‘You haven’t done anything,’ Fraser said. ‘It has to start somewhere.’
‘Right, lad. And who’s going to pay for it?’
Fraser scrubbed his hands through his hair, either side of his head, trying to keep his temper in check. Trying not to lose it with his old man in front of Elspeth. But his father was testing every ounce of his reserve.
‘Are you telling me there’s no money?’ He forced the words out through gritted teeth, the effort of not shouting them making them come out short and clipped. ‘What’s happened to it?’
Malcolm threw his hands up, but the helplessness of the gesture did nothing to calm Fraser.
‘I’m telling you it’s impossible to keep up,’ Malcolm said. ‘I’ve tried. I am trying. But this place soaks up every penny and then comes back asking for more.’
‘We have an entire estate to support us. What’s happening to all the rents? What about the investments?’
The money that Fraser had inherited and invested had been doing so well for so long he couldn’t believe that the estate that had generated the capital in the first place could be struggling. If he’d known....
What would he have done differently? Forgiven his father and come home?
‘I’m doing everything I can, Fraser,’ Malcolm said. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
Fraser gestured towards the rotting floorboards. ‘Apparently not.’
‘Well, I’d love to hear your suggestions—because I’ve been doing this on my own for the past fifteen years and I’m out of ideas.’
How dared he throw that at him? Fraser thought. Make it his fault because he wasn’t here? He’d wanted to be here. He’d wanted his father to choose him. But Malcolm hadn’t. He had chosen some fickle attachment to a woman who hadn’t stuck around.
It had been bad enough when Fraser had thought that it was only feelings that had got hurt. If he’d known that his father was going to sacrifice Ballanross on the altar of his doomed second marriage too, perhaps he’d have been back here years ago, giving him a piece of his mind. Making sure his children’s legacy was protected.
Of course Fraser had suggestions. He had a whole list of them that he had started as they’d driven up here through the woodland and he’d started to get a sense that the place had been allowed to fall into the sort of state that he would never permit on an estate he was managing.
He hadn’t seen the accounts, but he’d known even before his father had said anything that they would be as much of a mess as the castle was.
Could he fix it? A twinge of something like guilt pulled at his belly. This would never have happened if he had been here to take care of it. Instead there was an estate three hours’ drive from here that was flourishing while his own home was rotting away.
But he would never have had to leave if his father hadn’t chosen his new wife over him. This wasn’t his fault. His father had been the adult at the time. This was all on him.
He remembered that Elspeth was standing beside him and turned to her.
‘Let’s go.’
He took her hand, vaguely aware that he was making a bad habit of doing that, and then snatched it back. His father’s lust, kept unchecked, had led them here. He wasn’t going to perpetuate the problem by making things complicated with Elspeth. Here was a reminder, as if he needed it, that indulging the intense desire he had for her wasn’t going to get them anywhere. His father had gone down that path—and look where it had got them.
But Elspeth pulled his hand back, stopping him from storming down the staircase.
‘Stop, Fraser. If you’re running away from this you’re not dragging me with you.’
‘Leave it, Elspeth,’ he said, still angry. ‘You don’t need to be involved in this.’
But she tugged at his arm, enough to stop him storming out. ‘I do need to be involved. Last time I checked, you two hadn’t made such a good job of working this out without me. Now, are we going to talk about this like adults?’
‘I’m done talking,’ Fraser said, turning for the door again.
‘Well, I’m not,’ Elspeth declared behind him. ‘Malcolm, where’s the best place for us to look at everything? The accounts and stuff? I’ll help if I can.’
‘Well...’ Malcolm hesitated. ‘If you want I can meet you in my study,’ he said, his voice wavering a little. ‘But I’m not sure what there is to be done.’
‘I don’t know how much help I’ll be,’ Elspeth replied, sounding more unperturbed. ‘But I’m willing to try.’
Fraser met Elspeth’s eyes and stared, waiting for her to read his silent message: Keep out of this. I don’t need you to interfere. I’ve got this under control. But she stared back at him, steadfast, and he knew that she wasn’t going to back down.
Fine. He should go through the accounts anyway. His father had been ignoring the problem for long enough—Fraser wasn’t going to contribute to his neglect.
‘Fine,’ Fraser said aloud. ‘I’ll see you in there.’
He walked back up to the guest room where he had stayed last night and grabbed his laptop. He wasn’t sure that he’d need it, but he needed the breather. Needed to be away from Elspeth and his father and let his anger subside.
He had been close to completely losing his temper, and he knew that giving in to those extreme emotions was going to get him nowhere. Since he had left the castle and his childhood behind he’d learnt that he had to keep his feelings in check. Not let them get the better of him. It was impossible to make good decisions based on emotion.
He stood at the window of his room, looking out at the ruins of the old castle, the stones warming in the winter sun, the loch a shimmering silver-gold behind, breathing deep until he felt the muscles of his shoulders relaxing.
He had spent hours up there as a kid. Exploring the old building, trying to imagine the lives of the people who had lived there.
When he was calm again, and could think of the conversation that he had to go and have without clenching his fists, he turned away from the window and headed for the door.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN FRASER REACHED the study, Elspeth was peering over Malcolm’s shoulder at an ancient computer. Thankfully it wasn’t the monster of a desktop that he remembered helping his father use before he had left home, but he could tell just by looking at it that it was a good five years past needing replacing. And then there were the papers, stacked on the desk, on the bookshelf, on the floor in front of the leather wingback chair positioned by a cold fireplace.
They must not have heard him over the roar of the old computer’s fan, desperately trying to keep the machine from overheating and blowing up. So he leaned against the door frame and watched them for a moment.
Would this ever have been what he wanted? The woman carrying his child getting to know his father? If he hadn’t left this place... If his father had never met someone else... If his childhood and everything that had followed hadn’t been marked by the choice that his father had made. Would Malcolm still be the man that he remembered before that day? Would his father be a different person? Would he, Fraser, be changed?
He shook his head. There was no point thinking like that. Those things couldn’t be undone. They could never go back there.
They had to go forward. They had to try and make a new relationship. It could never be what it was. But he had missed his father. He could admit to himself now that every time he had thought about his home over the years, every time he had felt that emptiness inside him that he thought could be filled by coming home, he had been missing his dad.
But building something new would mean letting go of what had gone before. It would mean forgiveness. And suddenly Fraser knew that he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t forgive his father...yet. But, seeing him talking with Elspeth, it made him want to. Perhaps one day they could have a relationship again.
He took another step into the
room and Elspeth and Malcolm must have heard him, because they both turned to look at him.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re here,’ Elspeth said. ‘I’ll take brain surgery over this. And I say that as someone who has actually performed brain surgery.’
‘I’m suitably impressed,’ Fraser said with a smile, somewhat relieved to find that it was something he could still do. ‘Let me have a look.’
He pushed another chair up to the desk and pulled the laptop towards him. ‘Right, then, tell me what I’m looking at.’
His father scrolled through a few tabs and open programs. ‘Well, there’s the bank accounts, and the investment accounts. Here’s my cash flow spreadsheet.’
‘Who’s the accountant? Still Taylor?’
‘No, I had to let him go a few years back. I’ve been taking care of things myself.’
Fraser gave him a look out of the corner of his eye but resisted saying anything. If he and his father were going to rebuild their relationship one day he was going to have to stop taking cheap shots every time the opportunity presented itself.
He clicked through the windows that Malcolm had left open on the computer and was vaguely aware of the silence that was falling around the three of them as he scrolled through page after page of financial records, trying to resist coming to the conclusion that was becoming harder and harder to escape.
Ballanross was broke. Flat broke. Falling-down broke. His father hadn’t been exaggerating. There simply wasn’t any money. From what he could work out, it was all gone. Investments had been cashed in for repairs and debts, but with them had gone their income and so the cycle had begun. The situation had gone from bad to worse, and then to worse still, until now there was nothing left, and the mother of his child was walking over a rotting floor four storeys up.
He rubbed his hands through his hair, hoping for the figures to change in front of his eyes, to persuade him that circumstances weren’t as bad as he was reading.
‘Dad... This is...this is bad.’
‘Mmmph.’
The hint of a smile in that one simple syllable made Fraser realise that he’d used the word ‘Dad’ for the first time since he’d been back. It had fallen from his lips without him thinking.
It was a start.
‘What else do I need to know?’ Fraser asked, trying to keep his mind on the numbers. On something that he could make sense of.
He was already coming up with ideas to increase their income. How they could use the incredible natural resources of Ballanross to attract visitors and businesses to the area. To halt the decay of the castle until they had the money they needed to make real improvements. He could see it in his mind. He could see the rooms gleaming as they did in his memory. He could see the woodlands properly managed and flourishing. He could see his child running through the halls as if they were a playground, like in his earliest memories.
‘You know what? Never mind,’ he said. ‘We need to go back to basics. Let’s look at outgoings first. Where’s that bank statement?’
His father pulled it up on the computer and Fraser went through it again, more slowly this time. He asked questions occasionally, when it wasn’t clear what an expense was, and made a few notes on the spreadsheet.
Until he got to a name he recognised and his blood ran cold.
‘What is this?’ Fraser asked. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and he hoped that his father wasn’t about to say what he was expecting.
His father hesitated for long enough for Fraser to know that he was right, even before he said, ‘It’s nothing important, Fraser. It’s Louise, my...wife. My ex-wife. We’re still friends, you see, and she needed to borrow some money for a few weeks. I said I’d loan it to her.’
Fraser could feel the blood rushing to his face as his hands tightened into fists. He fought the reaction down, trying to keep his emotions under control. ‘You’re lending money to the woman you chose over me while our home is falling down around you? What’s wrong with you?’
‘Ach, Fraser, it’s not like that. It’s a small loan. If you let me explain...’
Explain? What could he possibly say that would explain this? He didn’t want to know that his father was still in touch with his ex-wife. He didn’t want to see her name or be reminded that she existed. His father had sacrificed everything for her, for a marriage that had lasted only two years. A flash-in-the-pan relationship that had cost Fraser his family as he knew it.
To know that his dad was still in touch with her, when he himself hadn’t spoken to him for so long... He didn’t know why that hurt so badly, given that he was the one who had walked away.
He rose to his feet, thinking that perhaps movement would help. That he would be able to walk off this restlessness, settle his heartbeat and find some calm. But instead, as he thought more about how his father had chosen her, that other woman, he could feel himself growing more and more angry. Emotions that had been long buried were forcing their way out, pushing him closer and closer to losing control. Tension ripped up through his core, stiffening his shoulders, moving back down to his arms and his fists, and he knew that he was closer than he had ever been to losing control of his feelings.
He headed for the door. Needing to be outside. Needing to escape that toxic atmosphere and get himself back in control. He charged out of the front door out into the grounds and strode across the gravel without a thought to the cold or to the direction he was walking.
* * *
Elspeth took the hat, scarf and mittens that Malcolm had pulled for her out of the cupboard by the door and thanked the Scottish weather gods for the weak sun and clear sky. She waved goodbye to Malcolm and headed out of the door and away from the sun, taking the bridge over the burn, and walking down the gravel path that led to the castle ruins and the loch, her shadow stretching far ahead of her. The sun caught on the face of the old stones, which seemed to glow a warm, creamy grey in the soft light.
She couldn’t see Fraser yet, but much of the ruins was hidden in shadow, so she walked on.
The look on his face when he had argued with his father... It had been like a window into the deepest depths of his hurt. As if every doubt and fear that he had held over the whole of his life had re-emerged at once. She had seen the anger crash over him like a wave, and then seen the fear in his face as a response.
He had not walked out of that room because of the anger. He had been afraid. Of what, though? Of what he might say to his father? Of what he might hear? Or was he simply afraid of the feeling itself, overwhelmed by an emotion he wasn’t equipped to deal with?
Perhaps she would learn something more about him up here, seeing the place he sought out when he needed to be grounded. Even if he wasn’t there she needed to see it, now that Malcolm had told her it meant so much to Fraser. She wanted to know him. To understand him. Because he was the father of her child, she told herself.
But the thought rang false. Like when she glanced at an X-ray and knew there was something wrong before she’d had time to work out what it was.
Her feelings for Fraser had nothing to do with the baby.
She tried to unpick that sensation—the unease of having a thought, a feeling, lurking in her subconscious, just out of reach. If the way she felt about Fraser had nothing to do with him being the father of her child... Then it was him.
As soon as she articulated the thought to herself she knew that it was true.
From the first time that she had seen Fraser at Janet’s wedding she had wanted him. That hadn’t stopped just because of the circumstances that they now found themselves in. She couldn’t stop responding to him, remembering the way that she had responded to his body, just because she knew that a relationship with him would never work. She had feelings for him. She admitted it at last.
But that didn’t mean she was going to act on those feelings. It didn’t mean she was suddenly released from her responsibi
lities and free to be with him. She’d already proved that she couldn’t be in a relationship. Alex had made her choose where her priorities lay, and she had chosen her family. There was no reason the universe would suddenly bend its rules just because she was attracted to Fraser.
The path she was following twisted through a small copse of trees and Elspeth shivered, pulling the hat lower over her ears and the scarf tighter around her neck. When she emerged into the sunshine again she could see a figure up by the ruins, walking slowly along one of the fallen walls, jumping from stone to stone where the grass had grown in—nature reclaiming the site for its own.
She would have known it was Fraser even if Malcolm hadn’t told her he would probably be there. She wondered when she had committed it to memory—the shape of his body, the way he moved, how he carried himself.
Had it been that night, when for hours he had been the silhouette between her and the soft glow of a lamp in the corner? When she had traced the contours of his body with her hands and grasped them with her limbs, imprinting the shape of him on her, the feel of his skin, until she knew just where to touch, how to move to elicit a moan or a groan.
She could bring to mind in a fraction of a second the softness of his hair against her breasts, the roughness of his hands as they skimmed down her arms, making her shiver with anticipation. But as she put one foot in front of the other, bringing her closer and closer to where he sat on a collapsed heap of masonry, she knew that she had to concentrate on the reason they had come up to Ballanross rather than on her own feelings.
Fraser had been so angry back in Malcolm’s study that she had been half expecting to find him pummelling something with his fists. But it looked as if he had walked off the worst of his mood. She knew that she should talk to him about what had just happened, but she didn’t even know where to start. It didn’t matter how much she wanted her baby born into a loving, harmonious family—she didn’t know how to fix this, how to make them a family. She didn’t know how to stop thinking about their night together. She didn’t know how she could live with Fraser in her life without thinking of what might have been between them. Without wondering what it would feel like to be touched by him, kissed by him again.
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