Catriona picked up the photo of her and Andrew which stood on the kitchen dresser. It had been taken the summer after their wedding twenty years ago when he’d brought her home to Caldoon Castle.
‘You’ll love it,’ he’d told her and Catriona had believed him, remembering the first time they’d driven up the long winding track which led to the castle. She could still recall the sense of awe and anticipation she’d felt when she’d seen the five-storey tower shooting into the perfect blue sky and the view from the top over the loch had taken her breath away. Those feelings hadn’t diminished over the years. Every time she drove up the pot-hole strewn track and got her first glimpse of the castle, it made her gasp.
‘All this belongs to your family?’ she’d asked Andrew that day – once she’d finally been able to speak.
‘Eight generations,’ he’d said.
Catriona didn’t even know where her grandparents had lived let alone anyone further back than that. She’d led a simple, non-exciting life in the village of Lochnabrae on the other side of the town of Strathcorrie. She was an only child and had lived with her parents in a modest white-washed cottage. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined living in a castle. But then she’d met Andrew at a ceilidh and he’d whisked her to within an inch of her life across the dance floor and she’d fallen madly in love.
‘I’m hoping you’ll be as happy here as I’ve been,’ he’d said when he’d brought her to his family home for the first time. And Catriona had been so sure that she would be but she hadn’t banked on losing Andrew.
She closed her eyes as she remembered those last few painful days as her husband had slipped away from her. The cancer had been shockingly swift and had left a huge void in their lives that would never be filled. Catriona had done her best to work her way through her own grief whilst comforting Fee and Brody, and the dark relentless days after they’d lost Andrew had slowly become a little less bleak and a little more bearable.
She replaced the photograph on the dresser just as Brody walked into the kitchen.
‘Fee’s in a strop. Again!’
‘She’s okay,’ Catriona said.
‘Seriously, Mom, you need to deal with her before she gets outta hand.’
‘Pardon?’ Catriona said. ‘Brody – just how many US TV series are you watching at the moment?’
He shrugged. ‘Three or four.’
‘I’m going to have to stop you. You’re beginning to sound like a gangster and you’ve got to stop calling me “Mom”!’
Brody tutted and rolled his eyes in a manner which looked so like his late father. He had the same rich chestnut-coloured hair too.
‘Have you done your homework?’ she asked him.
‘Yup!’
‘Can I see it?’
‘I thought we’d broken up for the holiday, Mum,’ he said, stressing the Anglicised pronunciation.
She nodded. Brody was right. But it was sometimes hard to switch from being her children’s teacher to being their mum when both school and home were in the same place.
‘As long as it’s done,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t want it hanging over you all Christmas, would you?’
He shook his head but she could tell that his mind wasn’t on homework.
‘They’re in the tin on the table,’ she said with a grin, watching as he made a beeline for the chocolate cookies she’d made earlier. ‘No more than two!’
‘Aw, Mum!’
‘I mean it.’ She watched as he fished around in the tin for the two biggest cookies he could find. ‘Brody?’
‘Yeah?’
‘How do you feel about us having people to stay here at Christmas? I know we’ve only ever done summer and Easter holidays before.’
He shrugged. ‘Okay, s’pose.’
‘You don’t mind too much about us not using the Great Hall?’
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Not since Goliath moved in.’
Catriona smiled. Goliath was the name of the spider that had made his home next to the woodpile by the Great Hall fireplace. Catriona was lucky that she wasn’t afraid of spiders but her husband had been, which was a serious handicap to owning a fifteenth-century castle, and he seemed to have passed on his fear to both of his children.
‘We’ll make the living room in the east wing nice and cosy,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he said with a grin that made her feel a little bit better.
‘Do you want to take a hot water bottle up with you to keep your hands warm?’
‘I’m not a girl, Mum!’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want you getting cold in that bedroom of yours.’
‘It’s not too bad,’ he said.
‘Well, let me know if you do get cold, won’t you?’
He nodded again. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I can see my breath!’ He stuffed a cookie into his mouth as he left the room.
Caldoon Castle was a blissful place to live in the summer months but it wasn’t such a friendly place in the winter, Catriona thought, and they’d had their fair share of snowdrifts, frozen pipes and broken boilers in the past.
Now, sitting in the kitchen next to the old range which was the warmest place in the whole castle, Catriona wondered – not for the first time – what was to become of them all.
CHAPTER 2
Iain MacNeice had finished work only two hours late on that final Friday before the Christmas holidays, which was a small miracle really considering they’d been closing the deal on the Manders account. He had a thumping headache as he left the advertising agency, walking out into the cold Edinburgh air. His secretary, Janice, had stayed on to help him clear all the paperwork and had asked if he wanted her to call a taxi but he’d declined. He wanted to walk. He needed to walk. And so he’d taken the well-known route from his office off Princes Street to his home in one of the Georgian crescents of the New Town.
As a student in Edinburgh, Iain had known that he’d never return to the little Highland village he’d grown up in. He’d fallen completely in love with the magical capital city and had never left.
Striding through the dark streets, the street lamps and the lights from the large sash windows of the Georgian terraces guiding his way, he realised that he was happy to leave his work behind him for the next couple of weeks. He couldn’t remember when he’d last taken more than a few days’ holiday. His two daughters, Lexi and Chrissa, were always reminding him but the expansion of his company had meant sacrificing time with his family. Time which had already contributed to the breakdown of his marriage.
For a moment, he thought about Dawn, his wife of twenty-two years, who was now living in Los Angeles with her new partner who did something wildly exciting in the film industry. It was a world away from his tame existence in an advertising firm in Edinburgh, that was for sure. He’d seen the photos his daughters had taken of the white-washed mansion high up in Beverly Hills with an infinity pool and Jacuzzi. The place looked more like a hotel than a home but Lexi and Chrissa were of an age when that kind of thing impressed them – more so than the comparatively modest city apartment they shared together in Edinburgh.
As he turned into the crescent, his feet slipping on the icy pavement, he looked up at the first floor family home. The curtains hadn’t yet been drawn and he glimpsed the enormous Christmas tree which he’d ordered. The delivery men had had quite a struggle getting it up the stairs but it looked wonderful with its red and gold baubles and star-shaped lights and Iain had made sure that there were heaps of presents to open underneath it. Of course, they’d have to take the presents with them when they left for their holiday in the Highlands the next morning.
Entering the communal hallway now, and walking up the stairs to the first floor, he couldn’t help feeling a little anxious about the days that lay ahead. He knew he’d been somewhat lacking as a father in recent years, spending long periods away from home and not spending nearly enough time with his daughters. But that really couldn’t be helped, could it? A man had to work and s
ave for his family, and his wife had quickly got used to buying the best of everything for herself, her daughters and her home. And, for a while, Iain had liked that lifestyle too but he couldn’t help feeling that there was something missing from his life: something fundamental that money couldn’t buy.
Reaching inside his pocket he found his key and opened the door.
‘Mrs Crompton? I’m home!’ he called. A moment later, a stout lady appeared.
‘You’re late,’ she said, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him.
‘I know,’ Iain said, feeling thoroughly chastised by those two little words. ‘Did Janice not call you to explain?’
‘Aye, she did,’ Mrs Crompton said, untying the pinafore she wore and folding it neatly before grabbing her coat from a hook in the hallway. ‘My Murray hasn’t had his tea yet.’
‘I haven’t had mine,’ Iain said, giving her a little grin that he hoped might appease her.
‘Yes, well, that’s your own doing now, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is,’ he said, taking off his coat and hanging it up.
‘I won’t always be here, you know,’ Mrs Crompton went on as she picked up her large holdall-style handbag. ‘Got my health to think about. I can’t be bending down picking up other people’s rubbish my whole life, you know. Got my poor knees to think about.’
Iain nodded. Mrs Crompton had been saying those words every day since he’d hired her three years ago but, miraculously, her knees had been holding out.
‘Well, thank you for holding the fort here,’ he said, ‘and I’ve got something for you.’ He walked over to a table in the hallway and opened a drawer, taking out an envelope. ‘A little something for the Christmas holidays.’
She pursed up her mouth and, for a moment, he thought he was about to hear a thank you but she simply nodded and put the envelope in her handbag before putting on her coat, pulling her hat onto her head and leaving.
Iain stood in the hallway feeling stunned. He was the director of his own global company, responsible for over fifty members of staff and in charge of making important decisions every hour of his working day and yet he’d just been made to feel like a naughty little boy in his own home.
‘How does she do it?’ he said to his reflection in the mirror above the table as he dropped his keys into a bowl. His dark eyes looked red and his skin looked as if it could do with a good dose of sunshine. In short, he looked run down. He shook his head. It was the start of the Christmas holidays and he was determined not to feel sorry for himself.
‘Girls?’ he called, wondering where his daughters were. He stood silently listening for clues and could hear a strange, monotonous thudding sound coming from Lexi’s room. He approached with caution. At sixteen, Lexi was ferociously private and woe betide anybody who entered without knocking. And so Iain knocked, tentatively at first and then with a firm fist when it became apparent that she couldn’t hear him.
‘What?’ her voice came from within.
‘It’s Dad,’ Iain said, opening the door a crack. Lexi was lying on her side on her bed, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She was flipping though a magazine and Chrissa, Iain’s eight-year-old, was sitting on the floor.
‘Hi, Dad,’ Chrissa said, getting up to give him a hug.
‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said, kissing her forehead which smelled of the raspberry shampoo she loved so much. She was in her pyjamas and looked all cosy, warm and snuggly and he just wanted to hug her for the rest of the evening. The same couldn’t be said about Lexi who hadn’t even looked up as he’d walked into her room.
‘Okay, Lex?’ he asked as he turned the music down causing her to scowl at him. ‘Good last day at school.’
‘The usual,’ she muttered.
‘Right,’ Iain said, wishing he knew what she meant by that but she rarely let him glimpse into her world. He was resolutely locked out of it. ‘Have you two eaten?’ he asked, steering the conversation on to safer territory.
‘We ate hours ago, Dad,’ Lexi said, finally glancing up at him, her eyes full of scorn at his question.
‘Oh. I was going to call out for a pizza,’ he said.
‘I’m stuffed,’ Chrissa said. ‘Mrs Crompton made this funny fish dish.’
‘Was it nice?’ he asked.
‘It was filling,’ Chrissa said diplomatically. ‘She didn’t leave any for you. She said you shouldn’t be so late and she put your portion in a plastic tub to take home to Mr Crompton.’
Iain nodded. That sounded about right, he thought.
‘Well,’ he said, clapping his hands together, ‘who wants to see what I’ve brought home?’
‘More presents?’ Chrissa said, her eyes lighting up.
‘I thought we’d have a little present opening to mark the beginning of the holidays. I ran into Jenners at lunchtime today,’ he said.
‘You mean you actually chose us presents yourself and didn’t get your secretary to buy them for you?’ Lexi said.
Iain frowned. ‘Now why would you say something like that?’
‘Because it’s true, isn’t it? Mum always said you never had time to choose things yourself.’
‘Oh, did she?’
Lexi nodded, her eyes fixed on a photo of some boy band in her magazine.
Iain sighed. His ex-wife had done a pretty good hatchet job on him, hadn’t she? They’d been separated for three years now and she was still bad mouthing him to their daughters. It was one of the reasons he got nervous every time they went to stay with her in LA. Even though she seemed happily settled with her new partner, Dawn still couldn’t stop herself from painting him black. Mind you, Lexi’s accusation was true. Iain had been known to hand over present-buying duties to Janice but that wasn’t because he was too lazy or couldn’t be bothered to choose gifts himself. If anything, it was because he cared about his girls so much and wanted to be sure – to be absolutely sure – that he got the very best presents for his girls and Janice had two daughters of her own and always knew what to get. Whenever he’d tried to choose something himself, it always seemed to go wrong, like the time he’d bought wildly expensive tickets to wrong pop group for Lexi.
‘That group is so lame!’ she’d complained. He’d given the tickets to Janice’s daughters who’d been much more appreciative and had given Lexi a very safe gift voucher instead.
Now, however, he was quite sure he’d made the right choice and he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and removed two tiny packages wrapped in silver paper with red bows exquisitely tied around them. He handed the first to Chrissa and the second to Lexi who deigned to put down her magazine.
He watched as the girls ripped off the paper and opened the boxes at the same time to reveal identical silver lockets.
‘Wow!’ Chrissa cried. ‘It’s so pretty, Daddy. Thank you!’ She launched herself at him, fixing her arms around his waist.
‘You’re welcome, darling.’
‘Can I put it on?’
‘Just for a minute but make sure you don’t sleep wearing it, okay?’ He turned to Lexi who had opened the locket and was looking inside.
‘It’s empty,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ he said as he sat down on the bed next to her. ‘It’s for you to fill. You choose which photos you want to put in there.’ He waited a moment, hoping to hear some sort of contented response from her but none was forthcoming. ‘Do you like it?’
She nodded.
‘Good,’ he said and that was it: the sum total of her response. ‘Are you two packed and ready for tomorrow? We’ll be leaving straight after breakfast.’
Chrissa nodded. ‘I’ve got everything ready,’ she said.
‘Good. Lexi?’
‘Do we have to go? I want to stay at Mum’s for Christmas. We always do that,’ Lexi said.
‘Which is precisely why you’re not doing that this year,’ Iain told his daughter. ‘It’s my turn to spend time with you and we’re doing something different and you’re going to enjoy it.’
‘I won’t,’ she said.
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘I just do,’ she said with the logic of a teenager.
‘It’s not everyone who gets to stay in a medieval castle for Christmas,’ Iain said.
‘Lucky them,’ she said.
Iain sighed and got up off the bed. ‘Don’t stay up too late now, will you? And time for your bed, Chrissa,’ he said, leading his younger daughter out of the room.
‘Daddy?’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Will Mummy be coming to the castle too?’
‘Darling, you know she won’t.’
‘But she might surprise us.’
‘I seriously doubt that and you mustn’t build your hopes up either.’
‘I think she’ll come,’ Chrissa said as they entered her bedroom which was a symphony of pink.
‘You brushed your teeth?’ he asked, deciding it was probably best not to continue with the subject of her mother and whether or not she was going to visit.
‘Of course,’ Chrissa said like a grown-up.
‘Good. And don’t forget to take your necklace off.’
He watched as she did so, placing it carefully on the bedside table before climbing into bed with her favourite soft toy which had lost so many parts over the years that Iain wasn’t quite sure what it was anymore. He tucked her in and bent to kiss her soft rosy cheek, inhaling her raspberry sweetness.
‘Daddy?’ she said.
‘What is it, darling?’
‘Do you want Mummy to spend Christmas with us?’
The question was so unexpected that he felt truly stumped. He straightened up, moving away from the bed and only turning around to face Chrissa once he was at the door.
‘I think you’d better get some sleep,’ he said, leaving the room before she could say anything else.
The Christmas Collection Page 7