The House on the Shore (33 page)

He slowly climbed the
leaf-covered
steps to the front door and rang the bell.
A plump,
middle-aged
woman dressed in a green and blue kilt
and
a
navy
blue
sweater, opened the door.

“
Fin
dlay
Armstrong.
An old friend of the Laird.
Is he in?”

“Mr
.
Alistair is in the library.
If you’ll wait in the hallway, I’ll tell him you’re here, Mr
.
Armstrong.”

Fin
stepped inside. He
waited while the old woman shuffled away.
There
was a strange smell in the air—damp and mildew, the arch-enemy of any householder.
It reminded him of the cellars in his former home near Crief
f
.

He ran a han
d along the heavy oak furniture. I
t was covered in dust and grime.
He looked around for something to wipe his hand on and settled for the threadbare seat of a Chippendale chair.
There had been other Chippendales
,
he remembered sitting on them.
Where had they gone?

Alistair’s mother would never have allowed the house to get in such a state.
I
n her day, the house was staffed by a bevy of servants.

“
Fin
!
This is a surprise!
Come in.
Come in,
” Alistair said.

“I was in the area and thought I’d drop in.
I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.
Come through to the morning room.
Mrs
.
McTavish, rustle up some coffee and sandwiches for our guest.
There’s a dear.”

Mrs
.
McTavish shot him a glare and shuffled away.

Fin
followed Alistair down the hallway.
The faces of previous generations of Grant’s peered down at h
im from the numerous portraits.

“Ah, I remember these people,”
Fin
said.
“They looked down on me a good bit since I always seemed to be inebriated whenever I
stayed
here.
So were you.
Good times, eh, Alistair?”

“Very good,” Alistair mumbled.

“What’s happened here, old chum?
The estate
used to be quite the playground.
It’s all gone rather depressing, don’t you think?”

“It’s still got its charm.”

“If you say so.
T
hese paintings—
i
f it were me, I’d sell the lot.”

Alistair scowled.
“I can’t
,
at least not until I inherit the estate.”

“You mean you
haven’t.
I
thought with the old man out of commission…well, doesn’t that mean this is place is all yours?”

“Not precisely.
Father would have to pass on before
I officially inherit
.”

Fin
went directly to the drinks cabinet.
He found a collection of crystal decanters inside and sniffed at the contents of each until he found one he liked.
Looking for ice and finding none
,
he poured himself a lavish drink.

“Hope you don’t mind, old thing.
Long drive and all that.”
He
sank down onto the faded chintz-
covered sofa, the springs groan
ing
under his weight.
“I still say the old place looks a bit different from when I was here last.
Do you
have only the one servant now?”

“It’s hard
to find good staff these days—”

“You mean it’s too
god
damned expensive!
In your parent’s day you had what, ten?
Twenty?”

“Only seven, including the cook.”

“The estate used to hold such grand parties.
And the fancy dress balls
,
do you remember the time we had the same costume and that girl
,
what was her name?”

“Lucy.
Lucy
Colquhoun
.”

Just then there was a knock at the door.
Mrs
.
McTavish scowled as she set the tray on a wide rosewood table.

Alistair smiled extravagantly.
“Just leave the tray, if you would, Mrs
.
McTavish.”

The
servant nodded and left.

Fin
swirled his drink.
“Too bad you’ve no ice in here.
What were we talking about?
That’s right, Lucy Colquhoun.
God she was a stunner
;
blonde hair, sapphire blue eyes, long
legs
and big breasts.
She couldn’t tell us apart.
She k
issed you
,
and thought it was me.
God that was so funny!”

“
C
an we cut the social chit-chat,
Fin
?
I assume there’s a purpose to your visit.”

“My dear boy, that’s no way to talk to your saviour.
I’ve driven a long way.
You could at least refill my glass instead of expecting me to drink coffee.”
He smiled, revealing even teeth
,
although slightly yellowed they were the on
ly remnant of his boyish charm.

“What do you have already?
Whisky?”
Alistair ask
ed, opening the drinks cabinet.

“Very good, old man.”

Alistair refilled the proffered glass.
Fin
drank th
e contents down in one mouthful
and
held the glass out for a second refill.

“Go easy on the booze, Armstrong.
We don’t want you being stopped by the
p
olice for being over the limit.”

“Aren’t you going to offer me a bed for the night?”

“I wish I could.
Y
ou’ve seen how things are.
Most of the house is closed up.
Mrs
.
McTavish cooks for me or I eat in the
Monymusk Arms.”

“You have indeed fallen on hard times, old boy.
In that case, you’d better have this.”
He took the thick envelope from his jacket pocket and weighed it in his hands.
“I’ve taken my seven
per cent
as agreed, plus the cost of my little trip.
There’s £16,000 plus in there.
Not quite as much as you expected, but at least it will keep the bank off your back for a while.”

“
Only £16,000?
You should have
got
at least £20,000!”

“What can I say except that old cliché about beggars not being able to choose?
T
imes are hard, dear Alistair.
One only needs to watch the evening news to see we’re in the midst of a recession.
You still have satellite TV, don’t you?”

Alistair ignored the question and thumbed through the cash.
He wouldn’t say no to it, but his stomach seized at how little his precious antiques had garnered.

“By the way,”
Fin
continued.
“Strangest thing.
I passed a caterer’s van as I came down the drive.
Are you planning a party?”

“Just a small gathering for the tenants, that’s all.”

Fin
screwed up his nose.
“Oh, how positively boring.
I suppose you must keep the plebs happy.
If you ever decide to host a ball and invite the country set, do let me know.
I could use some cheering up.”
He put down his glass.
“T
hank you for the refreshments and fine company.
I’d better be going.
I’ve a plane to catch tomorrow.
The sea breeze in Monte is always welcome at this time of year.
But oh, I forg
ot,
y
ou know that, don’t you?”

Suddenly it was Friday.
How could the week have slipped by so quickly?
Anna wondered as she drove home after her morning’s work in the hotel.
T
here’d been no further sign of her midnight prowler, and neither had the surveyor returned, but despite Luke’s reassuring presence in the croft
,
she
still felt uneasy.
If anyone asked why, she woul
d be hard pressed
to explain
and would say it was feminine intuition.
She shook her head and laughed out loud.
As if talking to herself wasn’t bad enough, now she was beginning to think like Morag!
Whatever next?

S
he really liked having Luke around.
He was attractive, funny, intelligent, a considerate lover, and if she was honest, she was more than a little in love with him.
T
he part for his yacht would arrive any day.
Then he’d sail off, leaving her with only memories.
Anna s
wallowed the lump in her throat. S
he wasn’t going to think about that until the day it happened.
In the meantime
,
there was a
c
eilidh to attend.

The croft came into view as she steered the old Land Rover r
ound the last bend in the track. S
he let out a sigh.
It was home.
H
er
home.
The only place she ha
d ever felt truly happy.
With summer already half over the
re were major decisions to make, but she woul
d worry about them later, she told herself
,
as she climbed out of the driver’s seat.
She greeted the two dogs and walked towards the loch.

Luke had set up his easel close to the water’s edge.
Anna stood
and
watched as he roughly sketched in the scene before him with a pencil.
Once satisfied with his drawing, he opened his palette of watercolours and started mixing until he had the exact shade he needed.
Selecting a broad flat brush, he applied a pale blue wash to the heavy paper.
Next, he took a paper towel and ca
refully dabbed away the excess.

Anna shifted from foot to foot and continued to watch.
When the paper had dried, Luke chose a rounded brush, and started adding detail.
She didn’t understand the techniques involved, but
layer-by-layer
, the painting evolved.
Slowly th
e mountains began to emerge,
then the loch, and
finally
Sandpiper in the foreground.

When he sat back to examine his work, she stepped forward and slipped her arms
around his neck and kissed him.

“Hi
,
there, handsome.”

“I didn’t hear you drive in.”
Luke put down his palette and brush.

“You were engrossed.”
She nodded at the painting.
“It’s very good.”

“It’s not bad.
I can do better.
I just don’t seem to be able to capture the reflection of the mountains on the loch.
How was work?”

“Tiring,
i
t’s too hot.
We’ll have a storm before the night is out.
The hotel is full for the
c
eilidh
this evening
.
It seems that Alistair Grant has invited most of the village, including, I might add, Ms Anna MacDonald and her guest.
This was waiting for me in the hotel reception
.
”
Anna waved her gilt-e
dged invitation under his nose.

“I thought you said the
c
eilidh was just for
the
tenants.
Are you going?”
Luke rested
his hand intimately on her hip.

“I wasn’t going to go, except Lachlan is still away
,
and Morag was so looking forward to it that I didn’t have it in my heart to say no.
Apparently
,
he telephoned her last night to apologi
z
e.
He’s been asked to stay on the rig for another week while his opposite number is on holiday.
Besides, this will be your opportunity to experience a traditional Scottish
c
eilidh first-hand, and nobody throws a party like the Scots.”