Awakening

by David Munro

  Who’s he?

  “I am John Macmillan, a partner at Macmillan Mackay Solicitors.” He smiled. “I’ll give you lift to our office, it’s easier on the feet.”

  Victoria looked at the shiny white car, then its driver, who got back into his seat. After he opened the passenger door, Victoria stepped inside, and laid her case on the floor. As the car moved off, John Macmillan handed his passenger a business card, which she took and read.

  “My father is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Your timing was perfect.” Victoria turned down her collar.

  “It helps to know the coach times, fortunately, it ran as scheduled.”

  Thank goodness.

  “We’ll be at the office in a jiffy.”

  The sleek Porsche soon reached Ardrishaig’s main street, and as it parked outside Macmillan Mackay Solicitor’s office, Victoria looked at the facade.

  “Just go inside, my father will see you shortly.”

  “Thanks for the lift.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Victoria got out, retrieved her case, and closed the door. As John Macmillan drove off, she entered the premises, and a woman looked up from her desk. Victoria closed the door, and approached a reception area with chairs, plus a circular table.

  “Just take a seat, Miss Anderson.”

  “Thanks.” Victoria sat down, and laid her case on the laminate floor.

  “Would you care for a coffee, or tea?”

  “Do you have sparkling mineral water?”

  The woman shook her head. “Sorry.” She resumed typing on her desktop computer.

  Victoria browsed through the pile of business-related magazines, sighed, then looked out of a window facing the street. Passers-by were well equipped for winter with hats, coats and scarves. She was glad that the office heating was working. Several minutes later, a tall shaven-head dark-suited man came out of an office, and walked towards Victoria. “Hello, Miss Anderson, I am Alistair Macmillan.” He held out his hand.

  Victoria stood up, and shook it.

  “Come this way, please.”

  Victoria lifted her case, and followed Mr Macmillan into a room with a wooden desk, grey metal filing cabinet and two black leather chairs.

  “Have a seat, Miss Anderson.”

  As Victoria sat down, she glanced at the top of the filing cabinet. Mr Macmillan closed the door, and sat behind his desk. “We have booked a room for you at a nearby establishment.”

  “Oh?”

  “Due to Ardrishaig’s rural location, the last coach to Glasgow has departed.”

  Victoria smiled.

  “It is called The Grey Gull Inn, and not far from our office.”

  “I intended to stay overnight, thanks.”

  Mr Macmillan coughed. “Fourteen years ago, Mr Carsell-Brown sat where you are, his great-aunt left Docharnea to him.” Mr Macmillan looked sideways towards a small window, then at Victoria. “Even though our paths barely crossed, his death was a shock.”

  “Did he not frequent the village?”

  “Shortly after moving into Docharnea, he apparently travelled abroad, and only recently returned.”

  “It’s a long time to be away.”

  “He left suddenly, and told nobody of his intentions.” Mr Macmillan sighed. “His electricity, gas and water supply were cut off for non-payment of bills.”

  “If he wasn’t there, he wouldn’t require them.”

  Mr Macmillan smiled. “However, when he came back, the debts were settled.”

  “The property is now habitable?”

  Mr Macmillan nodded. “Every aspect is in order – even the adjoining coach house.”

  “What is it used for?”

  “At present, nothing.”

  “I may convert it into a holiday chalet for visitors to the area.”

  Mr Macmillan raised his grey eyebrows. “A splendid idea, the scenery in this area is superb.” He lifted a file from his desk, and brought out several forms. “If you would care to read these and sign them, please, Miss Anderson.” He laid the forms in front of Victoria.

  She read each form.

  “Please sign your name on the appropriate line.” Mr Macmillan handed Victoria a pen.

  After signing the forms, Victoria handed them back to Mr Macmillan, and he put them to one side of his desk.

  “Is that it?”

  Mr Macmillan rose from his chair, and walked towards her. “Congratulations, Miss Anderson, you are the new owner of Docharnea.” He held out his hand.

  Victoria stood up and shook it. “When do I receive the keys?”

  “You can collect them tomorrow morning.”

  Victoria lifted her case, Mr Macmillan opened the office door, and accompanied her to the exit. “See you tomorrow, Miss Anderson”

  “What time?”

  “After nine o’clock.” Mr Macmillan pointed. “The Grey Gull is on this side of the street, and further down.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mr Macmillan opened the door. “Bye for now.”

  “Bye.” Victoria left the premises with a smile.

  Mr Macmillan watched Victoria for several seconds, closed the door, then walked up to his secretary.

  “Is Miss Anderson the youngest owner of Docharnea?”

  “And the prettiest!”

  “A lucky young lady to have been left that property.” The computer fell silent.

  “No reason was given.”

  “I believe her late grandmother once worked at the Grey Gull.”

  “When?”

  “During the sixties.”

  “I was living in Glasgow, what age would she have been?”

  “Around thirty-five, and, also pretty.”

  Mr Macmillan smiled.

  “She had an illegitimate child.”

  Mr Macmillan raised his eyebrows.

  “The father’s identity remains a mystery.”

  “In this village, that is unusual!”

  The secretary laughed.

  Mr Macmillan returned to his office, and looked at the filing cabinet. Damn! Forgot to hide the bottle. He brought out a glass from his desk drawer.

  Victoria approached the Grey Gull Inn, and entered through its glass doorway. She walked up to the reception desk, laid her case on the brown carpeted floor, and looked around the vicinity. Two green leather sofas matched magnolia walls, which had framed pictures of Loch Fyne and its surrounding countryside. One in particular, caught Victoria’s attention, therefore, she moved closer.

  “It’s by an artist who once lived in the area.”

  As Victoria turned around, a slim casually dressed middle-aged man, walked behind the reception desk. “Sorry, to keep you, I was attending to a customer in the lounge bar.”

  “A room has been reserved for me.”

  The man opened a black register book, and turned to a page. “Miss Anderson?” He looked up.

  Victoria nodded.

  The man turned around, lifted a key off its hook, and walked towards his female guest. “I’ll give you a hand.” He lifted Victoria’s case. “This way, Miss Anderson.”

  Victoria followed him up two flights of carpeted stairs and then he unlocked a door. After entering, the man pressed a light switch, then laid Victoria’s case on the floor. “Any problems, just let me know, I’ll be serving in the bar.”

  Victoria smiled. “A multitasker.”

  The man nodded. “Since the no-smoking ban and banking crisis, business has fallen away, and I now do a variety of roles.” When departing, he gave Victoria the key, and closed the door behind him.

  She took off her coat, put it on a hanger inside the wooden wardrobe, then unpacked her case. After walking across the room, she went to the window and observed Ardrishaig’s well-lit main street. It would not be long until decorative Christmas lights enhanced the main thoroughfare along with festive snow, which had as yet, declined tradition.

  Victoria sat back on her chair, and looked around the lounge bar. A male bar person
removed her empty plate, and gave her a warm smile. “Was my recommendation to your taste, miss?”

  “Yes, the fish dinner was delicious.”

  As he departed, Victoria sipped her glass of white wine, and watched an elevated television set. A weather presenter spoke of more heavy downpours for Argyll, which was followed by a loud groan from the only other customer. Standing at the bar, he shook his bald head and then looked at the white shirted bar person. “Given the recent weather, your black tie is appropriate!”

  The bar person grinned. “At least, there is no snow.”

  “I’ve lived in this area for nearly seventy years, give me a proper winter anytime.”

  “What about the snowdrifts we once endured?”

  The customer took a swig his whisky. “The road to Glasgow has been closed more in the last ten years through downpours than the previous sixty!” He put his glass on the bar top. “This constant ruddy rain is a menace.”

  “Another whisky?” The bar person cleaned a small glass.

  “Naw, no just now.” The customer looked towards Victoria. “Are you a visitor, hen?”

  Victoria looked at him, and nodded.

  The bar person whispered to the man.

  He stared at Victoria. “You’re the new owner of Docharnea?”

  Victoria nodded.

  “It’s haunted!”

  “That’s only a rumour,” said the bar person.

  The man looked at him and then shook his head. “My grandfather worked at Lochgilphead Hospital durin’ the depression and told me aboot a porter who called into Docharnea to pick up furniture for the hospital charity.” He looked at Victoria. “After enterin’ the coach house, he was never seen again!”

  “He just vanished?” said Victoria.

  The man nodded. “Aye, never to be seen again.”

  “There was a rumour that the previous owner had vanished,” said the bar person, “but he returned.”

  “And now dead!” The man looked at Victoria. “I’m tellin’ ye, young lady, watch yerself.”

  The man drank the remainder of his whisky, then walked unsteadily out an exit door. The bar person wiped his bar, grinning at Victoria. “He’s well-known for telling tales.”

  “And, in a convincing manner.”

  “It’s the whisky.”

  Victoria smiled.

  “Mind you, the property has had its share of controversy.” The bar person put his damp cloth under the counter.

  Victoria stared.

  “Older people in the village maintain a coachman haunted the property.” He grinned. “However, that was almost a century ago.”

  “Perhaps he has no reason to haunt it anymore?”

  “It would appear so.”

  Victoria lifted her glass, and finished her drink.

  “Can I get you another?”

  “No, thanks.”

  After watching television for a short while, Victoria rose, and went to the bar. She gave her empty glass to the bar person and he bid her goodnight.

  The following morning, a taxi brought Victoria to her new residency, and as she got out, tipped the driver. She approached the main door, stopped, and cast her gaze around an idyllic setting. As trees surrounding the property were bare due to autumn’s passing, Victoria had an unrestricted view of Loch Fyne. She took out a key from her coat pocket, opened one of the double-doors, and entered. Once inside, she closed the door, then laid her suitcase and a carrier bag on the grey stone reception floor. After walking through a bright hallway, Victoria peeked into each room, and upon noticing a spider’s web, she removed it with a piece of tissue paper. Of the five upstairs bedrooms, one in particular looked onto the courtyard and traditional coach house. The two-storey white-walled building, with shiny black doors and window frames captivated her. She walked down a painted white staircase, through the hallway and then into a spacious modern kitchen. On a shelf, lay a set of large keys with a tab marked ‘Coach House’. From the property’s rear brown varnished door, Victoria stepped into a courtyard covered with small grey chipping stones and faced the distinctive coach house. Since being built in 1896, what mysteries did it hold? A gust of wind blew across the courtyard and Victoria shivered. After closing the door, Victoria turned on the central heating and fortunately it was in working order. Returning to the reception room, she picked up her case and carrier bag, and went into the kitchen. Food purchased from a local supermarket was taken out of the bag and stored. Feeling tired and beginning to warm up, Victoria headed for the living room and a comfy couch.

  Waking up in a darkened room, Victoria looked at the luminous dial of her watch – six hours had passed. She rose, switched on the lights, and went into the kitchen to prepare her first meal.

  On the evening of a full moon, Victoria sat at the kitchen table with her chicken and mushroom risotto, plus a glass of Chardonnay. She thought of her mother, and what her reaction would be when told about James’s passing. She enjoyed his visits, and looked forward to seeing him again.

  A couple of glasses later, Victoria sat back on the pine chair and reflected on her special day. Sitting in a large property in acres of ground was surreal compared to a one-bedroom city tenement flat. She had a picturesque view of Loch Fyne, whereas in Leith, it was a tenement block. The burning question she asked herself was why me? Victoria put down her empty glass, and checked that both exit doors were secure. After switching off the downstairs lights, Victoria walked upstairs to her chosen bedroom for a welcome night’s sleep. Then, a thud came from outside, and after pulling back a curtain, she stared into the courtyard. One of the coach house doors was ajar, therefore, she went downstairs, and lifted a set of keys. Unlocking the back door, an owl’s hoot echoed from a nearby tree. Victoria approached the coach house, fumbled to find the correct key, and locked the door. Returning to her bedroom, she made ready for bed. Whilst doing so, Victoria recalled that when walking round the property yesterday, all coach house doors appeared secure. She lay pondering for a short while, then started to feel drowsy.

  Victoria woke up, and heard a cry come from the courtyard. She got out of bed, pulled back the curtain, and peered out. As the gusty wind had blown itself away, the owl’s hoot broke the night silence.

  Victoria yawned. Must have been a fox.

  She remained at the window for several moments, returned to her warm cosy bed, and fell fast asleep.

  Victoria went into the living room, pulled back the curtains and admired the view of Loch Fyne. The damp Argyll weather did not diminish a morning scene to savour. Victoria stood motionless for several minutes, then went through to the kitchen. Whilst preparing breakfast, she pictured her compact tenement kitchen and its clutter. Inviting a friend over for dinner was only possible if the fridge and tumble dryer had been vacated. Docharnea not only had a kitchen with a dining area, also its own dining room! For breakfast, she would settle for one thin slice of brown toasted bread with marmalade, and a cup of white coffee, which suited her trim waistline.

  A short time later, Victoria went upstairs to make ready for her journey back to Edinburgh. After closing her small case, she put on her coat, and looked in the mirror. Victoria went over to the window, looked at the coach house, and pondered.

  What should I do? The property is too big, also, far from Edinburgh, however, it’s beautiful.

  Hearing the doorbell, Victoria went downstairs, and opened the main door. A sturdy middle-aged man wearing a yellow jerkin and black trousers smiled. “Good mornin’, miss.”

  “Good morning.”

  “My name is Alex, I’m the local gardener.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s what I can do for you!”

  “Oh?” Victoria raised her blonde eyebrows.

  “My family has served the occupants of this property for well over a century, and as you are the new owner, I would like to offer my garden expertise. “

  “How do you know I’m the new owner?”

  “This is a small community, miss
.” He gave a wry smile.

  Victoria stepped outside, and looked around the vicinity. “The garden appears tidy.”

  “When the January storms come, miss, the garden will need attention.” He pointed. “Them trees have branches about to break off.”

  “What if there is no storm?”

  “There will be, miss, I can assure you!”

  Victoria smiled.

  The man looked up at the grey slated roof. “Your gutters need to be cleared of leaves and muck.”

  Victoria looked up.

  Alex gave Victoria a small white printed card. “Call me, if and when, you want work carried out.”

  Victoria took the card. “I will, and thank you.”

  The gardener departed, entered his white van parked outside the front entrance, and drove off. Then, Victoria heard footsteps coming up the driveway and a postman approached. “Morning.” He laid his red bag on the ground.

  “Good morning.”

  He took out a letter, and handed it to Victoria.

  “For me?”

  “You are Victoria Anderson?”

  Victoria nodded.

  “It’s for this address.”

  She looked at the letter.

  “Bye, miss.” The postman lifted the bag, put it over his shoulder, and walked back down the driveway.

  Victoria stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it. Returning to the kitchen, she opened her letter, which contained a hand-written note. After reading it, Victoria picked up a set of keys, exited the rear door, and headed for the coach house. She unlocked the main door, and whilst walking up a creaky staircase, the door slammed shut. Victoria looked back, gripping the set of keys. Upon reaching the top, she entered a room, which smelled of flowers. Observing the mirror hanging on a wall. Victoria approached it, and stared.