What Lies Between (16 page)

“I get it. The past always comes back to screw up the future. You should know I’m not taking this lying down. You’re going to tell me everything about the MacIvers: the area, the property, the community—everything.”

“Of course, but I’m not sure I know much that will help. Let’s get through the staff meeting and then we’ll head to the pub and I’ll tell you whatever I know.”

“Is he . . . is Ben MacIver going to be at the staff meeting?”

“No, I’ve asked him not to be. He agreed.”

What I thought I had seen in Ben, what drew me to him, had seemed full of promise. For a brief moment, foolishness had taken over, and I had started to believe that it was safe to relax and trust. That Ben would prove to me that life didn’t mean to be cruel. That good things and love waited for me.

This outcome was familiar. That didn’t mean it tasted any less bitter.

9

Two hours later, I made my way down the hill to meet Calum in the steading where the staff working for the estate were congregating. The path and steps off the estate’s gardens had been torn out and would be re-installed at the tail end of the renovation. In the meantime, the hill made for a rocky and unstable descent, but it was much shorter than trekking back down the drive and taking the road meant for vehicles.

“I’d like you to make Ms. Jameson welcome,” Calum said to the assembled group. “Please give her any help she needs. In case there is any confusion in this transition, Ms. Jameson is your employer and from today you are to direct all questions to her. She and I will work together as she gets acquainted with the operations, and I will work out a time to take her out and show her what you do here.”

Determined to be utterly charming and gain the loyalties of the people here, I moved through the room like a professional schmoozer. My background in sales didn’t hurt. An odd choice of career for someone who didn’t get too close to most people, but in reality it had been perfect. It taught me how to be personable while keeping a good distance.

A solid no-nonsense rectangle of a woman with equally no-nonsense cropped gray hair approached. “I’m Carolyn Drummond. Welcome to Glenbroch, Ms. Jameson, is it? I kept up the housekeeping before you arrived and will get things in order for the opening. I’ll be managing housekeeping after, of course.”

This was the meticulous housekeeper. “The way you make beds is nothing short of perfection,” I said, genuinely meaning it. “I could barely pull back the covers, the sheets were tucked in with such precision. Impressive.” I wouldn’t have to worry about dust bunnies with this woman on the job.

She smiled, her eyes lit with pride. “I do my best. Happy to hear it suits.”

“It more than suits; I haven’t found a single thing out of place. In a house like this, with renovation work going on in parts, that is an accomplishment. I’m glad you work for Glenbroch and not the competition.”

A younger man gave Carolyn a one-armed squeeze. “This woman is a gem. You and Glenbroch are lucky to have Carolyn here.”

“Ryan Fletcher, I could say the same about you.” Carolyn’s pleased, bashful flutter revealed how much she appreciated the compliment. She turned to me. “Ryan and my son went to school together. Ryan’s had his own business now for a good ten years, I suppose. He’s your man in charge of the renovation. And doing a wonderful job, you are. Lovely work.”

“You have high standards, Carolyn, so it must be true, eh?” Ryan said, offering me his hand in greeting.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.”

His handshake was firm, his face weathered and friendly. I had never cared for the bearded look, but it suited him.

There was a sunny glow about these two people and their attitudes lifted my mood.

“If you need anything at all, you be sure and speak up. It won’t bother me, mind,” Carolyn said. “Now I should mention you won’t be seeing much of me until nearer the opening—once a fortnight for now.”

“I will let you know if there’s anything I need.” I took her hand in both of mine. “Thank you.”

After Carolyn moved on, Ryan turned to me. “I’d like to meet this week and review the plans with you. Day after tomorrow do?”

“That would be fine.”

His smile broadened. “Should we have some lunch, say around one?”

“Sounds great! See you then.”

Meeting Ryan for lunch was a bright moment to look forward to. No attraction buzzed between us—I’d had enough in that area to last for a good while—and working with Ryan promised to be pleasant and easy, a gift I needed right now.

Ryan made his way over to refill his coffee and a lanky man with a thick shock of salt-and-pepper hair sauntered up. He looked to be about the age of Calum and my father, if Gerard were still alive.

“Ms. Jameson, Jim MacDougall. Welcome. I hope you’re settling in.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m already feeling at home.”

“Good. If Calum told you, I was visiting my sister last week. She took ill. I’m afraid I will have to go back down later this week.”

“Not to worry, Jim.”

“I have worked for the MacKinnons for several years and I’m keen to continue.” He spun the tweed cap in his hand a couple of times before continuing. “We’ve all heard about your challenges with the MacIvers and such. Came as a surprise, the business between John MacIver and your father. The MacIvers would have their own man for the estate. Aside from the fact your grandparents were dear to me, I have my own future tied to you holding onto Glenbroch.”

Why was I surprised that news about the MacIvers’ investment traveled faster than the internet in this small community?

“I look forward to working with you. Let’s set up a time this week to meet up.”

“As I said, I’ll be going back down to my sister’s in Galloway at the end of the week. If you can spare the time tomorrow, I can take you out to the river where we would be hosting fishing parties. We can talk along the way. I’m out on the estate about half six each morning.”

Of course, an early riser; more than likely the work demanded it. My night owl lifestyle might have to permanently change around here. “Tomorrow morning, then.” I beamed him a bright smile. “I’ll meet you out front.”

“That will do fine, Ms. Jameson.”

“It’s Ellie.”

He nodded, then headed to the food table and began filling up a plate.

A man who looked a bit older than me, closer to Ben’s age, which I guessed to be in the mid-thirties, approached with his hands stuck in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. Stubble was the norm everywhere these days, making his clean-shaven look stand out. His clothes were casual but meticulous, sharp-pressed lines extending down the center of his twill trousers. I offered my hand and he pulled out one of his, giving mine a hearty shake that belied his demeanor.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Jameson; I’m Henry Mitchell. I have a croft not too far from here. I’ve been helping manage Glenbroch’s flock of sheep and few head of cattle, and the chickens and cockerel, which you probably hear every morning.”

“I don’t mind his wake-up call. It’s nice to meet you, Henry. Please don’t be formal. Ellie will do.”

His body visibly relaxed and he opened his mouth to speak. A slender woman with doll-white skin, black hair down to her waist, and perfectly round blue eyes stepped up from behind him. Before Henry could utter a sound, she nudged him to the side and took my hand, shaking it with far too much energy. Her look was striking, if not a bit odd, but most notable was the coldness in her eyes.

“Ellie—I heard you say that’s what you like to be called—it’s nice to meet you. Bethanne Ferguson. I tend the gardens here at the estate and help with the books.”

She tried to hide her once-over, but I caught the hostility before she assumed a frozen smile. Bethanne emitted a vibe as frosty as Ryan and Carolyn’s had been warm. Different from Shayne’s standard protocol appraisal, Bethanne’s seemed personal.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I glanced apologetically at Henry. “The gardens look great. I can’t wait to see what the chef we bring on will do with all the vegetables.”

Bethanne’s unbecoming frown indicated she wasn’t pleased with the idea of me hiring a chef. There was clearly more I should know. “How long have you been working here?” I asked.

“I did odd jobs here during secondary school. I had a knack for it and Angus and Helen took me on full-time. Money was scarce. It wasn’t until Gerard got a loan that things could be improved to the level you see now. I’ve been the main person for the gardens for a long time. I also do office work for the estate . . . I guess we’ll see a fair lot of each other.” Her laugh was strained. “Most of us can’t do one thing around here to make a living.”

I wasn’t sure what I had walked into—resentment?—but it would be best if I could win her over. “Well, I’m glad we have you on board. You’ve clearly been doing a good job. Thank you.”

“Of course, I love working here.”

“And we love having you here,” a male voice said from behind me.

My body jerked in response and my face tightened into a scowl. I caught Bethanne’s opposite reaction—eyes softened, smile widened; she swung her hair back and tilted her face upward.

I wheeled on Ben, caught the broad smile he tossed at Bethanne, grabbed his arm, and dragged him through an open door into the mudroom.

“What are you doing here?” The words shot from my mouth. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Well, I changed my mind.”

“What’s going on?” Bethanne chirped, having followed us.

“Nothing,” Ben and I said in unison, not breaking our stare.

“I’m done here,” I said.

Turning toward a door that would take me into the steading’s tiny kitchen, I spotted Henry staring. Ben’s hand snaked around my arm, preventing my getaway before I could make two full steps toward the kitchen.

“Wait, Ellie. Please, we need to talk.”

Everyone was watching now.

“No need. I understand everything perfectly. And”—I wrenched my arm free—“don’t touch me.”

Bethanne’s expression—dark frown, eyes and brows scrunched tight with displeasure—again got my attention.

Great start with the staff.

Calum appeared in the steading’s doorway. “Ellie, can I borrow you for a moment . . . at the main house?” he asked, disrupting the escalating tension between Ben and me.

“Certainly.”

I clambered up the slope, frustrated that I couldn’t make a more dramatic exit; instead, I slipped and slid on the wet hillside, feeling like an idiot. Calum caught up and followed me in silence until we made it to my sitting room and had settled into opposite chairs.

“This has been a tough day for you, Ellie. Are you sure you want to join the staff at the pub tonight? You can do it later this week.”

“It’s probably not such a good idea tonight.” Bethanne was acting weird and I couldn’t deal with Ben right now.

“I’ll talk to them and tell them a night out will be arranged for another time. How about heading over to the pub for a drink, you and me, and we can talk there,” he suggested. “But I must say, I don’t have much more to tell you than what I have already said. I’m from Inverness, not this area. I don’t know what happened years ago or much about the folk here.”

“Getting away from here sounds good in any event,” I said, my smile sincere. No use ripping on him. Calum was an ally. And I needed all the allies I could find.

Calum left to go back and talk to the staff, and I jumped on my laptop to check my inbox and send Kami the email I’d promised with my impressions of Scotland. I wrote and rewrote it, filtering out my anger with each draft and leaving in only the descriptions of the Highlands and the way this land had run away with my heart. No reason to taint her enthusiasm.

Calum held the door for me as I entered the pub that was housed in the inn at the end of the loch. The interior was full of dark wood, aged by time and at least two centuries of visitors. Nailhead-trimmed leather booths lined the long wall of the main room, anchored at one end by a fireplace, which was crowned by a thick, hand-cut mantle. My kind of place.

We took a booth near the fire, and I was immediately swathed in the melodic discord of Highland accents, the
snap
and
pop
of flames consuming crisp hunks of wood, the
thunk
of a pint glass on the wood bar top amid passionate exclamations over a rugby match on the television. The distrust and anger consuming me began to lose momentum in the pub’s sensory mishmash. I watched my fingers trace the length of a scar in the old wood table again and again until the rest of me quieted.

Calum placed a glass in front of me. His good-natured manners helped soothe my resentment. Staring at the whisky’s golden light, nearly alive with the fire dancing through the glass, I couldn’t hear the noise of the pub.

My thoughts drifted back to the night sixteen years earlier when, after the investigator contacted him, Gerard had called me. He was drunk—and still drinking, the
clink
of ice in his glass audible through the phone. He had wanted to come over, talk. It was one in the morning. I wished I’d let him come to my house even though he had been drinking. We might have talked until the sun rose. We might have said what was easier to say in the dark of the night with drink in the veins.

Even though words were exchanged the next day at his house that one and only time we met, we never talked honestly in the bright midday light. How could I have known that we would never speak again?

I tilted the glass toward Calum in a silent toast.

“If you like it, I’ll tell you what it is and get you another,” Calum said.

The soft, burnished elixir slid over my tongue into my throat, and a memory of another night rushed back . . . a night that seemed to belong to a different life. But that night had only been two sleeps ago.

I know this whisky.

Ben’s face followed unbidden, his touch searing my skin, his mouth melting into mine. I tossed down the rest of the contents of the glass and set it gently on the table. “Old Pulteney 17 with a touch of water,” I said quietly.