The Forbidden Promise. Lorna Cook
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and yawned in succession. While the flight up to Inverness had been mercifully short, the collective time spent travelling to and from and actually at the airport had been tiring.
Crossing to the window, she looked out to see it was growing dark. In the grounds, she could make out some kind of formal garden with a beautiful clipped-hedge parterre that sloped down towards a loch. The moon began its ascent over the mountains and darts of silver light shifted across the water as it lapped gently. The village, somewhere in the distance on the other side of the forest, from what she remembered from the drive, provided no light. The house was utterly remote.
The smell of something delicious cooking drifted into Kate’s bedroom as she opened the door and hurried downstairs, realising she’d unwittingly ignored the dinner gong.
‘Oh good,’ Liz declared warmly as Kate entered the kitchen. ‘You heard it. You should have seen the dust that flew as I rang it. We’ve not used it in years.’
Kate smiled and looked around the large, homely kitchen. It seemed like a relic from a prior decade. Wooden cupboards and Formica worktops were cluttered with cookbooks; some old, some very new. The new Ottolenghi cookbook was upright and propped open with a red wine bottle. Kate had that book in her flat, although she’d never actually cooked from it because she was out so much. She’d bought it because it had a drawing of a huge lemon on the front and went well with her pale yellow kitchen. Only now she supposed her brother was enjoying the use of it, along with her flat, while she was in Scotland. Kate wasn’t sure how long she was actually going to be here given James’s permafrosty reception. His back had been turned since she entered the room, as he flicked through a newspaper on the worktop.
‘Did you get a bit of rest?’ Liz asked.
‘Mm, yes, thanks.’
‘I’m glad. James has made lasagne. I hope that’s OK?’ Liz said.
‘That sounds love—’ But Kate was cut off mid-sentence as James swung round.
‘You’re not one of those bloody vegetarians are you?’ he said accusingly.
‘No.’ Kate held his gaze wondering if he would have lost it completely if she had said she was.
He spun back round and nudged an old yellow Labrador out of the way with his foot as he opened the Aga door. ‘That’s something then, I suppose,’ he muttered towards the oven. The mouth-watering smell was coming from the lasagne bubbling in the dish.
Kate bent down to the scratch the dog’s ears as it ambled towards her and sat at her feet, investigating her silently. His tail thumped slowly against the flagstone floor and when it became clear Kate had no treats to give, he picked himself up and moved back to his bed on the other side of the kitchen. The scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room had already been laid for dinner and Liz gestured for them to sit.
James placed the lasagne dish on a trivet and stared at it, as if he wasn’t sure whom he should serve first. ‘Help yourself,’ he said eventually.
Kate hadn’t realised how famished she was until now. The packet of pretzels on the flight up from London had been the last thing she’d eaten.
‘Thanks, I will.’
‘Do you drink?’ James asked suddenly.
The serving spoon hovered between lasagne dish and Kate’s plate as she stopped mid-serve. ‘Er? What?’ she asked.
‘Wine? Do you drink wine? You work in PR in London so you must drink gallons of the stuff, but one doesn’t like to assume.’
Kate couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny or rude, but a laugh escaped her lips regardless. ‘Well, yes, I do actually. I mean, not lots—’ she tried to save the situation ‘—but I do like wine. Are you … offering some?’ God, he was hard to talk to.
He nodded. ‘Red? Goes nicely with lasagne.’ He looked toward the cookbook where the bottle of wine stood. ‘I could open some if you want?’
Kate was about to say she would only have some if they were having some when Liz saved the situation from a politeness tipping point by hopping up and bringing the bottle to the table, turning back to fetch three wine glasses.
‘Good to see your manners haven’t failed you completely.’ Liz told James as she opened the bottle. It made a satisfying plucking noise as the cork was withdrawn. He shrugged and started tucking into his plate of lasagne.
The clock on the wall ticked away, providing an awkward soundtrack for the dinner. Kate’s PR training kicked in and she started on the small talk.
‘This is wonderful,’ she said truthfully.
‘Thanks,’ James mumbled.
Silence threatened to engulf the room again.
‘James is really rather talented in the kitchen,’ Liz enthused. ‘I joke he’ll make someone a lovely wife one day.’
He shrugged then shovelled another fork load of lasagne into his mouth.
As Liz and Kate continued small talk amongst themselves about the weather and the village nearby, James practically hoovered his food down. Kate stole small glances at him every now and again. He’d probably be quite good-looking, if only he’d smile. She glanced back at him a few minutes later and found him looking directly at her. ‘Right. That’s me done,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m off to bed.’
He put his plate in the sink, took his wine glass with him and left the kitchen. He was avoiding her already; Kate was sure of it.
If Liz hadn’t been sitting there Kate would have breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he’d gone. He knew how to suck the atmosphere from a room.
‘Oh, don’t mind him,’ Liz said, obviously spotting her expression. ‘He’s going to take a little while to get used to the idea of you being here. Between you, me and the gatepost,’ Liz said quietly, ‘he feels a bit undermined.’
‘Undermined?’ Kate helped herself to another portion of lasagne and Liz did the same.
‘He’s used to ruling the roost. Whole teams of people worked under him at the office. Before he left to come and help me. But of course you’re now here, and you’re an expert in a field James knows absolutely nothing about. So he’s not really sure how he’s going to manage you.’
‘I see,’ Kate said. But she didn’t really see and wasn’t sure how she was going to alleviate James’s concern. ‘Well,’ Kate tried. ‘I’m only here for six months so the plan is to sort of … get you started on the PR side of things – make sure my travel contacts in the media are onside over the next few months, make sure they visit and write glowing reviews, introduce you to all of them when they visit so you have an ongoing relationship with them. I plan to make decent headway and then I’ll hand over the reins to you and James. Hopefully at the end of my time here, you’ll be beating visitors off with sticks and might be able to hire someone locally just for a few days a week.’
‘I know, I know, dear. We talked about this on the phone. All the other candidates droned on and on about how they’d need to move here permanently. How they’d be expecting a resettlement package and all that.’
Kate was pleased her honesty had paid off and she hadn’t been as offensively demanding as some of the other applicants had obviously been.
‘So don’t worry about the nitty-gritty at this stage. For now,’ Liz continued, looking conspiratorial, ‘we need to work out how to get the visitors in and then we need to worry about the PR after that.’
‘Well, that should be easy,’ Kate said confidently. ‘Good PR and a turnaround in visitors go hand in hand.’ She knew her job inside out. It was a rare kind of travel journalist who said no to a free all-expenses-paid mini-break with their partner in exchange for a decent review. And with decent reviews, came an upsurge in tourism – unless there was something very wrong with a hospitality property. Kate could do this in her sleep. And the rest