One Summer At The Castle: Stay Through the Night / A Stormy Spanish Summer / Behind Palace Doors

But no. He was standing right in front of her again. ‘Oh—um—you shouldn’t have,’ she mumbled awkwardly, but she took the cup anyway. ‘Thanks.’ She levered off the plastic lid and tasted it. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Liam hesitated now. This wasn’t his usual practice, buying strange women cups of coffee, letting them share his space. But she looked so out of place here he couldn’t abandon her. She might be a journalist, he reflected, eager to get a story. But, if so, she’d been very offhand with him.

Nevertheless, she seemed far too vulnerable to be alone, and much against his better judgement he dropped down into the empty seat beside her. Opening his own coffee, he cast a sideways glance in her direction. Then he saw her watching him and said hastily, ‘At least it’s hot.’

‘It’s very nice,’ Rosa assured him, not altogether truthfully. The coffee was bitter. ‘It was kind of you to get it for me.’

Liam shrugged. ‘Scottish hospitality,’ he said wryly. ‘We’re well known for it.’

She gave him a sideways look. ‘So you are Scottish?’ she said. ‘You must know this area very well.’ She paused. ‘What’s Kilfoil like? Is it very uncivilised?’

Liam caught his breath, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee. ‘Where do you think you are?’ he exclaimed, when he could speak again. ‘The wilds of Outer Mongolia?’

‘No.’ Despite herself, her cheeks burned. ‘So tell me about the island. Are there houses, shops, hotels?’

Liam hesitated, torn between the desire to describe his home in glowing detail and the urge not to appear too familiar with his surroundings. ‘It’s like a lot of the other islands,’ he said at last. ‘There’s a village, and you can buy most of the staple things you need there. The post and luxury items come in on the ferry. As do the tourists, who stay at the local guesthouses.’

Rosa felt relieved. ‘So it’s not, like—desolate or anything?’

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Liam, thinking how relieved he’d be to be back again. ‘All these islands are beautiful. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.’

Rosa’s brows arched. ‘Where do you live?’

He was cornered. ‘On Kilfoil,’ he said reluctantly. And then, deciding he’d said quite enough, he got to his feet again. ‘Excuse me. I need to go and check on my car.’

When he’d gone, Rosa finished her coffee thoughtfully. She wasn’t totally surprised by his answer, but she couldn’t help wondering what a man like him found to do there. Could he be a fisherman, as she’d speculated? Somehow that didn’t seem very likely. A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he worked for Liam Jameson. Or the film crew, if they were making a film on the island.

She should have asked if there was a film crew on the island, she chided herself. But then, if she had, she’d have had to explain why she was really here. No, it was wiser to wait until she got there before she started asking those questions. She didn’t want to alert Jameson as to who she was.

She couldn’t help the shudder that passed over her at the thought of what she had to do. Her mission, she thought wryly. Goodness, what was she letting herself in for? But surely if there was a film crew on the island the people in the village would know about it. Whether they’d tell her where Liam Jameson lived was another matter.

The journey seemed endless, even worse than the three train journeys she’d had to make to get to Mallaig. Then at least she’d had some scenery to look at. Apart from a handful of mist-strewn islands, all she could see now was the choppy water lapping at the sides of the ferry.

She sighed and glanced at her watch. If what the man had said was true, it shouldn’t be long now. Glancing towards the front of the vessel, she glimpsed a solid mass of land immediately ahead of them. Was that Kilfoil? She hoped so. She’d call her mother as soon as she stepped onto dry land.

Lucia Chantry would be desperate for news. Sophie was her baby, and although she knew as well as anyone that her daughter could be selfish and willful at times, Rosa had never been left in any doubt as to who was her mother’s favourite. Sophie could do no wrong, whereas Rosa was constantly making mistakes. Not least when she’d married Colin Vincent. Her mother had never liked him, and she hadn’t hesitated to say I told you so when Colin turned out to be such a jerk.

The ferry was slowing now, cutting back on its engines, preparing for its arrival at Kilfoil. As it eased into its berth, Rosa got to her feet, eager for her first glimpse of her destination. It was certainly unprepossessing, she thought, just a handful of cottages climbing up the hillside from the ferry terminal. But the overcast sky didn’t help. She was sure it would look much more appealing in sunlight.

Fifteen minutes later she was standing on the quay, watching as the few cars heading for the island rolled off the ferry. Glancing about her, she saw the road that wound up out of the village and the dark slopes of a mountain range behind.

The island suddenly seemed much bigger than she’d anticipated. But what had she been expecting? Something the size of Holy Island, off the coast of Northumberland, perhaps? And if she did find Sophie here, if she hadn’t been lying, how was she supposed to get her to come home? If her sister was starstruck, she wouldn’t be influenced by anything Rosa said.

Rosa had just located a sign that said ‘Post Office’ when she saw a dusty grey Audi coming up the ramp towards her. The man who’d bought her coffee was at the wheel and she turned abruptly away. She didn’t want him to think—even for a moment—that she was looking for him.

To her relief, the big car swept past her, but then it braked hard, just a dozen yards up the road, and she saw its reversing lights appear. It stopped beside her and a door was pushed open. The man thrust his legs out, got to his feet with an obvious effort and turned towards her.

She noticed he was favouring his left leg, something she hadn’t observed on the ferry. But then, the rolling of the vessel would have precluded any observation of that kind. She’d been decidedly unsteady on her own feet.

Liam, meanwhile, was cursing himself for being all kinds of an idiot for stopping the car. But, dammit, she still looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away. And she certainly wasn’t interested in him. He’d noticed the way she’d deliberately turned her back on him. So what was he doing playing the knight errant again?

‘Got a problem?’ he asked, forcing her to turn and face him.

‘I hope not,’ she said tightly, wishing he would just go away. But, on the off-chance that he might be able to help her, she ought to be more grateful. ‘Um—I was looking for the Post Office, that’s all. I wanted to ask where Kilfoil Castle was.’

‘Kilfoil Castle?’ Liam was wary now. ‘Why do you want to know where Kilfoil Castle is? It’s not open to the public, you know.’

‘I know that.’ Rosa sighed. Then, giving in to the urge to trust him, she added, ‘Do you happen to know if there’s a film crew working there?’

‘A film crew?’ Now Liam was genuinely concerned. Had he been wrong about this woman all along?

‘Yes, a film crew,’ repeated Rosa. ‘I understand they’re making a film of one of the Liam Jameson’s books on the island.’

Like hell!

Liam stared at her, trying to decide if she was as naïve as she looked. ‘Why would you imagine Liam Jameson would allow a film crew to desecrate his home?’ he demanded bleakly. ‘Movies have been made of his books, I know, but they’re not filmed here.’

Was it just his imagination or did her shoulders sag at this news? What was going on, for God’s sake? Had she expected to find her sister on the set? ‘I think you’ve made a mistake,’ he said gently. ‘Someone’s given you the wrong information. I can assure you there’s no production team at Kilfoil Castle or anywhere else on the island.’

Rosa shook her head. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You’re not just trying to put me off?’

‘Hell, no!’ Liam gazed at her compassionately. ‘I realise it must be a blow, but I don’t think your sister’s here.’

Rosa’s brows drew together. ‘I don’t remember saying that I thought my sister was with the film crew,’ she retorted defensively.

‘No, but it doesn’t take a mathematician to put two and two together.’

Rosa bit her lip. ‘All right. Perhaps I did think Sophie might be with them. But if she’s not, then perhaps she’s somewhere else.’

Liam gazed at her. ‘On the island?’

‘Yes.’ Rosa held up her head. ‘So perhaps you could direct me to Kilfoil Castle, as I asked before. Is there a taxi or something I could hire if it’s too far to walk?’

Liam blinked. ‘Why on earth would you think your sister might be at Kilfoil Castle?’ he asked, trying not to sound outraged at the suggestion, and his companion sighed.

‘Because she apparently met Liam Jameson a few days ago, at the pop festival in Glastonbury. He told her they were making a film of his latest book in Scotland and he offered her a screen test.’

To say Liam was stunned would have been a vast understatement. It was as if she’d suddenly started talking in a foreign language and he couldn’t make head or tail of what she was saying. For goodness’ sake, until Sunday morning he’d been in a London clinic having muscle therapy to try and ease the spasms he still suffered in his leg. Besides which, he’d never been to a pop festival in his life.

Realising she was waiting for him to say something, Liam tried to concentrate. It was obvious she believed what she’d just told him. Her look of uncertainty and expectation was too convincing to fake. But, dammit, if her sister had fed her this story, why had she believed it? Anyone who knew Liam Jameson would know it was untrue.

But perhaps she didn’t. Certainly she hadn’t recognised him. And, taken at face value, it wasn’t so outrageous. Two of his books had been filmed in Scotland. But not on Kilfoil. He’d made damn sure of that.

‘Liam Jameson does live here, doesn’t he?’

Rosa was wishing he’d say something, instead of just staring at her with those piercing green eyes. They seemed to see into her soul, and she shifted a little uncomfortably under their intent appraisal. He probably wasn’t aware of it, but they were making her feel decidedly hot.

‘Yes,’ he said at last, when she’d finally managed to drag her gaze away from his. ‘Yes, he lives at Kilfoil Castle, as I assume you know. But there’s no way he could offer your sister a screen test. He isn’t involved in film production. If she told you he was, she was wrong.’

‘How do you know?’ Although Rosa was prepared to accept that he might be right, she was curious how he could be so certain about it. ‘Do you know him personally?’

Liam had been expecting that. ‘I know of him,’ he said, curiously reluctant to tell her who he was. ‘He’s—something of a recluse, and to my knowledge he’s never been to Glastonbury. Your sister sounds quite young. Jameson is forty-two.’

‘Forty-two!’ If he’d expected her to know his age, too, he’d been mistaken. She hunched her shoulders. ‘That old?’

‘It’s not so old,’ muttered Liam, unable to prevent a twinge of indignation. ‘How old is your sister?’

‘Almost eighteen,’ answered Rosa at once. ‘Do you think Liam Jameson likes young girls?’

‘He’s not a pervert,’ said Liam sharply, and then modified his tone as he continued, ‘And, let’s face it, you don’t have any proof that it was Jameson she went off with.’

‘I know.’ Rosa blew out a breath. ‘But where else can she be?’ She wet her lips, her tongue moving with unknowing provocation over their soft contours. ‘Anyway, if you’ll give me those directions to the castle, I’ll go and see if Mr Jameson has an answer.’

That was when Liam should have stopped her. He should have explained who he was, and how he knew Jameson had never been to Glastonbury, but he chickened out. He’d gone too far with the deception to simply confess that he was the man she was looking for. And his innate sense of privacy made him a victim of his own deceit.

‘Look, I think you’re wasting your time,’ he said carefully. ‘Jameson has never been to a pop festival.’ He caught her eyes on him. ‘As far as I know.’

‘You know an awful lot about him,’ said Rosa curiously. ‘Are you sure you’re not a friend of his?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Liam, wishing he’d never started this. ‘But I do live on the island. It’s a small place.’

‘It doesn’t seem very small,’ said Rosa unhappily. ‘And I’m not really looking forward to meeting this man, if you want the truth. He writes about horrible things. Ghosts and werewolves—’

‘Vampires,’ put in Liam unthinkingly.

‘—stuff like that,’ she muttered, proving she hadn’t been listening to him. ‘That’s probably why Sophie was so impressed by him. She’s read everything he’s ever written.’

‘Really?’

Liam couldn’t help feeling a glow of satisfaction. No matter how often he was told by his agent or his publisher that he was a good writer, he never truly believed it.

‘Oh, yes.’ Rosa sighed again. ‘Sophie’s mad on books and TV and movies. She wants to be an actress, you see. If this man has been in contact with her, she’ll be like putty in his hands.’

‘But he hasn’t,’ said Liam. And then he amended that to, ‘You don’t really believe he has?’

‘Perhaps not.’ Rosa had to be honest. ‘But, if you don’t mind, I’d rather hear that from Liam Jameson himself.’

Liam scowled, scuffing the toe of his boot against a stone, aware that at any moment someone could come up and speak to him and then he wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

‘Look,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Why don’t you just get on the ferry again and go home? If your sister wants to tell you where she is, she will. Until then, it would probably be wiser for you not to accuse people of things you can’t know or prove.’

Rosa shivered. ‘Get on the ferry again?’ she echoed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, it doesn’t call here again until Thursday, like I said.’

Rosa tried not to show how dismayed she felt. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. And Liam Jameson’s the only lead I’ve got.’

Liam blew out a breath. ‘Okay, okay. If that’s your final word, I’ll take you.’

‘Take me where?’

‘To Kilfoil Castle. That is where you want to go, isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes. But do you think Mr Jameson will agree to see me?’

‘I’ll make sure he does,’ said Liam drily. ‘Let’s go.’

‘But I don’t even know who you are,’ Rosa protested, the idea of getting into a car with a strange man suddenly assuming more importance than it had before.

‘I’m—Luther Killian,’ muttered Liam ungraciously, waiting for her to recognise the name of his main character. But there was no reaction. Her sister might read his books, but she definitely didn’t.

CHAPTER THREE

ROSA hesitated. ‘Um—is it far?’ she ventured, drawing a sigh of impatience from the man beside her.

‘Too far to walk, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he said shortly. ‘There’s always old McAllister, of course. He runs a part-time taxi service, if it’s needed. I can’t vouch for the reliability of his vehicle, though.’

Rosa glanced down at her bag which, even looped over her shoulder, was heavier than she’d expected when she’d packed it the previous day. ‘Well, all right. Thanks,’ she said, not without some misgivings. ‘If it’s not out of your way.’

Don’t do me any favours, thought Liam irritably, reaching for her bag and opening the rear door of the car. He tossed it onto the seat and then gestured for her to get into the front. His leg was aching from standing too long and he couldn’t wait to get off his feet.

‘You didn’t say if it was far,’ she ventured, after he’d coiled his length behind the wheel, and Liam shrugged.

‘The island’s not that big,’ he said, which wasn’t really an answer. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t take long to get there.’

Rosa hoped not, but the island did seem far bigger than she’d imagined as the Audi mounted the hill out of the village. They emerged onto a kind of plateau that stretched away ahead of them, very green and verdant, with small lakes, or lochs, glinting in the intermittent rays of the sun.

Away to their left, the mountains she’d seen from the quayside looked big and imposing. Their shadowy peaks were bathed in cloud cover, but the lower slopes changed from grey to purple where the native heather flourished among the rocks. Here and there the scrubland was dotted with trees, sturdy firs that could withstand the sudden shifts in the weather.

‘This is Kilfoil Moor,’ said her companion, nodding towards the open land at either side of the road. ‘Don’t be fooled by its look of substance. It’s primitive bog in places. Even the sheep have more sense than to graze here.’

Rosa frowned. ‘Are you a farmer, Mr Killian?’

A farmer! Liam felt a wry smile tug at his mouth. ‘I own some land,’ he agreed, neither admitting nor denying it. Then, to divert her, ‘The island becomes much less hostile at the other side of the moor.’

‘And have people—like—walked onto the moor and been swallowed up by the bog?’ asked Rosa uneasily.

Liam cast her a mocking glance. ‘Only in Jameson’s books, I believe.’

Rosa grimaced. ‘He sounds weird. I suppose living up here he can do virtually as he likes.’

‘He’s an author,’ said Liam irritably, not appreciating her comments. ‘For God’s sake, he writes about monsters. That doesn’t mean he is one!’

‘I suppose.’

Rosa acknowledged that she was letting the isolation spook her. A curlew called, it wild cry sending a shiver down her spine. A covey of grouse, startled by the sound of the car, rose abruptly into the air, startling her. She made an incoherent sound and her companion turned to give her another curious look.

‘Something wrong?’

Rosa shrugged. ‘I was just thinking about what you said,’ she replied, not altogether truthfully. ‘I think I agree with you. Jameson wouldn’t have brought Sophie here.’

‘No?’ Liam spoke guardedly.

‘No. I mean—’ She gestured towards the moor. ‘I can’t imagine any man who lives here going to somewhere frantic like a pop festival.’ She paused. ‘Can you?’

Liam’s mouth compressed. ‘I seem to remember saying much the same thing about half an hour ago,’ he retorted.

‘Oh. Oh, yes, you did.’ Rosa pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry. I think I should have listened to you.’

Liam shook his head. He didn’t know what she expected him to say, what she expected him to do. But if she hoped that he’d turn the car around and drive her back to the village she was mistaken. He was tired, dammit. He’d just driven over five hundred miles, and there was no way she was going to add another twenty miles to his journey. If she wanted to go back, Sam would have to take her. Right now, he needed breakfast, a shower and his bed, not necessarily in that order.

Or that was what he told himself. In fact, he was curiously loath to abandon her. He felt sorry for her, he thought. She’d been sent up here on a wild goose chase and she was going to feel pretty aggrieved when she found out he’d been deceiving her, too.

The awareness of what he was thinking astounded him, however. This had always been his retreat, his sanctuary. The one place where he could escape the rat race of his life in London. What the hell was he doing, bringing a stranger into his home? For God’s sake, she wasn’t a teenager. She was plenty old enough to look out for herself.

‘Anyway,’ she said suddenly, ‘I’m still going to ask him if he knows where she might be. I mean, if they are making a film up here, he will know about it. Where it’s being made, I mean. Don’t you think?’

Liam’s fingers tightened on the wheel. Why didn’t he just tell her who he was? he wondered impatiently. Why didn’t he admit that he’d kept his identity a secret to begin with because he’d been half afraid she had some ulterior motive for coming here? She might not believe him, but it would be better than feeling a complete fraud every time she mentioned his name.

‘Look, Miss—er—’

‘Chantry,’ she supplied equably. ‘Rosa Chantry.’

‘Yes. Miss Chantry.’ Liam hesitated now. ‘Look, I think there’s something I—’

But before he could finish, she interrupted him. ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed in dismay, and for a moment he thought she’d realised who he was for herself. But then she reached into the back of the car, hauled her pack forward and extracted a mobile phone. ‘I promised I’d ring my mother as soon as I reached the island,’ she explained ruefully. ‘Excuse me a minute. I’ve just got to tell her I’m all right before she begins to think she’s lost two daughters instead of just one.’

‘Yeah, but—’ he began, about to tell her that there were no transmitters for cellphones on the island when she gave a frustrated cry.

‘Dammit, the battery must be dead,’ she exclaimed, looking at the instrument as if it was to blame for its inactivity. Then she frowned. ‘That’s funny. There’s no signal at all.’

‘That’s because we don’t have any mobile phone masts on Kilfoil,’ said Liam mildly. ‘The place was deserted for years—apart from a few hardy sheep—and although things have changed a bit since then, we prefer not to litter the island with all the detritus of the twenty-first century.’

‘You mean I can’t ring my mother?’

‘No. There are landlines.’

‘So do you think Liam Jameson will let me make a call from the castle?’

‘I’m sure he will,’ muttered Liam, aware he was retreating back into the character he’d created. ‘Don’t run away with the idea that the island’s backwards. Since—since its modernisation, it’s become quite a desirable place to live.’

Rosa arched brows that were several shades darker than her hair. ‘Is that why you came here?’ she asked. ‘To escape the rat race?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘And you like living here? You don’t get—bored?’

‘I’m never bored,’ said Liam drily. ‘Are you?’

‘I don’t get time to be bored,’ she replied ruefully. ‘I’m a schoolteacher. My work keeps me busy.’

‘Ah.’ Liam absorbed this. He thought it explained a lot. Like how she was able to come up here in the middle of August. Like why she seemed so prim and proper sometimes.

The moor was receding behind them now, and they’d started down a twisting road into the glen. He pointed ahead. ‘There’s the castle. What do you think?’

Rosa caught her breath. ‘It’s—beautiful,’ she said, and it was. Standing square and solid on a headland overlooking the sea, its grey walls warmed by the strengthening sun, it was magnificent. ‘It’s very impressive,’ she breathed. And not what she had expected at all. ‘But how can anyone live in such a place? It must have over a hundred rooms.’

‘Fifty-three, actually,’ said Liam unthinkingly. And then, with a grimace, ‘Or so I’ve heard.’

‘Fifty-three!’ Rosa shook her head. ‘He must be very rich.’

‘Some of them are just anterooms,’ said Liam, resenting the urge he had to defend himself, but doing it just the same. ‘I’m fairly sure he doesn’t use them all.’

‘I should think not.’ Rosa snorted. ‘Is he married?’

‘No.’ Liam had no hesitation about telling her that. It was in the potted biography that appeared on the back of all his books, after all.

‘Well, does he live alone?’ Rosa was persistent. ‘Does he have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?’ she added, pulling a face. ‘These days you never know.’

‘He’s not gay,’ said Liam grimly. ‘And he has household staff who run the place for him, so he’s hardly alone.’

‘All the same…’ She was annoyingly resistant to his opinion. ‘I bet he has to pay his employees well to get them to stay here.’

Liam clamped his jaws together and didn’t answer her. He could have said that several of the people he employed were refugees from London, like himself. He did employ locals, where he could, but the islanders only wanted part-time work so they could pursue their own interests. The Highlanders were an independent lot and preferred fishing and farming to working indoors.

They approached the castle through open land dotted with sheep and cattle. Rosa saw shepherds’ crofts nestling on the hillside, and more substantial farm buildings with whitewashed walls and smoking chimneys. A stream, which evidently had its source in the mountains, tumbled over rocks on its way to the sea. And in the background the shoreline beckoned, the sand clean and unblemished and totally deserted.