Sealed With a Kiss (14 page)

But that kiss
. She sighed, remembering, and switched off the light.

The room flashed brightly for a second as her phone beeped, disturbing her:

‘It’s a terrible shame.’ Jean’s voice carried through from the kitchen as Kate floated into Duntarvie House. Jean put down the telephone and sat heavily
at the table. Her face was grim.

‘What is?’ asked Kate. She looked around, half-hoping to see Roderick, half-dreading the sight of his face.

‘There’s been heavy rain in Oxfordshire for days now. The river burst its banks last night. Oak House is in a terrible state, apparently.’

‘The Maxwells’ family house?’ A wave of disappointment hit her. She already knew the answer before she asked. ‘Where’s Roderick?’

‘He’s gone . . .’ Jean waved her arm distractedly in the direction of the sea, sifting through some paperwork, searching for something. ‘Caught the first boat off the
island this morning when he got the call.’

‘Oh.’ Kate felt herself come down to earth with a thud.

‘He’s left instructions that I’ve to help you wherever I can. You’re really just chasing up decorators and ordering furniture now, though, aren’t you?’ Jean
gathered the paperwork, which had been left strewn across the table, probably by Roderick as he scrabbled to get the problem sorted. She placed it back in a green file entitled ‘Paperwork:
England’.

‘Something like that,’ replied Kate vaguely. ‘I’ll be fine.’ A small sigh escaped her, unbidden. There was a tiny and deliciously illogical part of her mind that
had played and replayed the kiss as she lay in bed that morning; and while she stood under the shower until the hot water ran out; and again as she walked down the estate road to the big house.
Kate had been surprised by her response to Roderick. She’d spent so long convincing herself – and everyone – that she was having a year off from men. Now she was here, having been
kissed very thoroughly, and he was halfway to England. Typical.

She watched in silence as Jean comforted herself with the familiar ritual of making tea, rinsing out the pot with scalding water, adding the leaves, covering the pot.

‘So how long do you think Roderick will be away?’ She was trying to keep her voice level, fiddling with teaspoons and folding napkins.

‘Well, as you know, Oak House is rented out, and has been since his mother died, and he hasn’t been back there since.’ Jean poured out the tea, adding milk. ‘So
he’ll maybe have some sorting-out to do. It’s time he got it done, really.’

‘He hasn’t been back? Not once?’

‘Never.’ She passed a mug across the table. ‘It was certainly too hard for his father, and I think as time went on, Roderick found it easier to forget about the house and what
happened there.’

Warming her hands on the mug, Kate looked at Jean, wondering if it was safe to ask.

‘What was she like, his mother?’

‘Annabel?’ Jean stood up, cup in hand, motioning for Kate to follow her. She passed through a second door in the kitchen into what Kate had always assumed was a pantry.

In all the time that she’d been on the island she’d never seen around the whole of Duntarvie House. The promised tour had never happened after she hurt her shoulder, and she’d
settled into a routine of working at the old oak desk in the sitting room, where there was a phone, a computer and a view across the gardens and down to the sea. It suited her to work in there,
where the fire was always lit and Jean was close at hand, ready with a pot of tea and a bit of a chat. Roderick would wander in and out, often working on the sofa, legs stretched out, dogs at his
feet.

The rest of the house was still a mystery to her, and she didn’t feel comfortable asking for a chance to look around it alone – besides, she was still a bit freaked out by the idea
of all those spooky old rooms covered with dust sheets, full of memories.

It wasn’t a pantry, however, but a wood-panelled corridor, and Jean opened another door. Inside was a library, packed on all sides from floor to ceiling. Kate gasped. She could lose
herself for weeks in here. It had a delicious, musty, old-book smell, and there was a fireplace beside which was a huge, comfortable leather armchair and a window that looked out across the gardens
of Duntarvie House. There was a proper, huge, old-fashioned mahogany desk, complete with a brass desk lamp, a leather blotter and a beautiful leather office chair.

Jean took a key from a pot on a shelf, unlocked a long drawer and pulled it open. Inside lay a stack of enlarged black-and-white photos, obviously taken by a professional, now browning and
curled at the edges.

‘Here she is, look.’ She lifted up a photograph, handing it to Kate.

The woman in the photograph had long, smooth, pale-blonde hair. She was wearing a straw hat and a strapless sundress. She was probably in her mid-thirties, with the bone structure of a model.
She was looking sideways at the camera, a cat-like smile playing at her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She looked as if she could be a handful, Kate thought.

‘She’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘But why are all her photographs kept in a drawer?’

‘I think it was too painful for James, Roderick’s father, to remember.’ Jean shook her head, lips pursed. ‘He burnt every photograph he had of her. These are the only
ones that survive.’

Kate thought of her own mother, and of the countless framed photographs that lined the walls of their pink cottage in Saffron Walden. Her mum had never remarried following her father’s
death.

‘There is nobody who comes close to your father,’ her mother would say, briskly, whenever the subject was raised. Kate had given up asking now, and it was clear that her charities,
her part-time library job and her friendships were enough.

‘He must have been devastated.’

‘Och no, Kate.’ Leaning forward conspiratorially, looking around the empty room as if expecting ghosts to appear and chastise her for speaking out of turn, Jean explained. ‘He
was furious. Roderick’s mother was with another man when she died.’

‘I thought she fell down the stairs at home?’

‘She did.’ Jean raised her eyebrows. ‘But she wasn’t on her own when it happened. She’d been having an affair with the Right Honourable Ivar Cornwall.’

‘The MP?’ Kate was astounded. He was renowned for his dedication to family life. Having come late to parenthood with his first daughter at the age of forty-one, he was notoriously
outspoken on the need for politicians to lead by example. He was photographed regularly with his much-younger wife, their five beautiful golden-haired children and numerous dogs, outside his family
house near Oxford.

‘The very one.’ Jean took the photograph. ‘He was there when it happened. It was all hushed up. Money can buy a way out of most problems.’

‘My God!’ Kate was horrified. ‘Does Roderick know?’

‘He does now, yes. He found these photographs and some letters locked in a drawer, and confronted his father. For a long time he was a very angry young man.’

‘So that’s why they moved up here to Auchenmor,’ mused Kate. ‘To escape from all of it.’

‘That’s right. His father had been good friends with Ivar Cornwall, and they moved in the same circles. It would have been too painful. After the funeral they upped and
left.’

Kate was intrigued. ‘I can’t believe he just walked away from everything.’

‘Aye, but the Maxwells have a stubborn streak, right enough.’ Jean closed the library door behind them and they walked back to the kitchen.

Kate gulped down the cold remains of her tea and popped her mug in the dishwasher. Billy would be waiting for her up at the cottages. ‘I’ll see you later, Jean. And don’t
worry, I won’t breathe a word.’

On the west coast of the island the sky was a vibrant blue. Kate was sitting on a rock, watching the seals, and trying not to think about Roderick and the kiss. She was failing
miserably. Picking up a handful of stones, she threw them across the beach, startling a flock of seagulls, which soared, squawking, into the sky. It had been stupid to kiss him, or to let herself
be kissed by him: she wasn’t quite sure which it had been. A bit of both, she supposed. But now she was sitting on a rock on what was effectively
his
island, feeling like an
idiot.

She felt her phone vibrate before it began to ring. Pulling it out of her pocket, she looked down and felt her stomach falling to the floor.

Roderick
.

Oh, help. Oh God. Oh no!

‘Hello.’ Her voice came out as an unappealing squeak.

‘Kate.’

Oh God. Oh, help. ‘Hello.’

‘Sorry, I don’t have long. I gather Jean’s told you what’s happened.’ His voice was clipped and brusque, and he sounded very far away.

She closed her eyes, feeling a blush spread from her forehead to her toes and back again.

‘She has,’ she replied. Come on, she thought, sort yourself out. If he can do business-like, so can you. ‘I’ve been to the cottages today, and the glaziers are
in.’

‘Great.’ He sounded more like himself. ‘Can I leave you to sort out the barn with Billy?’

‘That’s fine. I took a call this morning.’ She couldn’t help herself, she was smiling. ‘And guess what? I’ve got a booking for the big cottage over Christmas
and New Year.’

‘Really?’

She could hear a smile in his voice.

‘That’s amazing. Well done, Kate, you’re doing a wonderful job.’

Thanks, thought Kate, but now you’re talking to me like an employee, and last night you had me up against a wall. A thrill of excitement shot from her toes up through her whole body before
she gathered herself.

‘Kate? This line is terrible. I can’t hear you at all.’

‘Sorry. I mean, thank you. I’m glad you’re pleased.’ The conversation was painfully stilted. ‘Anyway, if everything goes to plan, the cottages will easily be
finished by then. The tiler from the mainland is doing the kitchen tomorrow.’

‘Perfect. Right then, if you’ve got everything under control, I’m going to go,’ he said. ‘It sounds like you don’t need me, so I’ll be in touch once
I’ve got Oak House sorted.’

His voice was cool and distracted. He obviously had no plans to mention anything at all. It was pretty clear how Roderick planned to handle last night.

‘Take care, Kate. I’ve told Jean to keep you on the straight and narrow.’

‘How long will—’ she started the sentence, but he was gone. She closed her eyes in horror and despair, and sat on the rock until long after the sun had set.

At home Willow, irate at having been left alone for three hours, had eaten half of Kate’s iPod. Retrieving the tangled mess of wire and plastic from the dog bed, Kate didn’t have the
heart to tell her off. She grabbed her lead and a torch and set off into the darkness to walk the puppy.

‘Aha, a wanderer in the night.’

Kate heard Ted’s voice before she saw him. ‘Bloody hell! You made me jump.’

‘Bit late for a dog-walk, isn’t it?’

‘She ate my iPod. I spent three hours sitting on a stone at Selkie Bay wondering how I ended up here, and when I got home she’d weed on the floor in disgust and taken it out on my
iPod.’

‘Come on, you.’ Ted whistled to his dogs, which came hurtling up, panting, with Willow orbiting them in excitement, a blur of ears and fur. ‘Morag’s got the kettle on,
and she’s been baking. You look like you could do with a piece of cake.’

He put an arm around her, and they trudged round the corner to the stable yard. The security lights flashed on automatically. With a groan and a clatter of hooves, Thor appeared at his stable
door, eyes blinking in the unexpected light, silver forelock festooned with wood shavings.

‘I’ll take the dogs in. Someone’s got up just to see you – go and say hello.’ Ted took Willow’s lead out of Kate’s hand, leaving her alone in the
yard.

Thor whickered at her. She reached for his velvety muzzle, cupping it gently in her hand. He nudged her, his big head swinging forward, then reached down, whiffling her pockets, hoping for
treats. She pulled out a packet of mints, and he took one gently from her outstretched palm. Burying her face in his neck, curling her arms into his long, thick mane, Kate recalled that life as a
pony-mad teenager had been a lot less complicated.

‘I’m sticking to horses from now on,’ she muttered into his long mane.

‘Kettle’s boiled,’ called Ted through the kitchen window.

Inside Morag had laid the table with tea, cake, scones and home-made jam. She patted the bench, inviting Kate to join her.

‘So, I hear you had a good time at the fireworks last night?’ asked Morag guilelessly.

‘Lovely,’ Kate took a sip of tea, and choked. It was boiling hot. ‘Nice to see the islanders letting their hair down.’

‘Indeed it was. And you young ones had a good time, by all accounts?’

‘It was fun, yes.’

There was an elephant in the room, and Kate was trying to ignore it. Morag stared at Ted pointedly, eyebrows raised over her reading glasses. He looked back at her, puzzled, before glancing at
Kate with a little ‘Oh’ of understanding.

‘D’you know,’ he said casually, ‘I might take this into the sitting room. I’d like to catch the evening news.’ He ambled out, newspaper under one arm, glasses
tucked into his shirt pocket, cup of tea in hand.

‘So here we are then.’ Kate leaned down to stroke Willow, avoiding Morag’s eye. The elephant marched across the room and sat down beside her on the bench.

‘A wee bird tells me that you and Master Roderick were caught in a compromising position?’

‘Oh God!’ Kate looked up at Morag, her face screwed up in embarrassment. ‘Is Bruno going to tell the entire island? I don’t think I can bear it if he does. I feel like
such a fool.’

‘Hush yourself.’ Morag covered Kate’s hand with her own, and looked into her eyes. ‘Bruno mentioned it to me because he suspected I’d be the one left picking up the
pieces.’

Kate pulled her hand away, suddenly rigid. ‘Really? Is Roderick in the habit of kissing girls and then pretending it didn’t happen?’