by Marie Laval
There was at least one good thing about Marc spending the day with her – he wouldn’t be able to look at the books for Love Taxis.
Doughall McGunn gave Marc a slap on the back, his way of thanking him for clearing the drive to his cottage. The two men exchanged a few words, Marc waved goodbye and strode towards the Range Rover where Rosalie was waiting.
Snowflakes dusted his hair, his eyes were as grey as the sky and his face reddened by the cold as he flung open the door and sat behind the wheel. He glanced at the mobile in Rosalie’s hand. ‘Any news from the hospital?’
She nodded. ‘The bypass operation was postponed. There was a problem with Geoff’s blood pressure. It is now scheduled for tomorrow.’
‘How is he doing?’
‘The nurse said he was stable. I wanted to drive over to the hospital but he is sedated and visits won’t be allowed today.’ Reclining against the headrest, she tightened her grip on her phone. What if Geoff didn’t get better? What if she was going to lose him, like she’d lost her mother?
‘Try not to worry too much. He’s in good hands.’ Marc nodded encouragingly. ‘So where are we going now?’
‘Doughall was the last person on our list, so we’re heading back to the Stag’s Head for a briefing with the rest of the team.’
She stifled a yawn and closed her eyes. Her neck, back and shoulders ached, and the day wasn’t over yet. They had visited twelve isolated farmhouses north of Avielochan. Marc and she had made two shopping trips into Irlwick, and driven one elderly lady to the emergency doctor’s surgery, then taken her back home. They had cleared drives, and thrown shovel loads of salt to keep access lanes free. Marc had chopped wood and carried armfuls of logs into people’s houses. He had even climbed on a roof to fix a television aerial. She might not like to admit it but he had worked hard and been a great help, even if he had rebuffed any attempt at small talk from the people they had visited with his usual cool, grey stares.
‘Rosalie, we’re here.’
She jerked awake and rubbed her eyes as Marc parked in front of the pub. She must be more tired than she’d thought to fall asleep without even noticing.
He pulled the key out of the ignition and turned to her. ‘I take it you still don’t want to tell anyone the truth about me.’
She nodded.
He sighed. ‘I thought so. Shall we pretend I am your trainee taxi driver or do we go with the Danish translator story?’
‘Whatever you prefer, I don’t mind.’
‘The truth will come out sooner or later, Rosalie.’
He had a point, but part of her refused to face the facts – refused to acknowledge that Raventhorn was no longer Geoff’s, no longer her home.
He got out of the car and walked to her side to open her door. ‘When exactly are you planning to tell people?’
‘After I’ve spoken to Geoff. I need to understand why he sold Raventhorn.’
‘He sold it because he ran out of money, that’s all.’
She wasn’t convinced. Things had been bad for years but Geoff always pulled Raventhorn out of trouble. There must be something else behind his very sudden, very hushed, decision to part with his beloved Raventhorn.
The Stag’s Head was unusually quiet that afternoon. Other than the landlord, her friends and a couple of men with buzz cut hair and black leather coats she’d never seen before, the room was empty. Niall was getting a pint of beer at the counter.
‘Hi!’ Rosalie smiled, pulled her pink woolly hat off and shook her hair free before standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her to him and kissed her full on the mouth.
She pressed her lips together, put her hands flat against his chest and gave a gentle push but he clasped his fingers more tightly in the small of her back.
‘What are you doing? Stop it!’
‘Just saying hello to my gorgeous girl. How has your day been?’
‘Busy.’ She managed to disentangle herself, stepped back and bumped into Marc who stood right behind her.
The two men acknowledged each other with a curt nod. Marc rested his elbow on the polished wood counter and turned to Rosalie.
‘What are you drinking?’ he asked, signalling to the landlord.
‘I’ll get Roz’s drink,’ Niall cut in, taking a five-pound note out of his jeans pocket. ‘Half a cider, as usual?’
She shook her head. ‘Not today, thanks. I’ll have a lemonade.’ She glanced around. ‘Is Kian not helping out today?’
‘Nay, he got into a bit of a barney at home, apparently. Skidded on the snow and scratched his father’s brand new car taking his girlfriend home. His dad’s not happy, and got him to do some chores.’
‘I can’t say I’m sorry he’s not here. He was very unpleasant, aggressive even, with me at the Four Winds ceilidh.’
‘Was he really? I don’t know. I didn’t see much of him. Here.’ Niall handed her a glass of lemonade.
‘Get some salt and vinegar crisps and pork scratchers for us, Roz, that’s a good lass!’ Fergus called from the back of the pub. Love Taxis was closed to business today again and he’d been helping the rangers prioritise the calls for help from locals.
Puddles of melted snow made the wooden floor slippery and Rosalie slowed her pace as she brought her drink and the snacks to the table where Fergus and the two local rangers were sitting.
‘Well, folks, I think we’ve done well today,’ Cameron, the head ranger, declared when Niall and Marc joined them. ‘We’ve seen almost everybody on our list. There are only a few people left to check up on. Roger and I can take care of the area south of Kingussie and Badenoch tomorrow, but I heard there were tourists at the new ski lodges up towards Geal Charn. One of us should go up there and make sure they’re all right.’
‘I know where it is,’ Rosalie said, ‘it’s off the mountain road after Armathiel forest. I’ll go before it gets dark.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Niall said quickly.
‘There’s no need to trouble yourself,’ Marc cut in, ‘I’m here.’
‘That’s no trouble at all, Petersen,’ Niall retorted. ‘I’m just making sure my girl is safe.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Niall, stop this,’ Rosalie hissed, her cheeks blazing hot. When was he going to understand that she wasn’t his girl any longer, and would never be again?
The two men glared at each other. Niall narrowed his eyes and pointed to Marc’s bruised cheekbone. ‘What happened to you, Petersen? Did you fall on your face in the snow, or did you walk into a door?’
‘Into a frying pan, actually.’ Marc lifted his half-pint to his lips.
Niall snorted. ‘By the way, how long are you here for?’
Marc raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure. Why?’
‘I’ve been wondering what exactly you were doing at Raventhorn, that’s all. Roz and Alice said you were on some kind of taxi training course, but Marion claims you’re translating ancient Danish manuscripts for Geoff. So which is it?’
‘Stop this, Niall,’ Rosalie hissed. ‘Marc is a business contact of Geoff’s, that’s all. He’s been kind enough to help us today. The least you can do is be courteous.’
Ignoring her, Niall leaned towards Marc. ‘Let me tell you something, Petersen. We don’t care much for city boys around here, whether they’re French, Danish or English, so I’m warning you. Rosalie isn’t one of the posh bimbos you no doubt hang around with in London or Paris, or wherever it is you live. She’s a nice girl, but she has never been away from Irlwick, and she’s far too naive and kind-hearted for her own good. It’s obvious she has taken a shine to you, but the thing is, she belongs here, with her friends. With me. She’ll never leave. So back off.’
Rosalie’s face caught fire, her heart hammered against her ribs, so loud that’s all she could hear. Everybody in the pub was staring at her –her friends, Marc, and even the two rough-looking men near the bar, and she wanted to disappear into a great big hole. Instead she rose to her feet, g
rabbed her anorak from the back of the chair and faced Niall.
‘You have no right to talk about me like I’m a simpleton, no right to behave as if I belong to you.’ Anger and humiliation made her stutter. ‘We’re over. We were over four years ago, and it’s about time you accepted it. And one more thing. I don’t fancy Marc, or anybody else for that matter, but if I did, it would be none of your business.’
Niall shrugged as if he didn’t believe a word she’d said, and took a slug of beer, so she turned to Cameron whose cheeks had turned pink –with embarrassment, no doubt.
‘I’ll check on the tourists and let you know if there’s any problem. Give me a ring if you need help with anybody else.’
Cameron’s lips stretched into a smile. ‘Thank you, lass.’
Trying hard not to look at anyone else in the pub, she put her woolly hat on, fastened her coat then moved in front of Marc and extended her hand. ‘I’ll wait for you in the car.’
He handed her the keys. ‘I’ll be straight out.’
She nodded and strode out.
Marc looked at Niall who sat drinking his beer as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just hurt and embarrassed the woman he pretended to care for.
‘You claim to be Rosalie’s friend,’ he started, ‘so act like one. She has enough to cope with at the moment without having to put up with your bruised ego and temper tantrums.’
Niall put his pint down and smirked. ‘Really? I’ve known Roz for years. I know what she needs. I know what’s good for her. And you’re not it.’
Marc never paused to think. Leaning across the table, he grabbed Niall’s shirt collar and lifted him off his seat. ‘That may be so, but if you know what’s good for you, then you’ll not talk to her like that again.’
Niall’s face flushed a deep red, his blue eyes bulged out and he made a strangled sound. Fergus sprung up and laid a pacifying hand on Marc’s shoulder. ‘Hold it, my lad. I think he got the message.’
Marc released Niall who slumped back onto the padded seat, rubbed his throat and started coughing.
‘I’ll leave you to enjoy your drink,’ Marc said as he slipped his coat on. ‘Gentlemen.’
Fergus and the rangers stared at him in awe and muttered goodbyes.
Once outside he took a long, deep breath of freezing cold air and looked up at the grey sky. What on earth had possessed him? He had just behaved like some Neanderthal throwback and overreacted in a big way by grabbing Niall Murray by the throat. The relationship between Niall and Rosalie was nothing to do with him. He shouldn’t care about Rosalie being upset. No, he corrected, he didn’t care about her. She only happened to be momentarily caught in a financial transaction he was involved in, and as soon as he sold Raventhorn, she’d slip out of his life forever. And yet the urge to throttle the mechanic had been so strong his usual self-control had completely deserted him.
Behind him two men walked out of the pub. They were talking in low voices but their accent was unmistakably cockney. Surprised, Marc turned round but only glimpsed their bulky, black-clad silhouettes as they disappeared down the dimly lit street and turned the corner.
A car horn beeped nearby, startling him. Rosalie waved to him from behind the wheel of the Range Rover.
‘I’m driving,’ she said as soon as he opened the door.
He opened his mouth to protest that it was a bad idea but looking at the firm tilt of her chin and anger in her eyes, he bit his tongue and said nothing. The last thing she needed now was an argument about her driving skills.
They drove to the Cairngorms National Park in total silence. She didn’t even put her favourite pop radio on. He guessed she was still brooding, so he didn’t speak either.
Daylight was fading fast so Rosalie switched the headlights on. The road turned into a slippery track, twisting and turning as it climbed up the hills towards peaks shrouded in mist and snow clouds. On the one side a steep slope hurtled down towards a river. On the other side stood a thick forest. The car brushed against long feathery branches of Caledonian pines at every tight turn. There was no oncoming traffic, no other vehicle on the road. They were alone in a frigid white world.
They came across a sign to a holiday village and forked right.
‘There are a few chalets here, but the new lodges are higher up,’ Rosalie explained after they passed several timber cottages, dark and empty. ‘It’s strange that anyone should be renting one at this time of year.’
The single-track road climbed in and out of the forest. A fox shot out in front of them and Rosalie slammed on the brakes. The wheels spun, the car skidded and stalled. She cursed under her breath and started the engine again.
Lights peeped through tall, dark fir trees, and he saw the holiday lodge. In the gathering dusk and with smoke billowing out of the chimney, it looked warm and welcoming. No car was parked at the front but there were tyre tracks and packed snow so it looked as if another vehicle had been there recently.
Rosalie parked and flung the car door open. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll just ask them if they’re all right and if they need anything.’
She climbed the front steps to the porch and knocked on the door. After a minute or so, the door opened and the figure of a slim, dark-haired woman stood in the doorway. Rosalie talked to her for a few moments.
His mobile pinged, signalling an incoming message. He took the phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen. Kirsty texted that she was getting ready for her evening at the opera with the Turners and sending a selfie of her reflection in the mirror wearing a long black evening dress with the caption: ‘See what you’re missing?’
The sound of the lodge’s front door closing made him look up. Rosalie was walking back to the car, shoulders hunched against the cold and hands in her pocket. He would reply to Kirsty later. He flung the phone onto the dashboard as Rosalie opened the door.
‘They weren’t very friendly,’ Rosalie remarked as she slipped behind the wheel a few moments later. ‘That woman practically slammed the door in my face. There was a man in the other room who shouted for her to get rid of me. How rude of him, when we came all this way to see if they needed help!’
She started the car.
‘What did they say?’
‘That they didn’t need anyone checking up on them.’ She sighed. ‘Well, I suppose that’s good news.’
‘Was it just the two of them?’
She nodded. ‘That woman, I’ve seen her before, with Rupert. I thought she was his girlfriend. She has a London accent, and so does the man who was shouting from the back room.’
There was something else, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to say aloud. Something that had made her stomach clench and her throat constrict so much she had feared she would be unable to breathe. Some strange instinct that pushed her to turn away, run and find a place to hide.
The man’s voice sounded disturbingly familiar, like the echo of a childhood nightmare. Even now, safe in the Range Rover with Marc by her side, she couldn’t stop the shivers of fear crawling down her spine as she glanced towards the cabin and gasped.
A man’s silhouette stood out behind the cabin’s net curtains.
‘Rosalie, what’s wrong? You seem upset.’ Marc looked puzzled.
‘It’s nothing. Let’s go back.’ But her hand shook so much she had to turn the key twice in the ignition before starting the Range Rover.
Night had fallen now and she had to focus really hard to see the road with snowflakes dancing and swirling in the headlights. She forced a smile, unwilling to show Marc her mounting apprehension. Despite what she’d claimed earlier, she didn’t often drive up here when the weather was this bad. They reached the forest and the empty chalets and started on the winding mountain road overlooking the gorge with the river at the bottom.
A massive black four-by-four suddenly appeared at a twist of the road, its high beam headlights on and driving fast in the middle of the track.
‘Move over to the inside, right against the bank,’
Marc said, quickly assessing the situation but Rosalie had already hit the brakes hard.
‘I can’t!’ she screamed as the Range Rover skidded on the snowy track. Marc grabbed hold of the wheel with one hand and steered towards the hillside, but it was too late, and the car plummeted over the edge.
They were going to die.
The Range Rover tumbled and bumped down the hillside. Fast. So fast everything around was a blur of white and dark – the snow, the sky, the mountain and the river at the bottom. It hit a tree and came to a crashing halt. The noise of the impact was deafening – metal crushing, glass shattering and the drumming of her heart as the steering wheel spun madly out of her grip. Her airbag deployed, almost choking her as it pressed onto her face and chest, and she couldn’t breathe.
Chapter Eleven
‘Rosalie, can you hear me?’
Marc’s insistent voice cut through her consciousness and the cacophony of metal crushing, engine roaring, and glass smashing that still rang in her ears. Her face was squashed against something rubbery, and as she opened her mouth to breathe some foul, chemical-tasting dust filled her throat, making her cough. She jerked back and gasped for air, crying out when a sharp pain stabbed her shoulder, neck and back.
‘Don’t worry, it’s the powder from the airbags that’s making you cough,’ Marc said. ‘You’ll feel better when we get out.’
‘Get out?’ Her lungs and throat were on fire, and her shoulder hurt so much she dare not move any more.
‘We’re stuck halfway down the mountain. We were lucky a clump of trees stopped us, but I’m not sure how long it’ll hold.’
Marc peered anxiously into her face. ‘You look dreadfully pale. Are you injured?’
‘My shoulder and my back hurt.’ She tried to move her arm but gritted her teeth as pain shot through her again. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m fine.’ He pushed his door open and let out a muffled curse as he jumped down from the car and into the snow. Through the shattered windscreen she watched him limp around the front of the car. He tried to wrench her door open but it was stuck.