Free Cauldstane by Linda Gillard Page A

drunk. And Meredith was very drunk. I didn’t realise she’d driven off on her own. It was Alec’s wedding reception and Cauldstane was heaving with guests. I didn’t notice she’d gone. Not until it was too late.’
    ‘Why did she drive off on her own? Do you know ?’
    Shol to didn’t speak but he looked at me, as if assessing what he should say. I returned his gaze and waited. I’ve learned to wait.
    ‘I’ve no idea why Meredith was so drunk, but she got into her car and drove off because Alec had told her to go to hell. Which I fear, poor girl, she duly did.’
    As if on cue , a mournful bell began to toll and Sholto sat up, galvanised. ‘Ah! That’s Wilma telling us coffee’s served.’
    ‘That bell has a wonderful cracked note. Full of character. Is it very old?’
    ‘No, Zelda rescued it from the local primary school in the days when there was a local primary school. It’s a holiday home now.’ Sholto struggled to his feet, then stood swaying a little. ‘There’ll be coffee in the summer house and some in the drawing room. Take your pick. I’m going indoors. The chill gets to my bones these days. You’d think a lifetime of roughing it would make you tolerant of cold and damp. Rather the reverse, I’d say. I hated it at Eton and I hate it now. Used to lie in my tent in Antarctica, trying to warm myself up, thinking about how I almost died of heatstroke in the Sahara. Didn’t work. Still perished.’ He stood staring at the ground, apparently reluctant to move. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded as cracked as the bell. ‘Poor Meredith... Bloody awful way to die. Christ , she was a mess...’
    With that he turned and walked away, setting a brisk pace that I’m sure must have caused him physical pain. I let him go on alone and headed instead for the summer house.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
     
    Sholto had indicated that t he summer house was in a corner of the walled garden at the junction of the south- and west-facing walls. I didn’t head in that direction immediately. Concerned he might fall, I watched until he was out of sight, then gathered up my things and shoved them into my bag. I turned and followed the path, wondering why I couldn’t see the summer house. I caught sight of Mrs Guthrie on the other side of the garden, trotting off in the direction of the castle. I was about to call out and ask where the summer house was when I found it, almost obscured from view by an enormous shrub rose, taller than a man, which grew beside it. The roof and walls were additionally camouflaged by a canopy of what I later learned was a clematis, so that the wooden building resembled something from a fairy tale, a sort of tree house on the ground.
    As I approached, I noticed a faint but continuous buzzing noise. I looked up and saw that the yellowy-green bell-shaped flowers of the clematis thronged with bees. I stood for a moment with my eyes shut, feeling the sun on the side of my face, listening to the hum of the bees. I inhaled the climber’s elusive scent and knew a moment of sheer and simple happiness. That was dispelled a moment later when I opened my eyes and looked through the open door of the summer house. Alec MacNab, dressed for work in his worn leather apron and steel-capped shoes, was seated on one of the battered Lloyd Loom chairs, his long legs extended, his feet resting on another chair. My immediate thought was to turn and walk away, but I felt sure he must have heard my approach on the gravel path. As I stood, undecided, he turned his head and smiled, but didn’t move.
    ‘Good morning. Will you join me for coffee? ’ He indicated a large thermos coffee pot on the table. ‘Wilma just delivered, but no one else seems to want to brave the elements today.’
    ‘Sholto and I have been in the garden all morning, but he was tired. And a bit cold, I think. So he went back to the castle.’ I hesitated in the doorway. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind if I join you? I’d love some