Page 73 of Highland Getaway
‘Aye,’ he says again. ‘He’s related tome. He’s not related to the Laird, though.’
I suddenly realise I’ve lost the power of speech; and of breathing properly, it would seem, if the weird, light-headed feeling that’s creeping over me is anything to go by.
‘Look, the man in the photo was the fifth Laird’s valet,’ Dante says, looking a little bit annoyed to be having to admit this. ‘And his good friend, apparently. He wasn’t one of the family, he just worked here – like my mum did. Like I do. It’s a family business, almost, running this place. Well, sort of.’
My mouth opens and closes uselessly.
This feels even worse than when we all briefly thought Bex had been stabbed.
‘Oh, and I have spoken to someone from WanderNest a few times,’ Dante adds, almost as an afterthought. ‘But just to take a message for the Laird’s nephew. Who isn’t me, by the way. I mean,obviously.’
He utters the last word in a tone so frosty I’m surprised I don’t freeze to death on the spot.
If ever there was a time for arealghost to appear, this would be it.
Instead, Ian steps forward.
‘So, where is he, then?’ he says bluntly. ‘This nephew who wants to sell the castle to some chain who’ll just destroy the place, and make it the same as every other hotel they own. Orwhois he, rather?’
The crowd quietens down, everyone straining to hear Dante’s answer.
‘Oh. Um, I’m not sure I should say,’ he begins, tugging uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. ‘I said I wouldn’t. He’s—’
‘Here,’ says a familiar voice from just behind me. ‘I’m here.’
The room falls silent, the only sounds coming from the steadytick tickof the grandfather clock next to the reception desk, and the sharp click of Steve’s claws as he comes padding across the tiled floor at the sound of his master’s voice.
Like Stevie, I don’t even need to see him to recognise that voice. I’ve only known it a few short days, but I’d already know it anywhere. And that’s why I can’t bring myself to turn around just yet, even though, all around me, people are shuffling and straining to get a look at him; scandalised whispers breaking the stillness of the room as everyone nudges their closest neighbour, urging them to turn around and look at Hunter Stuart: the bawbag heir of Lord Glenmuir.
Chapter 29
‘Ouch!’
I reluctantly turn around just as the first foil-wrapped jacket potato hits Hunter square in the chest. It’s quickly followed by another, then another, and before anyone knows quite what’s happening, potatoes are raining down on us all, most of them thrown more or less at random, because the people standing at the very back of the room don’t have a good enough view to know who they’re supposed to be aiming at.
And I’m not sure they particularlycare, either.
In the middle of it all, Hunter stands, his hands raised to protect his face from the flying veg, and his eyes locked pleadingly onto mine.
I’m sorry, he mouths, ducking out of the way of a particularly large spud.I’m sorry.
I turn my back on him, my entire body trembling with shock as I look at the scene in front of me.
Over by the doors, Callum is still cradling Daniel Foster in his arms, like a baby. Next to them, Bex is dabbing tearfully at the stain on her dress, while, a few feet away, Sabrina viciously slings potatoes at Dante, with a devastatingly accurate aim.
I push my way through the crowd, opening the first door I come to, which turns out to lead down to what I’m assuming is the castle’s wine cellar.
Or possibly the dungeon.
It’s definitely creepy enough, with its low ceiling and uncovered stone walls.
Just as I’m about to turn and leave again, though, there’s a low, fizzing sound, and the lights come on, making shadows jump into the corners of the long, underground room, which is, reassuringly, lined with bottles of wine rather than the skeletons of long-dead prisoners.
‘Rosie? Are you down here?’
A moment later, Hunter’s feet appear on the stairs I’ve just climbed down, followed by the rest of him.
‘I can explain,’ he says, holding up both hands as if he thinks I might shoot. ‘I promise I can explain, Rosie.’
