The Forbidden Promise. Lorna Cook
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bedroom door open. She glanced upward in the direction of the sound. He must have taken himself to bed at some point and was now emerging for the day. The rest of the family and staff would be up and moving, if not already. Constance moved quicker, fearful of being seen. How would she explain where she was going, and why? At the side of the house she took the path that skirted the formal gardens. It would take her longer to reach the cottage but there was less chance of being seen. Constance avoided the loch shore, moving between the trees. When she was out of sight of the house she ran the rest of the way, bracken snapping under her feet as she sprinted through the wood.
He might already be gone. What time was it? She didn’t have her watch. Five o’clock in the morning? When she reached the ghillie’s cottage Constance almost slammed into the wooden door, she was running so fast. Breathless, she lifted the latch, pushed open the door and stumbled inside.
The door to the library flew open so suddenly it made Kate jump. She’d been gazing so absent-mindedly at the handwritten names in the family Bible that she’d almost forgotten the argument that had been taking place in the entrance hall between mother and son. James stood in the doorway and seethed. He appeared unable to speak, his lips forming a thin line. The pen mark that crossed through Constance McLay’s name was forgotten as Kate closed the book gently – expecting her marching orders from the sullen James.
It was Liz who broke the silence, stepping round her son and across the threshold of the room. ‘James will take you to your room, show you where things are, give you a bit of a tour. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up after a day’s travel? And then we’ll dine together, in about an hour or so. Just pop down to the kitchen. We only use the dining room for big occasions. Not that your arriving isn’t a big occasion but … well … you know what I mean.’ Liz blushed.
Kate found it hard to mask her surprise. She glanced at James. So, she was allowed to stay. The vein throbbing at the side of his temple indicated he was less than happy about being overruled by his mother and he now stood in a silence that spoke volumes.
‘Thanks, Liz. That sounds lovely,’ Kate replied, pointedly ignoring acknowledging the son in case the slightest thing she said sent him over the edge entirely. James merely stared at her, turned and walked into the hallway.
‘Are you coming?’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Or am I showing myself to your room?’
Almost running after him, Kate found him about five stairs up, holding a suitcase in each hand, his chin pointed up as he ascended the staircase. Portraits lined the walls along the staircase but James moved at such a speed Kate wasn’t able to get a very good look at them. Two of the paintings were faintly interesting: a young woman in a silver-grey evening dress, dark hair rolled and clipped near her ears and her brown eyes looking directly at Kate – or the artist, depending on how you thought about it.
The portrait by the side of it was of a very good-looking young man facing side-on in a sky blue RAF uniform. Both looked as if they’d been painted in the 1940s. Kate paused to take in the brushstrokes and the genial expression on the young man’s face. The pictures had been moved about fairly recently. The paint surrounding these was a different colour, brighter than the rest of the slightly faded paint on the wall, indicating that the portraits that had hung there not long before had been covering a larger space.
Then Kate noticed she was alone. James had disappeared entirely and despite trying for an air of elegance, she scurried up the stairs to look for him. At the top of the staircase the corridor stretched both left and right. Kate turned left and stared down the lengthy hallway. Faded, almost threadbare red runner carpet ran down the centre of the corridor and pot plants on tall brass stands stood by the walls. Old framed pencil drawings hung between the numerous dark wooden doors that probably led to bedrooms. But there was no James. Kate turned back on herself and saw he was at the other end of the corridor past the stairs, watching her but making no sound. He’d let her turn completely the wrong way and had simply waited for her to realise. Kate smiled thinly despite the fact she was really starting to dislike James.
He opened a door and walked inside, taking her suitcases with him. Kate moved quickly down the corridor and then wondered why she was hurrying when he was behaving so childishly. She began ambling, looking at the pencil sketches of the estate that lined this side of the hallway. After about thirty seconds, James peered round the door to see where she was. She saw him out of the corner of her eye but made no move to acknowledge him. She didn’t know why he brought out this side in her. James folded his arms and exhaled loudly. When she didn’t move, he coughed to attract her attention.
‘This,’ he called as he moved back inside, ‘is your room.’
Kate entered and stood at the threshold to the chintziest room she had ever seen. She was reminded of the old IKEA television advert that advised customers to chuck out their chintz. This was the ‘before’ picture. But while the room was overcrowded with floral eiderdowns and doilies on surfaces, the walls were devoid of any decoration at all. No pictures – nothing. The bare walls lessened the homeliness but Kate knew she couldn’t actually feel homesick, because her empty little one-bed flat had never truly felt like home. She supposed it was because unhealthy working hours coupled with far too much socialising meant she never really spent much time in her flat. It had always been more of a crash pad. If she stopped to think about it, even when she lived at home with her parents she’d always been nomadic, catching last-minute cheapish weekends away with friends. Surrounded here by peaks and mountains, clean fresh air and a bedroom that was bigger than her entire flat, she might feel at home, might be able to settle even if it was only for six months. She glanced at James, his expression fixed. Perhaps not.
‘The bathroom’s through here.’ James opened a connecting door and pointed. Kate followed him, walking past an ornate four-poster bed, housing an abundance of floral cushions. She looked inside the bathroom. It was white, mock Victoriana with brass taps, which was something at least. She was half expecting an avocado suite given the décor in the rest of the room.
‘Very cosy,’ she said truthfully.
But James was already at the bedroom door, one foot on the hallway carpet. ‘I take it you don’t want the grand tour now.’ He couldn’t meet her gaze.
‘Well, not if you don’t want to,’ she conceded.
‘I don’t,’ he replied.
Kate laughed, more out of shock than anything else. At least the man was honest.
‘My mother tells me you’re on a six-month contract – is that right?’ James looked directly at her.
‘Yes,’ she offered tentatively. Though the job offer was on a six-month basis, she wasn’t strictly on a contract. She didn’t want to highlight that in case James clung on to that small detail and then tried to get rid of her again.
‘We’ve got the next six months to cover the tour then, haven’t we?’ James turned and left.
Kate’s mouth dropped open and she was left staring into the empty corridor where he had just been standing. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. How could anyone be that rude? This wasn’t the way she’d been brought up, and given how charming and friendly Liz was, Kate suspected that wasn’t the way James had been brought up either. Why was he like this then? She sat on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. A lesser person would have been scared off, of that she was sure. Perhaps James would warm to her, she hoped. Perhaps not. Either way, she couldn’t make any rash decisions about leaving now. She would at least have to stick it out for a few weeks and see how the land lay; see how much involvement James had in the running of the estate and how closely she would be expected to work with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.
Somewhere far below, a dinner gong sounded. Kate’s eyes opened and she blinked at her chintz-clad bedroom, lit by the dim