She’d been miserable here for months. Always smiling, always agreeing to do more, to work late, to help others out. Never mind the hours she put in at the office, there was never really time off at home. Aches and muscle pains, sleepless nights, tension headaches, all signs that her body needed a break.
And maybe this was a sign.
No matter how ridiculous it sounded.
Her fingers tapped out the email quickly—before she had a chance to think straight and change her mind. She picked up the files on her desk and carried them outside.
Alice was worried. Laurie could tell by the frown on her forehead and the way her pencil was banging on the desk.
Laurie took a deep breath and gave her a smile, lifting a pile of Post-its from her desk. She started slapping them on the files. ‘I’m taking some time off. Pink for Frances, green for Paul and yellow for Hugo. After I’ve been at court this afternoon there’s nothing they can’t handle. Ask them just to pick up where I left off.’
Alice nodded, her mouth gaping open as Laurie handed her the instructions from the letter. ‘Can you book me a train ticket and sort out some accommodation for me?’
Alice put her pencil to good use and started scribbling. ‘You’re going to go? Really? When do you want to leave?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Several heads poked up at the surprise in Alice’s voice from the pods around them.
Laurie nodded. ‘I’m supposed to be there Friday through to Monday evening.’
Laurie Jenkins taking a holiday. It was unheard of.
Maybe it was time for change.
* * *
Callan stared at his watch for the twentieth time. This was his last pickup of the day.
Thank goodness. So far, there had been the loud Canadians, the over-excited Americans, the bad-tempered Irishman with the very sweet Irishwoman, and several others from around Scotland. Once the hoity-toity lawyer arrived from London he was all done.
He must have been mad. Why on earth was he agreeing to be part of this ridiculous debacle?
He sighed. What was the bet that Ms Lawyer was extra tired and extra crabbit? By his estimations she’d have travelled four and a half hours from London to Glasgow, another four hours from Glasgow to Fort William, and the last part of the journey on the steam locomotive.
He leaned back against the stone wall of the old station. He could see the steam in the distance. She could have stayed on the train from Glasgow—it did come on to Mallaig—but like any good tourist she must have preferred to take the Harry Potter train and cross the viaduct.
It wasn’t really a problem. He couldn’t blame her desire to see the stunning Scottish countryside. It just meant she was a later arrival than everyone else.
The train pulled into the station and the tourists piled out. Most of them would be staying overnight in Mallaig—a coach was parked outside the station to transport them to their accommodation.
It took a few moments for the steam and chattering crowds to completely clear.
Wow! That was Mary Jenkins? So, not what he was expecting.
Instead of an iron-faced middle-aged woman the smoke cleared around a long-haired brunette, with slim pink Capri pants, a white loose tunic and a simple holdall in one hand. Far from looking tired, she was fresh-faced and brimming with excitement.
Callan was used to beautiful women—he’d dated enough of them—but this was a shock to the system. Her clothes highlighted her curves, the swell of her breasts beneath the thin tunic and her Capri pants showing a hint of lightly tanned skin.
She walked over quickly. ‘Callan McGregor? Thank you so much for meeting me.’ She reached over and grasped his hand firmly between both of hers.
Zing. What was that? A wave of tiny electric shocks shot up his arm.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ She waved her hands around. ‘What an absolutely gorgeous setting. I’ve had an absolute ball on that train.’ She pointed to the camera around her neck, nestled next to a gold locket. ‘I must have taken around a hundred pictures.’
He was trying to remain calm. He was trying not to let the corners of his mouth turn upwards in surprise. It wasn’t just that she was pretty—she was gorgeous. Warm brown eyes, clear skin, curls bouncing around her shoulders and full pink lips. ‘Mary Jenkins?’ he queried. The name just didn’t suit her at all.
She let out a laugh. Nothing quiet and polite, but a deep, hearty laugh that came all the way up from her painted pink toes. ‘What? No one has ever called me that! It’s Laurie. Laurie Jenkins. My father called me after his elderly aunt Mary, but I’ve always been known by my middle name Laurie.’
He nodded. The Mary Jenkins he’d pictured in his head had looked nothing like the Laurie Jenkins standing on the platform before him. Around twenty years of nothing.
Was she really old enough to be a lawyer?
She shuffled some papers in the front pocket of her holdall. ‘Let me take that for you,’ he said as he reached down and swung it up onto his shoulder. It was light. It was surprisingly light. Maybe Laurie Jenkins wasn’t planning on staying long? Unlike the Canadians, who appeared to have brought the entire contents of their house with them.
He ushered her along the platform towards his car, trying not to watch the swing of her hips and shape of her curved backside. Focus. That zing was still bothering him. Callan McGregor didn’t do ‘zings’.
He waited for the comment—there weren’t many people with a pristine James Bond DB5 in this world. One of the few over-the-top purchases since he’d made his fortune. But she just happily climbed in the front seat and pulled on her seat belt. ‘Do you know much about Angus McLean?’
He was thrown. He was totally thrown.
Not only had every other single person made a passing comment on the car, every other single person’s first question had been about the castle—leaving him in no doubt why they were there. They could recognise money at a glance.
He should have walked away. After the reading of the will he should have left the solicitor’s office and just kept on walking. Walked away from the madness of all this.
But something deep inside wouldn’t let him. Whether it was a burning curiosity of what would happen next. Whether it was some bizarre desire to actually meet some of Angus McLean’s relatives. Or whether it was some deep-rooted loyalty to the old guy, and some misplaced desire to try and maintain the integrity of the castle.
He waited until she was settled and then he pulled out of the car park.
‘Well?’ She was obviously determined to find out a little more. Her fingers were clenched tightly in her lap, her index fingers rotating around each other over and over. It was the first sign she wasn’t quite as relaxed as she seemed.
‘Angus was a good friend.’
She raised her eyebrows. The sixty-five-year age difference was completely apparent and must be sparking questions in her brain.
‘So, you’re not one of his relatives?’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, you’re not one of...my relatives?’ Her voice tailed off and she shook her head with a little half-smile. ‘I can’t get used to the thought of any of this. It was only ever me, my mum and my dad. My dad died ten years ago. I never imagined anything like this would happen. It all seems so unreal—like I’m caught in a dream.’
‘Oh, it’s real all right,’ he muttered under his breath. Then he shook his head and gave a woeful smile. This woman really didn’t have a clue how he felt about any of this. ‘I guess the Harry Potter train will do that to you.’
Her face broke into a wide, dreamy grin. ‘It was fantastic. My secretary booked it for me. I haven’t had a holiday in a while and she obviously knew I would like it.’
He tried not to let his ears prick straight up. She hadn’t had a holiday in a while. What did that mean? Did she work for some hotsho
t company that made their employees work one hundred hours a week? Or did she just not have anyone to go home to? His eyes went automatically to her hand, but she’d moved it, jamming her left hand under her thigh and out of his sight.
‘How did you meet?’ Her voice cut through his thoughts. Boy, she was persistent. She still hadn’t even mentioned the castle.
A shadow passed across his face and his lips tightened. ‘I met Angus when I was a small boy. I spent quite a bit of time at Annick Castle.’
Something flickered across her face—doubtless another question—but something obviously told her to change tack and she let it go.
‘So, what’s going to happen this weekend? Are you organising things?’ Did she think he was an employee? Even though he was offended, it was a reasonable assumption. After all, he had picked her up from the station.
He signalled and turned off the main road, passing some stone columns and an extravagant set of entry gates, and heading down a long, sweeping driveway.