Miranda's Mount

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘What place?’

  ‘The castle. What’s the matter? You seem miles away.’

  ‘Brain freeze,’ she said, pointing at the ice cream ‘What did you say about the castle?’

  ‘That it was incredible, how it was built in medieval times, considering they had no mechanical tools.’

  She stared at the turrets and towers, rising up in a Gothic fantasy. Except it wasn’t a fantasy. It was a living and breathing community where people had lived and loved and which they’d died to defend. ‘They had faith, I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘And I don’t?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, Jago.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  Miranda pushed her tongue deep into the cone, caught Jago staring at her and quickly removed it. ‘What did you really want to talk to me about?’ she asked.

  ‘A few things.’

  ‘Ah, Jago! Idling as usual.’

  At the shout from the harbour, they turned to find Lady St Merryn being helped from a boat that had just arrived. She waved a hand as the boatman helped her up the gangway and onto the quayside.

  ‘Mummy needs me,’ he said. ‘We’d better go and meet her and save her the walk.’

  Lady St Merryn’s arrival was a welcome distraction. Miranda wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Jago had been about to say; it couldn’t be anything she wanted to hear. His mother shook her head in mock disbelief when Jago arrived. ‘Good grief. You’ve actually let down your hair and come down from the tower.’

  Miranda felt wicked. ‘He wanted an ice cream.’

  ‘I needed to inspect the café,’ said Jago, licking a drip of ice cream from his finger.

  ‘Hmm. I hope you’re not wasting my property manager’s time.’

  Miranda dumped the end of her cone in a litter bin as Jago swallowed his whole.

  ‘How was Penzance, Mother?’

  ‘As exotic as ever. There’s talk of John Lewis opening but I can’t see it myself … not that it matters to me any more.’ She held up a carrier bag of brochures. ‘I’ve been to the travel agency.’

  Jago shook his head. ‘You could have booked a trip online. I would have helped you.’

  ‘You’re right. I could have wasted a day of my time, getting precisely nowhere and probably spending half of it watching videos of skateboarding dogs. I’m quite capable of finding my way around a website, thank you, but I prefer to deal with human beings and it’s all sorted now. I’ve got my flight booked.’

  Miranda itched to ask more. She didn’t believe that Lady St Merryn simply wanted to ‘see the world’ and was convinced there was some other motive. Was she going abroad for treatment for her arthritis or for something more serious? Or was she emigrating permanently, or, Miranda felt a shiver run up her spine, going abroad to die?

  Whatever her employer’s reasons for leaving, it was one more nail in the coffin of the Mount. Miranda didn’t want to ask directly and her ladyship obviously wasn’t going to volunteer any information out here in public.

  Lady St Merryn thrust the carrier at Jago. ‘If you’ve finished your ice cream, I’d appreciate you carrying these up to the castle for me and don’t you dare offer me your arm or a wheelchair. I’ll get up there myself. I’m not decrepit yet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  She glared at him. ‘I know that you’d dare do a lot of things. Don’t forget I gave birth to you. Miranda, goodbye. Don’t allow my son to distract you from your work and, Jago, I want to talk to you later.’

  Leaving Jago with the carrier bag, she walked along the quayside, nodding as she went to the staff.

  ‘Are you sure her ladyship is all right?’ Miranda cast out her line, hoping Jago would bite.

  ‘She’s fine.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘I wanted to tell you something.’

  No bite then and worse, he was going to deliver some new blow. She could tell from the way he ran his hand through his hair. A nervous gesture, maybe a guilty one?

  ‘Southcastle Estates are coming to visit the Mount next week. I’d really like you to help me show them around.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda spied Ronnie on the harbour side, eyeing them suspiciously. Despite the ice cream, she suddenly developed a nasty taste in her mouth. ‘Can’t you do without me?’

  ‘I could but I don’t want to. You’re my property manager and it’s going to look odd if you’re not on board with this as well. I want to present a united front.’

  ‘So Southcastle know you haven’t said anything to the staff yet?’

  ‘Of course they do. They’ve already been here informally of course.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘No. They just arrived as ordinary visitors. I arranged it before I arrived but my mother knew about it.’

  Miranda had to take herself in hand very firmly. The news that the potential new owners had already checked out their territory shouldn’t have come as a shock. What did hurt was the fact that Jago and Lady St Merryn had arranged the visit behind her back. But, she kept on reminding herself, it wasn’t her property, it wasn’t her decision, and she had to focus on that fact.

  ‘Until everything is signed and ready to announce to the press, there’s no need for the staff to know.’ He spoke more gently but she wasn’t soothed one bit.

  ‘I just … hate deceiving them like this. It’s not fair.’

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘For God’s sake, grow up.’

  She snorted. ‘Me grow up? That’s rich coming from you.’

  Bugger. He opened his mouth, clearly on the verge of lashing out at her. She’d gone too far, she knew that. It was just … she so much wanted to respect Jago, wanted the man inside to live up to the strong and handsome exterior. But you couldn’t always have what you wanted.

  ‘You’re my senior member of staff and I’ve asked you to take part in a confidential meeting. I expect you to do as I say.’

  It was Miranda’s turn to be shocked now. Do as he said? Who did he think he was?

  Briefly, he covered his mouth with his hand, if he wished his words unsaid. ‘That was unworthy of me. I apologise.’

  So now he wanted absolution from her or perhaps her approval. She’d set her expectations of Jago too high. People always let you down. How could they live up to what she wanted? Her mother couldn’t. Jago wouldn’t. She suspected that the problem lay within, in her own idealised view of what life should be, of what people should be.

  Was it her own fault that she was so devastated by the news that the Mount was being sold? People lost their homes and livelihoods every day and they had to get on with life. She glanced at the castle towering overhead and briefly saw it as a Hammer House of Horror. ‘There’s really no need,’ she said, desperately trying to sound neutral and calm.

  ‘Of course, I’ll help you show them round. Now, I have a ton of things to do. Thanks for the ice cream,’ she said sarcastically.

  ‘I’ll pay you for it!’ he called after her but she’d already begun to walk away before she made things any worse between them. She was getting everything out of proportion and caring far too much about what Jago thought of her – and, far more disturbingly, what she thought of him.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda had hoped for rain, mist, even the tail end of a North Atlantic hurricane for Southcastle’s visit. Anything to show the Mount at its worst, with all its problems. Anything to put the bastards off.

  Instead, the weather gods delivered pristine blue skies and unseasonal warmth. The scents of the gardens wafted right to the water’s edge; blown on a breeze as soft as a baby’s breath – some said you could smell it on the mainland. She didn’t really believe that myth, but the Mount was definitely at its most alluring. It seemed determined to pull out all the stops to seduce its new buyers.

  Jago waited with her, looking killingly cool and sexy in a white collarless shirt and jeans. Briefly, she tried the old trick, when feeling intim
idated, of imagining your enemy naked. In Jago’s case, that was not a good idea. Though it was barely eleven o’clock, her short-sleeved top was already sticking to the small of her back. She’d chosen a smarter top for the visit, with a cotton skirt just above the knee, and her best ballet pumps. Her uniform would have been just as comfortable but she’d wanted to smarten up, differentiate herself somehow. Maybe she was trying to distance herself from the establishment.

  As the first boat of the day pulled alongside the harbour wall, Miranda spotted the Southcastle party. Wasn’t hard to do. Of the dozen or so visitors aboard only two wore suits and ties. Waving away the helping hand of Jake the boatman, they climbed up the steps onto the gangway and made their way along the quayside.

  Jago leaned in close to Miranda, his warm breath making her cheek tingle. She could almost forget he was selling the Mount. For a nanosecond. ‘That’s the main man, in the pale-blue shirt and black shades.’

  Miranda lowered her sunglasses briefly then pushed them back up her nose. ‘Really?’

  ‘He’s called Pierre Jumeau and he’s the CEO of Southcastle Estates. The bigger guy with the laptop case is Andrew Devlin, their marketing man. I’ve met Devlin before in London, but not Jumeau.’

  Met him in London? So Jago had been planning the sale for even longer than she’d thought.

  He touched her shoulder briefly. ‘I appreciate how difficult this must be for you. And I know you’ll be completely professional. Shall we go and get it over with?’

  She wasn’t sure how to feel about his comment and there was no time. They were almost here, Devlin following Jumeau, his boss, along the quay.

  Jago cast a glance at her and mumbled. ‘You look very … smart. Ready to face the enemy?’

  But which enemy, thought Miranda. ‘They’re here,’ she said. ‘Smile.’

  Jago stepped forwards to greet them with a laid-back nonchalance that surprised her. If he was nervous or guilty about showing the visitors round his heritage, he was hiding it very well. Unless, of course, he was genuinely happy to sell or simply indifferent.

  ‘Lord St Merryn, good to meet you at last.’

  She bit her lip at Pierre Jumeau’s greeting, knowing Jago would cringe inwardly.

  He shook hands with Jumeau. ‘Jago is fine,’ he said briskly. ‘This is Miranda Marshall, our property manager.’

  She saw her image reflected back in Pierre’s mirror lenses. She winced. It was not a good image, part fairground attraction, part Telletubby.

  Jumeau took off his glasses and held out a hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Miranda.’

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Jumeau.’

  ‘Pierre, please. And I apologise for the cliché. It is my real name, not one I use because people expect it.’

  She smiled back. ‘I apologise for mine too.’ She kicked herself. She hadn’t meant to engage with him but it was too late. Perhaps he wouldn’t understand.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said, deep brown eyes glinting with amusement, fully aware of his effect for bad and good. ‘You are named for Miranda from The Tempest, the duke’s daughter trapped on a magic isle. “Full fathom five, thy father lies …”’ he quoted then added, ‘I studied the play at the Sorbonne.’ Miranda found herself impressed against her better judgement, particularly as her French ran to ordering a glass of wine in the local bistro. ‘May I call you Miranda? That won’t offend you?’ he asked.

  She smiled politely. ‘It’s absolutely fine by me, Pierre.’

  Devlin laughed loudly. ‘My God, it’s a bit early in the morning for Shakespeare, isn’t it? Hello, Miranda, I’m Andrew Devlin; it’s me you’ll be dealing with after the sale.’

  He offered a large hand, with fingers so big they seemed almost swollen. A large man, blokey and jokey. Dangerous, thought Miranda, more dangerous than Pierre Jumeau, because she might grow to like him. He grasped her hand firmly but not too hard. Shit. This was no good. She had to keep her distance and things in perspective. This was her future now or the mid-term at least.

  ‘Good morning, you picked a beautiful day for it,’ she said.

  ‘A good omen, no?’ said Jumeau, glasses back in place

  Jago looked at him, his eyes glittering with repressed anger. Or maybe that was what she fancied she saw. It was naive of her. Jago might hate them too but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t sell to them.

  ‘Shall we take a look round on our way up to the castle? My mother will have coffee waiting but there’s no other route up there but by foot.’

  ‘That’s part of the charm, although it is a bit of a hike. I should take it easy, if I were you.’ She cast a dazzling smile at the red-faced Devlin.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Jago.

  Miranda threw him a smile. ‘Well, it is a bit of a pain, you have to admit, Jago. Unless you’re used to it, that is. And very fit.’

  ‘As you clearly are.’ Devlin’s gaze lingered a little too long on her for Miranda’s liking. She was suddenly very self-conscious of her bare legs.

  ‘How do you get all the supplies – food and materials – up to the top?’ asked Jumeau.

  ‘There’s an old goods elevator that lifts heavier stuff from the quay up through the rock to the lower terrace,’ said Jago.

  Miranda cut in. ‘But it can’t take everything, can it? It transports the smaller deliveries but the heavier materials for building work have to be craned in. The contractors have to send them up in small batches.’ She winced. ‘It costs a fortune every time we need any renovation work done and you so do not want to see our repairs bill.’

  Jago looked ready to go pop with fury but Jumeau smiled. ‘We already have seen it and have accounted for it in the budget.’

  ‘Just so you know. I’m sure Lord St Merryn wouldn’t want you to have any nasty surprises when you take over the place.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s much that would shock us. Our acquisitions department has been very thorough in its research. There’s not much we don’t know about the Mount.’

  Behind Jumeau’s back, Jago shot her a WTF glare. Miranda ignored him. ‘After you, Andrew?’ she said, with a dazzling show of teeth.

  ‘Oh, I’d never go in front of a lady. After you.’

  Her skin prickled as Devlin followed her up the steps. She upped her pace, hearing the big man just behind her, breathing heavily. She heard her own breath coming harder, yet he kept pace nonetheless. At the turn of the steps, she glanced behind and smiled at the sweating Devlin. Jago had stopped a little way down the path, pointing out the view over the Cornish coast to Jumeau. The Frenchman was as unruffled as a freshly pressed shirt and nodding urbanely.

  Devlin wiped a hand over his forehead. ‘You were right about this path. You really are fit, Miranda.’

  ‘No choice, really. You’d be the same if you lived here.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you I play First XV rugby but I don’t think I could ever get into the shape you are.’ His leer seemed to wrap around her body like cling film. Her concern that she might get to like him had evaporated and her skin crawled. ‘Shall we carry on? It’s not far to the castle now.’

  Desperate to reach the castle gatehouse, she took the next few steps two at a time. The steps were uneven and one took her by surprise. She caught an uneven edge, stumbled slightly and grabbed the iron handrail to stop herself from falling.

  ‘Hey. Watch out!’

  In seconds, Devlin was behind her, his arms were around her waist, steadying her. Her top had untucked from her skirt and his large hands were in contact with her bare flesh. She tried not to flinch as he kept one hand at her back.

  ‘Are you OK? It’s a pretty hot day for all this rushing about,’ he said, finally releasing her.

  His damp palm seemed imprinted on her skin. She left her blouse untucked, not wanting to draw attention to her body again. The next time they were here, she decided she would wear a boiler suit and Doc Martens, no matter what the weather. ‘I’m fine. It’s usually a bit bracing here at this time of year. It
can get very stormy and sometimes completely wild.’

  She climbed another step and he did the same until he was eye to eye with her. ‘Stormy sounds sound very alluring. In fact, I think a little wildness would add to the charms of this place.’

  ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t think that on a winter’s night when the storms lash the castle or when we have a spring tide and the causeway’s covered for days. You can get trapped here.’

  ‘Being trapped might not be too bad under certain circumstances. And with certain people,’ said Devlin.

  ‘But the storms can cause such a lot of damage,’ she said blithely. ‘And that’s very expensive to put right.’

  He patted her arm. ‘I think we know what we’re taking on and, believe me, we’re more than prepared for it.’

  He leaned in a little towards her, so close that she could smell his aftershave and almost gagged. She gritted her teeth. ‘I just thought I’d warn you of all the pitfalls of the place.’

  Jago and Jumeau had caught them up. Jago watched her, his jaw tight. ‘Everything all right here? Miranda, did I see you fall?’

  ‘No. I just tripped. I’m fine.’

  ‘It’s OK. I came to the rescue,’ said Devlin.

  ‘I’m sure Miranda doesn’t need rescuing.’

  Devlin winked at her. ‘No. Perhaps we need rescuing from her. She’s been warning me about the dangers of taking this place on.’

  ‘I’ve been telling Andrew here about the dry rot and the rising damp and the problem with the roof on the Great Hall,’ said Miranda. ‘And then there was that time we had an enormous high tide and the lower cottages were flooded. You should have been here then, Lord St Merryn. The damage was terrible. We all thought we might be washed away.’

  Jago’s face was like thunder but Devlin started laughing, followed by Jumeau. Miranda realised they thought she was joking. Which she was, so why was she fighting back tears? ‘What do you think of the view?’ she threw out in desperation.

  Jumeau gave a sigh of pleasure. ‘Magnificent. It reminds me of a village perché in Provence.’

  ‘Is that where you’re from?’