Page 6 of Highland Getaway
‘Hi,’ I say brightly, pulling my shoulders back in an attempt at confidence as I hand Dante the booking confirmation that came with the email. ‘I’m Rosie, checking in.’
Chapter 3
It’s the ghost who saves me.
I mean, it’s probably not anactualghost, obviously. As I hand Dante the slip of paper bearing a name that isn’t mine, though, a flicker of movement from the gallery landing above me catches my eye, and I glance up just in time to see a small, shadowy figure go darting away, as if it’s afraid to be seen.
Or, at least, Ithinkit was a small, shadowy figure. It is pretty dark up there.
‘Is this place haunted?’ I blurt out, gazing around the vast space, which is opulent if not just a little gloomy, thanks to all the dark wood panelling that covers the walls, and the flickering light from the fire.
‘Haunted?’ says Hunter from behind me. ‘Well, notreally. Just the usual kind of thing. Strange noises in the night, ghostly figures in the halls, cold spots . . . just your average eighteenth-century castle, you know?’
I look over my shoulder at him, trying to figure out if he’s for real, but it’s impossible to tell whether the hint of a smile on his face is sarcasm or sincerity.
‘There are no ghosts at the Chrysalis,’ Dante assures me, his perfect brow creasing with annoyance at the very suggestion that there could be something wrong with his hotel. I get the distinct feeling that if there were ghosts here, they’d be afraid ofhim, rather than the other way around. ‘Unless we’re counting Sabrina Bates,’ he adds under his breath. ‘And she’s more of a vampire than a ghost.’
All the same, as he takes the booking confirmation from me and quickly scans it, the frown doesn’t leave his face, and his eyes keep flicking up towards the landing where the ‘ghost’ – or whatever it was – had appeared. He’s so distracted by it that he doesn’t bother asking me for any ID, or even a credit card (although maybe they don’t do that for these influencer retreats? I wouldn’t know .?.?.), and although my heart feels like it’s beating so loudly it could easily be the star of an Edgar Allan Poe story, no one seems to hear it but me, so that’s a relief, too.
‘Right, that’s you all checked in,’ Dante says, still with one eye on the upstairs landing. ‘Room Six. I’ll have your bags taken up for you and unpacked. Perhaps you’d like to try out the spa while you wait?’
‘Oh. I .?.?. uh, yes, I .?.?. I guess so. That would be lovely,’ I stutter, amazed to find that not only is no one going to challenge my presence here, I’ve somehow managed to find myself in the kind of hotel where you don’t even have to unpack your own suitcase. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, that is? I’m happy to just sit here and wait, if it is?’
‘It’s no trouble,’ says Dante. ‘Agnes will show you the way.’
He presses a button on his desk, which makes a young woman with long red hair and big brown eyes appear from a door behind him, as if by magic.
‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ says Hunter, looking relieved to be able to hand me over to someone else. ‘Have a nice stay, Rosie.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, surprised by the way my heart sinks at the thought of him leaving so quickly. He might not like influencers much, but now that he’s going, I feel suddenly quite defenceless in this (possibly haunted) castle.
Luckily for me, however, Agnes turns out to be refreshingly normal, and chatters away in her charming Highland accent as she leads me down a maze of corridors on the ground floor of the castle, all of them long and seemingly identical, with tall, arched windows which look out on a landscape that’s gradually turning golden as the sun starts to go down at last. It’s evening now, but it’s still light this far north, and the castle grounds look soft and hazy in the dusk; the distant mountains a silvery blue-green which makes me think of wizards and fairies, and all of the stories this land must hold.
‘Where is everyone?’ I ask Agnes, as we turn down yet another echoing corridor. ‘The place is so empty. Where are all the other guests? I mean, I know the hotel isn’t properly open yet, but the invitation said something about other influencers, and so far I’ve only seen two of them?’
One of whom wasn’t even supposed to be here; a bit like me, in fact.
‘Thereareno other guests,’ says Agnes solemnly, her eyes wide in the dim light of the hallway. ‘It’s just you and the ghosts.’
I stop in my tracks, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest, which only slows down when Agnes starts giggling uncontrollably.
‘Sorry,’ she says with a mischievous grin. ‘I couldn’t resist. Your face! You were so freaked out!’
‘Agnes!’ I splutter. ‘Don’t do that to me! You almost gave me a heart attack.’
‘Sorry,’ she says sheepishly as we start walking again. ‘It’s OK, though; there aren’t any ghosts. Well, not as far as I know, and I’ve lived in the village since I was a wee girl. They only invited five influencers this week, though. You’re kind of like the test crew. I think the idea is that, as well as getting the chance to take photos and stuff without other folk in the background, you also get to try everything first, so if there’s any problems, we find out before therealguests arrive. A bit like Danger Night at the funfair, when you get to test out all the rides for free, because there’s a risk you might die on them?’
I swallow nervously, but there’s no time to reply because, as Agnes speaks, we emerge into a courtyard with a giant chess set in the middle, which we cross, before re-entering the building through a large door leading into what I guess is the modern extension.
‘This was finished just a few weeks ago,’ says Agnes, producing a set of keys which she slides into yet another door. ‘Caused a right stir in the village; you’d think it was a skyscraper they were building, not a swimming pool, the way some of them carried on. I think it’s lovely, though. Look.’
She pushes open the door and I find myself facing a large pool, set in the middle of a building made almost entirely of glass. There’s a Jacuzzi bubbling away at one end, and a sauna at the other, and I can feel the tension that’s been building up all day slowly start to seep out of my body at the sight of it all.
‘You’re the first person to try it,’ says Agnes, looking as proud as if she’d built it with her own hands. ‘I’m really jealous, actually.’
‘Oh!’ I say, remembering something. ‘I don’t have my swimsuit with me. It’s still in my suitcase.’
‘Och, it’s no bother,’ says Agnes reassuringly. ‘We have gift bags for everyone; they have bikinis in them and everything.’
