desk. There would be no more borrowing strangers’ clothes and sharing a bathroom; there would be no more biscuits with her coffee or cabbage with everything. She could finally get out of that westerly wind that kept wrecking her hair and she wouldn’t have to kill a living beast just to prove she was good at her job.

  She sagged, feeling suddenly exhausted. The emotional and mental toll of going through this, dealing with him, had depleted her more than she had realized. It was too much, living and breathing it, with no respite, 24/7.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ Elise asked, putting a hand on her arm in concern. ‘We were just messing around. We didn’t mean anything by it. If you say it’s just professional between you, then it is.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ Alex said, trying to smile. ‘I’ve just realized how . . . bloody exhausted I am. I haven’t stopped for weeks and with today too . . . it’s all just caught up with me. I feel a bit faint, actually.’

  ‘It is hot in here,’ Emma said, looking up at the barrelled ceilings as though steam would be collecting there.

  ‘I think I’m just going to go and . . . get some air,’ she said, looking around for the exit again.

  ‘Sure. Do you want one of us to come with you?’ Daisy asked, looking concerned.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll only be a minute.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll wait for you here,’ Daisy smiled.

  Alex turned and left, but she was still within earshot when she heard Elise’s voice. ‘Ow! What? He is always looking at her.’

  Her hands were sore from clapping. The ceremony and speeches had gone on for over an hour now and the tension was radiating from Lochlan beside her. She hadn’t seen him like this before; he was so good at always presenting a bluff exterior and hiding any emotion or vulnerability behind a rhino hide and quick temper. But he was up next, the man on stage delivering a rousing speech in praise of Lochlan’s apparently numerous achievements – it had been news to her tha
t it was he who had managed to get the Kentallen twenty as the official malt of the Houses of Parliament. A man on the next table leaned over and whispered to him.

  ‘Where’s Sholto? I thought he’d be here tonight.’

  ‘No, he couldn’t make it,’ Lochie said, fiddling with his bow tie, and when the other man looked surprised – he was after all being honoured for services to the industry; his chairman ought to be here – he added, ‘The fire.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, of course,’ the man said, remembering the headlines and patting his arm apologetically. ‘I was so sorry to hear about that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lochie sat back in his seat, his eyes already on the speaker on the podium.

  ‘You didn’t even invite him,’ Alex said quietly.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because you covered your throat, your voice changed and you blinked more rapidly when you were speaking – all classic non-verbals for lying.’

  Lochie looked at her for a moment as she stared ahead at the speaker. ‘Huh. Well, it was for his own safety.’

  ‘Safety?’

  ‘Of course. He would have choked on his own bile having to sit through these plaudits for me.’

  ‘I think you’re being a little harsh.’

  ‘I’m perfectly aware of what you think,’ he said brusquely. ‘Your loyalties are quite clear.’

  She looked away, refusing to get into another fight with him. Today had already been quite hard enough.

  Everyone started clapping again, looking their way, and she heard him clear his throat as he rose to his feet, a smile on his lips. He was up.

  He wound his way past the large circular tables and the delicate gilt chairs, faces upturned to him with admiring smiles as he walked by, his eyes on the stage. He and the other man shook hands and then Lochie turned, facing back to them all – his hands on the podium, elbows splayed slightly, chin up.