Sealed With a Kiss

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Ow!’ Looking at the mess of her arm, Kate felt a bit sick. It hurt a lot more now that she’d seen the damage.

  ‘I was hoping to get you to see Duntarvie under slightly better circumstances, Kate, but welcome nonetheless. I hope you like it here.’ Jean gave her a kind look.

  ‘It’s been a bit of a day. Car, people, puppy – and now this. I have to keep reminding myself I was coming here for a bit of quiet.’

  ‘Och, you’ll not get that here on Auchenmor. There’s always something going on.’

  ‘So I see.’ Kate tried to stand up, but her balance was definitely off-kilter.

  ‘Sit yourself back down. I’m going to go and sort your bath out for you now, and I don’t want you getting into any more trouble.’

  Kate poured another cup of tea and watched the logs burning in the fireplace. It was very much like being in a faded country-house hotel, but this was someone’s home. The idea of Roderick living alone in a place this size was insane. How on earth could he sleep at night in a house with countless empty bedrooms, and corridors just begging for ghosts to wander around them clanking chains – or whatever ghosts did these days. She shivered at the thought of it.

  Jean reappeared, making Kate jump. ‘Now, up to your bath, young lady, and no arguments.

  The bathroom was huge, white and stark. But the bath was full to the brim with lavender-scented bubbles and, next to the towels, a pile of clothes lay folded neatly on a chair. Kate peered at them through the steam. What on earth? They were definitely her pyjamas, her dressing gown and her fluffy slippers. Someone – it must have been Jean, surely – had been back to the cottage and found them. Kate grimaced. The idea of someone going through her belongings, not to mention seeing the state of her already messed-up bedroom, was awful. Jean was right when she said there were no secrets on this island, she thought, clambering gingerly into the boiling hot water. At least she’d bought new pyjamas before she’d left Cambridge, instead of bringing the ancient scruffy nightshirt she’d worn while living with Ian. She leaned back, wincing with pain, and closed her eyes for just a second, luxuriating in the scented foam.

  ‘Kate?’

  A man’s voice through the door woke her from her sleep. Heat-drunk and slightly shocked from the fall, she must have dozed off in the bath. It took a couple of moments before she could gather her thoughts to reply.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. I’m here.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Was that a note of humour underneath the clipped tone of voice? ‘When you’re ready, dinner’s waiting, and there’s a young lady here to see you.’

  Kate pulled out the plug and climbed out of the bath. The soak and the painkillers had eased her stiff shoulder, which was already turning purple. With some difficulty she dried herself and managed to manoeuvre herself into her pyjamas. She folded up her dirty, torn clothes as best she could, leaving them on the chair with her phone, which had run out of charge in any case.

  She left the brightly lit bathroom, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom of the corridor. A series of doors stretched before her, and the walls were hung with yet more of Roderick’s ancestors. Turning for the stairs, she noticed that one of the doors was ajar. The temptation to peek inside was too much to resist. Heart pounding, she sneaked her head round the door. The room was ice-cold, with dust sheets covering the furniture. She withdrew with a shudder. Imagine living in this place. No wonder Roderick seemed a bit chilly – it probably seeped into his bones.

  The stairs were the stuff of Gone with the Wind, but there was no dramatic entrance for Kate. She manoeuvred her way down cautiously, pausing as she reached to turn the handle of the sitting-room door. She looked down at her pyjamas and slippers – hardly suitable for dinner in such a grand house.

  As if he’d sensed her presence, Roderick opened the door. He’d changed and shaved, and looked younger and less terrifying in a faded blue shirt and jeans. He was close enough that Kate could smell the citrus of his aftershave. His freshly washed hair was hanging in his eyes. He looked more like an advert for Barbour than the laird of a country estate that she’d imagined. She stood in the doorway, feeling extremely out of place.

  ‘Kate. Well, it’s nice to see what you actually look like when you’re not covered in mud.’ He flicked a glance towards her hand. ‘No phone? Not got any urgent texts to send?’

  ‘I left my phone with my things in the bathroom. Thought it might be a good idea to make it down the stairs without breaking my neck.’

  He strode over to the bookshelves, where a bottle of whisky and two glasses stood on a tray. Pouring two huge measures, he handed her one and motioned for her to sit down. Easing herself into the chair, Kate took a sniff of the malt. She stifled a cough as the whisky fumes hit the back of her nose. She wiped her eyes.

  Roderick sat down at the far end of the sofa.

  ‘You’ve made quite the impression in twenty-four hours.’

  The frown was back. Kate fiddled with her glass, looking down.

  ‘I suppose we should be glad you’re still with us. Jean told me you were planning to make your escape before you’d even set foot on the island.’

  ‘I – no, I just . . . ’ Kate stumbled over her words, not sure how to answer.

  ‘Go on.’ Roderick leaned forward, surveying her over the top of his glass. His dark eyes narrowed.

  Without the stubble, Kate noticed, he had a bee-stung upper lip. It looked somehow vulnerable, and definitely at odds with his rather formal demeanour. She shook herself. This was her boss, a man who was used to getting what he wanted. And, right now, what he wanted was an answer.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Her voice was determined, and the last vestiges of doubt were gone.

  Half-hiding her face behind her glass, she stared into the flames. If taking risks wasn’t exactly her style – and, in the past, it hadn’t been – she was going to show people she could do it. She’d jumped from one temp job to another in the last four years, and her lack of staying power was becoming a standing joke.

  ‘You’re building a patchwork CV,’ Sam had teased her, recently. ‘You can always say you’ll try anything once.’

  The joke had been a little too close to the bone. Kate, while laughing, had winced. And then there was the fleeting exchange of glances between Emma and her mother on the journey to Scotland when she’d mentioned staying for at least six months, if not more.

  She put down her glass, resolute now. For once she was going to prove them wrong.

  ‘I’ve brought your dinner through here.’ Jean appeared in the doorway. ‘I thought Kate would be more comfortable in the sitting room.’

  Jean trundled in, pushing an ancient hostess trolley. It must have been in the family for generations. Kate wondered if Roderick had all his meals delivered by his stern-faced housekeeper rolling them into the sitting room, where he sat reading The Shooting Times, or whatever lairds read. Emma would have been giggling; it was just as well Kate had left her phone upstairs, or she’d have had to sneak a photograph. The whole thing was so far removed from reality.

  ‘Join us, Jean?’ He had picked up a folder and was scanning some figures, a distracted expression on his face. It wasn’t quite a command, but Kate felt that the tone suggested he was used to people doing his bidding.

  ‘No, I won’t, thanks, Roddy. Hector will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  She set out plates heaped with shepherd’s pie on the low oak table, giving Kate small comfort in the shape of a conciliatory smile. She wasn’t even staying? Kate gave a small sigh.

  ‘It’s something easy for you to eat with one arm.’

  Roderick looked up at Jean from his paperwork.

  ‘Now, I’ve laid Kate’s things in the green bedroom. I want her off to bed early, and I’ll be in first thing to make sure she’s all right.’

  It was like being back with her mother. Kate caught Roderick’s eye. Was that a hint of a twinkle there? He raised his eyebrows at her in mock-admonishment.

&nb
sp; ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll have her off to bed as soon as she’s finished dinner.’ He stood up, dismissing his two dogs, which slunk off to their beds by the fire.

  ‘See that she is. I don’t want you young ones sitting up all night talking. Kate needs her rest.’ Leaning over, Jean stroked the puppy, patted Kate on the knee and then straightened up. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Roderick shooed her out of the room gently, with Jean chuntering slightly as she headed for the door.

  Kate couldn’t quite catch what was said as they disappeared into the hall, but felt relieved to be off the hook when she heard the front door slam and the key turn in the lock.

  Roderick pulled the door shut and, without speaking, lifted the sleeping Willow from Kate’s knee, putting her on the rug beside the fire. He placed a cushion behind Kate’s back carefully, and set a wooden tray on her knee, complete with china plate and heavy silver cutlery, shaking out a linen napkin and laying it in her lap. His silence was unnerving. Kate was locked in a gigantic, quite possibly haunted house with a man she didn’t know and only a sleeping spaniel puppy for protection. This place must have at least fifteen bedrooms, almost all of them uninhabited. It was seriously spooky, she thought, looking out of the window. It was pitch-black outside.

  The whisky had dulled the ache in her shoulder, but left her incapable of small talk. She’d always struggled for the right thing to say in situations like this. She felt quite overawed.

  ‘Um . . . ’

  ‘So . . .’

  ‘You go first.’

  ‘Lovely dinner,’ said Kate desperately. She’d managed to scoop up a mouthful, but was too uncomfortable to eat, convinced that if she did so, she’d make one of those loud, gulpy swallowing noises, or choke.

  Roderick had already half-finished his meal. He looked up from his plate and fixed her with dark brown eyes, his expression serious.

  ‘I don’t make a habit of scooping up stray girls and bringing them home to my lair, if that’s what you’re wondering.’

  He seemed pretty convincing.

  ‘That’s a relief!’ She pulled a wry face, before trying some of the dinner. It was utterly gorgeous, and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. It was a long time since she’d eaten anything proper. She’d arrived on the island and had survived on soup, coffee and tea. Added to the mixture, the whisky had warmed her stomach, but had left her distinctly light-headed.

  Talking of which, Roderick was topping up her drink, unasked. At this rate she’d be unconscious soon. She scooped in another few mouthfuls of dinner, as ballast. In her post-university attempts to find a decent job, Kate had been subjected to some pretty odd new-girl inductions, but none of them had featured dinner in pyjamas with the boss in the first week.

  Roderick was looking at her, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. If he hadn’t been so stern, Kate thought, he’d probably be quite nice-looking. Not in the same league as Tom, the film-star gamekeeper, mind you.

  ‘The last girl we took on lasted a couple of weeks before she headed back down south – she couldn’t cope. We have no end of southern softies turning up here on the island, hoping to “find themselves”, or some nonsense like that.’ His tone was cool.

  Kate felt herself flushing. Leaning forward and gritting her teeth against the pain, she placed her tray carefully on the table in front of her. ‘Well, I haven’t come here to find myself, don’t worry. And as it happens, I went to university in Edinburgh, so I’m used to the cold.’

  The truth – which Roderick didn’t need to hear right now, or ever – was that it had been far harder than she’d anticipated to find a decent job after university, and while she’d gathered a certain amount of useful skills doing telephone sales, inputting data for endless weeks for employment agencies, and performing countless other mind-numbing admin jobs, she was bored stiff. The thought of life on an island had been far preferable to the alternative. And didn’t everyone secretly want to float around, discovering their inner artist and finding themselves? He clearly had no sense of adventure.

  ‘Glad to hear it. The last thing we need is another one here today, gone tomorrow.’ Roderick raked his fingers through his hair, frowning. The strain of running an estate showed on his face for a moment, and he gazed into the fire for a while before speaking. ‘This place needs – well, I don’t know what exactly. But if you’re planning on making a run for it, I’d rather you just said now.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Kate’s voice was steady. She didn’t have anywhere to go to, in reality, but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  ‘Good.’ Roderick poured some more whisky into their glasses. The effects of two hefty measures of malt were now making themselves felt. ‘Here’s to Duntarvie House.’ He passed her the glass. ‘You might just be the good-luck charm we need.’

  Kate looked at him, confused.

  ‘We’ve been given a grant – first time something has gone right for I don’t know how long. D’you know anything about doing up houses?’

  Kate contemplated lying, but decided that she’d already done enough of that. She’d been a bit vague about her experience when she’d applied for the post, not really knowing what a Girl Friday position entailed, and her CV had been so disastrous that she’d been known in the past to do more editing and stretching of jobs than was strictly acceptable. There was something about Roderick – an old-before-his-time air – that made her admit the truth.

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Great! Me neither.’ Bending down, he pulled out a leather-bound book from underneath the coffee table. He flipped open the pages, revealing beautiful pencil sketches of some island cottages, surrounded by tiny illustrations of seabirds, seals and eagles.

  ‘Let me show you what I’m planning.’

  His fingers were long, his hands broad and tanned from working outside. He pulled a pencil from his pocket, illustrating his point as he talked, drawing arrows, adding little details to the plans he had made. He explained that there was an opportunity for the ailing estate to make some money.

  ‘What I plan is to renovate the old cow-byre and rent it out, along with a couple of old cottages on the west side of the island, which have been lying empty for years.’ He tore out a sheet of paper, sketching his plans for the inside of the byre. ‘We can turn it into a bunkhouse – a hostel – for schools and colleges to use, and we can hire it out. They can come here and use it as a base for wildlife studies in the bay.’

  ‘And my job is to renovate these cottages?’ Exciting as the ideas were, Kate sounded dubious. Her DIY skills extended to painting, changing a plug and some extremely haphazard tiling.

  ‘No, no. You’re going to help me oversee the whole thing.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kate took a gulp of whisky. ‘Yes. Of course I am.’

  He grinned at her. ‘But not until you get that shoulder sorted. I’ll take you down to the surgery in the morning.’

  4

  Selkie Bay

  A week later, with the strapping only just removed from her shoulder, Kate was busy overdoing things at the cottage. Her boxes of belongings had finally arrived, having been a victim of ‘island time’ – a phenomenon unknown to mainlanders, but very much a part of life on Auchenmor.

  Jean’s husband Hector, a man of few words but much kindness, had helped her to move the boxes from the wide hall of the cottage into their respective rooms. They seemed to have survived their unscheduled holiday in a storage unit near Glasgow, and it was bliss to stack her much-loved books and DVDs on the deep bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. Having been instructed that she wasn’t to do a bit of work until she’d recovered, Kate had explored the grounds of Duntarvie house thoroughly, spending hours sitting on the tiny beach that looked out towards the mainland. She’d crept through the woodlands, catching wild deer unawares, and then collapsed back home by the fire, exhausted after broken nights with Willow, who was utterly adorable, but woke as often in the night as a newborn baby.
/>
  Kate hadn’t caught a glimpse of Roderick since the morning he’d dropped her off at the surgery. Morag, who had taken to popping by for a cup of tea mid-morning, once she’d done the ponies, filled her in.

  ‘According to Jean, he’s off the island, seeing to the final details of this funding he’s sorted for the cottages.’ Morag’s eyes swept around the room. ‘You’ve made a good job of this kitchen. It’s a lovely shade of blue.’

  ‘I spent years living with Ian’s taste for neutral colours,’ Kate explained, opening a tin of biscuits. ‘I think it’s a little rebellion.’

  ‘And you found it in the town? I have to confess I usually make a trip to the mainland when I’m planning any decorating.’ Morag raised her eyebrows. ‘I know we’re supposed to support local business, but I draw the line there.’

  ‘Ah. Phil in the hardware shop told me he hit the wrong button when he did his first online stock order. Apparently it should have been Marvellous Magnolia and not Morning Mist. He found three cans in the storeroom, covered in dust.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve had a spot of luck, then. I still think you should have let Ted give you a hand with the painting. Dr Sergeant would have a fit if he knew what you’d been up to.’

  ‘I didn’t use my bad arm.’ Kate laughed. ‘And it’s not exactly the most perfect paint job you’ll ever see – look!’

  She pointed to the ceiling where several daubs of paint had missed their mark. Morag noticed, but didn’t comment on, the fine blue specks that covered Kate’s hair.

  ‘Och, nobody looks up at the ceiling anyway.’

  There was a scuffle as Willow, ears flapping, hurtled for the door, hearing approaching footsteps.

  ‘Did someone say the kettle was on?’

  Susan clattered through the doorway, nose pink with the cold. She scooped the excited puppy into her arms.

  ‘You’re not busy, are you, Kate?’

  ‘I’m just making a pot of tea.’ Kate pulled the mugs from the cupboard. ‘I’ve been showing Morag my dodgy DIY.’