Free Fiona by Meredith Moore Page B

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    â€œI’ve known him since we were little,” she says with a sigh. “We grew up in the same area. When he came to work here last year, it was easy to sort of . . . fall together. I think we were both just lonely and bored. At first, at least. And then, I don’t know.” She presses her lips together, glancing at me as if she’s just remembered I’m here. “Ancient history at this point, anyway.”
    She watches me now, as if she knows all about that strange moment I had with Gareth in the stable. My breath grows shallow; there’s not enough air in this room.
    But then she speaks again, and it’s not about Gareth at all. “So, Fee, what do you think of Charlie?”
    I’m caught off guard, and I hope with all my might that I’m not blushing, but I’m sure I am. “He’s not—well, I guess he’s not what I expected him to be.”
    She tilts her head at me, disappointment falling across her expression. “I know he’s charming. And he can make you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. But it doesn’t mean anything to him.”
    I take a deep breath. “What did he do? To your friends?” I ask.
    â€œHe slept with a few of them. Just one-night stands, nothing serious. Except it was serious to my friend Georgina. They fooled around once, and she thought it was turning into something more. She thought he would leave his girlfriend for her. But he was just using her while it was convenient for him, same as all the other girls. He has no idea the kind of damage he causes.”
    I’m about to assure her that I’ll never give Charlie the chance to break my heart, when Alice unlocks and opens the door to Lord and Lady Moffat’s bedroom. I follow her inside, taking in the splendor. Ancient, faded tapestries adorn the stone walls, and a glittering chandelier hangs from the ceiling above a soft ivory-colored couch and armchair gathered infront of a fireplace, which is directly across from a huge white, canopied bed. There are family photos everywhere: the mantel, coffee table, nightstands. Charlie and Poppy at various ages, in formal and relaxed settings. I trace a finger along a frame holding a photo of Charlie that must have been taken just a few years ago. His red-brown hair is longer, shaggier, and he beams out at the camera from the deck of a sailboat. Shirtless, in just a pair of swimming trunks. I swallow, loudly.
    â€œThe family sailed around the Mediterranean a few summers ago,” Alice says, noticing my attention on the photograph with a curious mixture of disapproval and envy. “They tend to stay away from the castle in the summer, when it’s open to the public.”
    â€œThey open this place up to visitors?” I ask, surprised. “Why?”
    â€œThey need the money, of course. Taxes and upkeep on a place like this are murder. Lord Moffat’s newspaper hasn’t been doing well for a while now. Not well enough to keep up a place like this, anyway.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    She shrugs. “No one’s buying newspapers anymore. Not in print, anyway. And their website is clunky, outdated. The lord kept the paper old-fashioned on purpose, keeping it a source of serious, in-depth news only. So it’s got that dusty old reputation, which means it isn’t selling well. Needs quite a bit of work,I should think. And Lord Moffat had a life insurance policy, but it wasn’t much, so Charlie doesn’t have a lot to work with.”
    No wonder Charlie’s been under so much stress lately. I try not to let the pity I’m feeling show on my face, but Alice catches it anyway and clucks her tongue at me.
    â€œThey’re still plenty rich,” she says. “But plenty rich may not be enough to keep a place like this. Now come on.” She rolls the vacuum to a door and opens it to reveal a small room with a dark wooden desk with delicate scroll legs