Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  Zoe was dealing with a customer, her natural, black curls bouncing as she moved around the piece of furniture she was trying to sell. Isla watched her friend as she talked animatedly, her heart-shaped face lighting up as though Edwardian sideboards were her absolute favourite topic when Isla knew that was anything but true. No wonder Len had hired her on the spot, that girl could sell anything.

  Dressed in her usual vintage style, Zoe was wearing a Bardot top and high-waisted chinos. Her earrings, which Isla recognised as one of Zoe’s own designs, almost reached her bare, brown shoulders, which she shrugged now in answer to the customer’s query, following it with a gentle laugh.

  The customer smiled, and Isla knew the sale was made. She waited for Zoe to ring it through the till, and arrange delivery, before waving her over.

  “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Zoe pulled back from Isla’s bear hug, her wide, dark eyes full of questions. “Everything okay?”

  Isla pulled a face. “Hard to say.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Over Zoe’s shoulder, she caught Tim glance in their direction with an obvious air of annoyance. Zoe followed her line of sight, before turning back to Isla and rolling her eyes.

  “He’s been like that all day. Ignore him.”

  “It’s fine, I’m on my way out anyway. But are you free later? We could order takeaway, have a couple of glasses of wine…” Isla tried not to let her desperation show, but to her relief, Zoe grinned.

  “Glasses...bottles…” she winked. “Either way, count me in.”

  “Great!” Isla felt some of her anxiety ebbing away already. A catch-up with her best-friend would sort her head out, and Zoe’s was precisely the kind of rational, no-nonsense input she needed after a week at Rosehill.

  “I finish at five, so I’ll come straight up, shall I?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Zoe! An enquiry about a bracelet...” Tim’s tone was pleasant, but Isla knew that was only because of the customer standing in front of him.

  “I’d better let you get on before steam starts coming out of Tim’s ears.”

  Isla walked out of the shop door, refusing to glance again in Tim’s direction. He could be as mad as he liked. It was her Saturday off, and after the week she’d had, she’d earned it.

  The pavement was filled with shoppers and tourists, making the most of the lull in the rain. Ordinarily, Isla would battle her way through the throng, but today she let herself be carried along, grateful after a week of near isolation to be surrounded by other bodies, and other lives, allowing herself to be distracted by the faces and chatter.

  A myriad of languages and accents swirled around her, and Isla smiled at the wide-eyed tourists stopping in front of every souvenir shop to coo over the stuffed highland cows, and tartan scarves. What would it be like for Ethan trying to navigate these crowded pavements?

  Isla closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, and a passer-by nudged into her shoulder, jolting her back to reality. Isla mumbled an apology, and swiftly crossed the street.

  She passed the kirkyard, its gate flanked by cherry trees, scattering umber leaves across the pavement that in spring had been carpeted by pink blossom.

  She ducked in and out of low shop doorways, picking up essentials like wine and chocolate before coming to a standstill outside a shop she’d passed many times before.

  A barrel stood in the window, bottles of whisky stacked atop it. Isla stared through the glass, remembering the sweet amber tang, and a pair of eyes the very same colour. A prickle of unease started in the base of her spine, and she was suddenly convinced that she was being watched. She slowly turned away from the window, her eyes roving over the faces of passers-by, but no-one appeared to be paying her any attention.

  The blare of her ringtone from within her bag jarred Isla back to reality. Even more so when she saw who was calling.

  “Hi, Mum.”

  “Isla, darling, how are you?”

  “Oh, you know.” A paranoid wreck. “Busy as always. How about you?”

  “Good, sweetheart, I’m great. I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be in your neck of the woods next week, and to see if you’re free to get together?”

  Isla winced and was swiftly engulfed with daughterly guilt. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her mum, but Juliet Belmont was not easily fooled, and Isla couldn’t imagine sitting down for a meal with her mother and not accidentally revealing everything that had happened this past week in her facial expressions alone.

  “Isla? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, mum. I’m here. That would be lovely.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll message you later with my schedule and we can get something booked.”

  Isla said goodbye to her mum and dropped her phone back into her bag, tugging the straps further up her shoulder. She had to get a grip of herself.

  With one last sweeping glance along the street, Isla turned and pushed open the shop door.

  *

  “Cheers!” Zoe clinked her glass against Isla’s with a grin, and leaned back into the tub chair, kicking her legs over the side.

  She’d been in the flat for less than twenty minutes, but already she’d made herself right at home. Not that Isla minded. Her place might have been small, but she prided herself on how homely it felt. Zoe said it reminded her of a bohemian Parisian apartment, with its jumble of worn furniture, and eclectic style.

  Isla sat opposite, on the faded blue sofa, with it’s button-tufted back and lumpy cushions, her legs stretched out in front of her, cradling her own wine.

  “To the weekend,” she said, taking a deep swig.

  Zoe’s smile faltered, and she set her glass down on the table. “Has it really been that bad?”

  Isla drank again to keep from answering, before remembering how much she’d spent on the wine, and reluctantly placing her glass down beside Zoe’s with a sigh. “Honestly? Yes. Tim clearly still hasn’t forgiven me for Len’s decision-”

  Zoe snorted. “Did you expect him to?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Ignore him Isla, I do.”

  “Yes, but you’re only here one day a week,” Isla pointed out.

  Parsons & Co was a sideline for Zoe- a way to pay her rent and indulge in her passion for vintage jewellery. Her real work was creating and selling her own designs. Unlike Isla, who felt like her very existence was tied up in the business, her entire life perched precariously above the shop.

  Zoe shrugged. “And you should hardly be here at all for the next few weeks, so what’s the problem?”

  “That’s the problem,” Isla said. “I’m not sure I want to spend a few more weeks in that place.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” Zoe snorted, sipping her wine. Her deep brown eyes met Isla’s over the rim of her glass and she lowered it. “Oh my god, you are.”

  Isla reached for her wine. What could she say? Yes, she was scared. Not of ghosts or ghouls, but of something else...something intangible that she couldn’t name. It was changing her, being there, she could feel it. She was changing.

  Isla sipped her wine, and avoided Zoe’s eye, glancing around the tiny studio flat. The entire place could probably fit into the ballroom at Rosehill, but her whole life was in it. That was what was missing at Rosehill, she realised. That lived-in feeling. The study came closest, but even that with its dusty books and bare walls told the tale of a half-life at best. How did someone live in a castle for three years and not leave a trace of themselves in the place? Even his records were in boxes...all but one, anyway…

  Zoe set her glass down with a soft thunk, and Isla startled back to reality. She met her friend’s eyes, dark and full of concern.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Isla sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “At the beginning,” Zoe said, topping up both of their glasses.

  So Isla filled her in. Self consciously at first, aware that to an outsider - to someone who’d never set foot inside the castle -
it would be impossible to convey what it felt like to walk its corridors, or how seeped in tragedy its very walls felt. But as she spoke, and as Zoe nodded along, sipping at her wine, Isla felt the tension in her loosening, until finally, she was describing the events of the day before- of Ethan’s expression leaning over the record player, of the way she’d felt walking away from him.

  When she was done, she drank deeply, before setting her empty glass down beside the now-empty bottle.

  Zoe remained silent, a strange expression having settled across her features as Isla had finished her tale. It was one Isla hadn’t seen on her friend’s face before, and she struggled to place it.

  “Well?” she said. “What do you think?”

  “Whew.” Zoe’s eyes were wide.“I don’t know what to say.”

  Isla’s own eyes narrowed. “You think I’m losing it, don’t you?”

  “Oh, honey, no.” Zoe placed a hand on Isla’s arm, and Isla looked down at it suspiciously.

  The intercom blared, and Isla got to her feet. “That’ll be the takeaway. I’ll get it.”

  She stepped back into the flat a few minutes later, with a paper bag in each hand, to find Zoe’s chair empty. “Zo?” She called out, kicking the door shut.

  “I went to get plates.” Zoe’s voice rang out from beyond the row of shelves that separated the kitchenette from the rest of the apartment.

  Oh no.

  Isla found her standing stock still, plates in hand, staring at the small round table beneath the window.

  The small round table that Isla had spread the contents of the Rosehill file across last night...and hadn’t yet cleared away.

  “It’s just some...paperwork,” Isla said quickly. She set the takeaway bags down on the butcher’s block that formed a worktop. “Here, let me clear it out of the way.”

  Zoe lifted a piece of paper off the top of the pile. “What happened to the missing owner?” She read aloud, and held the sheet up, one neat eyebrow raised.

  Isla cringed at the sight of her handwriting. “Just some scribbles.”

  “Uh-uh.” Zoe set the paper back down on top of the pile. “And the rest of it?”

  Isla turned back to the food and began dishing it out. “It’s information collected by a local historian with an interest in the castle and the legend.”

  Zoe came up beside her. “And it’s scattered across your kitchen table, because?...”

  “Because Ryder gave it to me.” Isla sighed.

  She caught Zoe’s sideways glance. “Ethan MacRae’s assistant,” she said, lifting her plate from the side. “Didn’t I mention him?”

  “No, you didn’t.” Zoe took her own plate of food and followed Isla back to the living area.

  Isla sighed and reached for the TV remote. “Look, I appreciate your concern, Zo, and thanks for letting me offload, but honestly, would it be alright if we didn’t talk about Rosehill anymore? I feel like it’s all I’ve thought about all week, and I could use a break.”

  Zoe’s dark eyes widened. “Of course.” But there was a hint of hurt behind her words, and they ate in silence, the easy mood from earlier lost.

  Zoe didn’t understand. Not that Isla blamed her. She barely understood herself.

  Twelve

  “You came back.”

  Ryder’s relief at finding Isla on the castle steps on Monday morning was obvious. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and he stepped back to allow her through the door.

  Isla could only nod, and follow him inside. Her own feelings about being back at Rosehill were much more complex.

  She told herself that it was for Len that she’d come back, and to avoid conceding defeat to Tim, but they were only partial truths. The full truth she couldn’t admit, even to herself.

  In the hall, the chandelier glittered above her head, in fact, the entire place - as far as Isla could see - looked to be glowing. Low voices carried from down one of the corridors.

  Isla turned to Ryder. “What’s going on?”

  “The electricians are here. The castle is finally getting a rewire.” He smiled, expecting her to be pleased, and she was- no more flickering lights or faulty switches that did nothing when pressed, but the thought of bumbling around in the dark while work was underway wasn’t exactly soothing, and a strange feeling of foreboding crept over Isla as she listened to the low, distant chatter. She gave a small shiver.

  “Isla?”

  She whirled around to see Ethan standing beneath one of the darkened archways. He took a step forward, his dark hair shone and his silver scars glinted beneath the light of the chandelier, like the flash of a blade. Isla’s mouth went dry.

  Ryder answered for her. “She’s here.”

  “Can I have a word?”

  Isla moistened her lips with her tongue. “Of course.”

  *

  She’d come back.

  Ethan could hear Isla’s footsteps behind him as he walked back to the study, his cane scraping against the floor ahead.

  He hadn’t known if she would, after what had happened on Friday. He’d considered what he would do if she didn’t- call her boss? Have Ryder go over there? Forget about the whole damn thing? But what he’d really wanted to do was apologise.

  After the panic had faded and the band around his chest had loosened, it had dawned on him that she might have been telling the truth. That record could have been left on the turntable, the electrics could have tripped...and even if she had been snooping through his music collection, he still shouldn’t have spoken to her the way he had. It’s not like she could know that he’d just woken from a nightmare or understand the effect that piece would have on him.

  He needed to make amends. But he’d forgotten how. He hadn’t apologised to anyone in a long time. Who was there to apologise to?

  They were in the study now, and Ethan could sense her waiting. He felt for the edge of the desk, trying to orient himself in the room, needing something solid to grasp in this ever-changing emotional landscape he found himself cast adrift in.

  “Ryder told you about the work being done?”

  “Y-es.” She sounded wary like she was wondering where this was going.

  So was he, frankly. Ethan nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck and then dropped his hand back to his side. “I owe you an apology.”

  There, he’d said it. Only, he hadn’t really had he? He hadn’t actually apologised. Only admitted that he should. Ethan blew air through his nostrils and tried again.

  “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you on Friday. I was out of order. It willnae happen again.”

  Silence.

  Ethan could hear her breathing, so he knew she was still there. “Isla-” he began.

  “Apology accepted,” she said quietly.

  Ethan’s shoulders sagged. And then suddenly, she was there. Right in front of him. No more than a breath of distance between them.

  “You have something here.” Isla’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, her fingers cupping his jaw, and Ethan’s entire body became alert, his nerve-endings tingling in anticipation.

  “Blood?” Isla’s voice wavered with uncertainty.

  Shit. How had he missed that? Ethan tried to speak, to explain, but all he could manage was a gruff sound from the back of his throat.

  Her fingers left his jaw, and Ethan felt their loss keenly. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, and here she was- sweeping into his life, grabbing his hand, wiping blood from his mouth..it was unbearable.

  “I should get to work.”

  Her heels clicked against the floor, and Ethan felt the draught of the door opening- and closing behind her. He folded into the armchair beside him, and dropped his head into his hands. Oh God, what was he going to do?

  *

  The old nursery was cold. Colder than any other room Isla had worked in so far. She’d chosen it on purpose, because of the distance it gave her from the study. Up here, she could almost forget about the look on Ethan’s face when she’d pressed her thumb
to his mouth...almost.

  Isla’s stomach flipped, and she wrenched her thoughts back to the present, swiftly surveying the debris before her.

  There was something harrowing about picking through the wreckage of an abandoned nursery. The empty cot and the rocking chair alone raised the hairs on her arms, but that was nothing compared to the toy cupboard.

  Isla gaped at the stacks of discarded toys and games and suppressed a shudder. This would take forever. She remembered Ethan’s comment- about throwing the old ledgers into the fire, and for a brief moment fantasised about doing the same with this lot, but she knew she couldn’t. Not because Ethan would care, but because she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to. Besides, surely the only thing creepier than photographing a Marionette puppet would be watching it burn? Isla shuddered and closed the cupboard door. She’d get to that lot later when she’d worked up her nerve.

  Isla moved over to the rocking chair and snapped a few pictures. She rested her notepad on the deep windowsill and began scribbling a few notes to herself about the design- Victorian, and condition- fair.

  From the corner of her eye, Isla caught a flicker of movement and she whirled around. The nursery door stood partially open, blocking the view of the corridor from where she knelt beside the chair. She got to her feet, leaning on the arm of the chair, setting it rocking. It creaked back and forth as she moved towards the door.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” Isla’s voice rang out along the empty corridor and bounced back to her, unanswered.

  Shadows, that was all. Isla shook her head and moved over to the empty crib. She trailed her hand over the carved spindles and wondered about the baby that had slept in it last. She knew from the file Ryder had given her that the castle had stood empty for years. It could have been ten years since this room was last used- or fifty.

  With its big rooms, long corridors and extensive grounds, Rosehill had the potential to be paradise to a small child with energy and imagination, but standing in the abandoned nursery, Isla shuddered at the thought of laying any child down to sleep there.