Lorna Cook - The Forbidden Promise

‘This,’ he called as he moved back inside, ‘is your room.’

Kate entered and stood at the threshold to the chintziest room she had ever seen. She was reminded of the old IKEA television advert that advised customers to chuck out their chintz. This was the ‘before’ picture. But while the room was overcrowded with floral eiderdowns and doilies on surfaces, the walls were devoid of any decoration at all. No pictures – nothing. The bare walls lessened the homeliness but Kate knew she couldn’t actually feel homesick, because her empty little one-bed flat had never truly felt like home. She supposed it was because unhealthy working hours coupled with far too much socialising meant she never really spent much time in her flat. It had always been more of a crash pad. If she stopped to think about it, even when she lived at home with her parents she’d always been nomadic, catching last-minute cheapish weekends away with friends. Surrounded here by peaks and mountains, clean fresh air and a bedroom that was bigger than her entire flat, she might feel at home, might be able to settle even if it was only for six months. She glanced at James, his expression fixed. Perhaps not.

‘The bathroom’s through here.’ James opened a connecting door and pointed. Kate followed him, walking past an ornate four-poster bed, housing an abundance of floral cushions. She looked inside the bathroom. It was white, mock Victoriana with brass taps, which was something at least. She was half expecting an avocado suite given the décor in the rest of the room.

‘Very cosy,’ she said truthfully.

But James was already at the bedroom door, one foot on the hallway carpet. ‘I take it you don’t want the grand tour now.’ He couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘Well, not if you don’t want to,’ she conceded.

‘I don’t,’ he replied.

Kate laughed, more out of shock than anything else. At least the man was honest.

‘My mother tells me you’re on a six-month contract – is that right?’ James looked directly at her.

‘Yes,’ she offered tentatively. Though the job offer was on a six-month basis, she wasn’t strictly on a contract. She didn’t want to highlight that in case James clung on to that small detail and then tried to get rid of her again.

‘We’ve got the next six months to cover the tour then, haven’t we?’ James turned and left.

Kate’s mouth dropped open and she was left staring into the empty corridor where he had just been standing. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. How could anyone be that rude? This wasn’t the way she’d been brought up, and given how charming and friendly Liz was, Kate suspected that wasn’t the way James had been brought up either. Why was he like this then? She sat on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. A lesser person would have been scared off, of that she was sure. Perhaps James would warm to her, she hoped. Perhaps not. Either way, she couldn’t make any rash decisions about leaving now. She would at least have to stick it out for a few weeks and see how the land lay; see how much involvement James had in the running of the estate and how closely she would be expected to work with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

Somewhere far below, a dinner gong sounded. Kate’s eyes opened and she blinked at her chintz-clad bedroom, lit by the dim yellow glow from the lamp on the side table. She had only meant to rest her eyes for a few moments, but with horror she realised she must have fallen asleep. The nap hadn’t been enough to recharge her empty batteries after a day of travel and she stretched and yawned in succession. While the flight up to Inverness had been mercifully short, the collective time spent travelling to and from and actually at the airport had been tiring.

Crossing to the window, she looked out to see it was growing dark. In the grounds, she could make out some kind of formal garden with a beautiful clipped-hedge parterre that sloped down towards a loch. The moon began its ascent over the mountains and darts of silver light shifted across the water as it lapped gently. The village, somewhere in the distance on the other side of the forest, from what she remembered from the drive, provided no light. The house was utterly remote.

The smell of something delicious cooking drifted into Kate’s bedroom as she opened the door and hurried downstairs, realising she’d unwittingly ignored the dinner gong.

‘Oh good,’ Liz declared warmly as Kate entered the kitchen. ‘You heard it. You should have seen the dust that flew as I rang it. We’ve not used it in years.’

Kate smiled and looked around the large, homely kitchen. It seemed like a relic from a prior decade. Wooden cupboards and Formica worktops were cluttered with cookbooks; some old, some very new. The new Ottolenghi cookbook was upright and propped open with a red wine bottle. Kate had that book in her flat, although she’d never actually cooked from it because she was out so much. She’d bought it because it had a drawing of a huge lemon on the front and went well with her pale yellow kitchen. Only now she supposed her brother was enjoying the use of it, along with her flat, while she was in Scotland. Kate wasn’t sure how long she was actually going to be here given James’s permafrosty reception. His back had been turned since she entered the room, as he flicked through a newspaper on the worktop.

‘Did you get a bit of rest?’ Liz asked.

‘Mm, yes, thanks.’

‘I’m glad. James has made lasagne. I hope that’s OK?’ Liz said.

‘That sounds love—’ But Kate was cut off mid-sentence as James swung round.

‘You’re not one of those bloody vegetarians are you?’ he said accusingly.

‘No.’ Kate held his gaze wondering if he would have lost it completely if she had said she was.

He spun back round and nudged an old yellow Labrador out of the way with his foot as he opened the Aga door. ‘That’s something then, I suppose,’ he muttered towards the oven. The mouth-watering smell was coming from the lasagne bubbling in the dish.

Kate bent down to the scratch the dog’s ears as it ambled towards her and sat at her feet, investigating her silently. His tail thumped slowly against the flagstone floor and when it became clear Kate had no treats to give, he picked himself up and moved back to his bed on the other side of the kitchen. The scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room had already been laid for dinner and Liz gestured for them to sit.

James placed the lasagne dish on a trivet and stared at it, as if he wasn’t sure whom he should serve first. ‘Help yourself,’ he said eventually.

Kate hadn’t realised how famished she was until now. The packet of pretzels on the flight up from London had been the last thing she’d eaten.

‘Thanks, I will.’

‘Do you drink?’ James asked suddenly.

The serving spoon hovered between lasagne dish and Kate’s plate as she stopped mid-serve. ‘Er? What?’ she asked.

‘Wine? Do you drink wine? You work in PR in London so you must drink gallons of the stuff, but one doesn’t like to assume.’

Kate couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny or rude, but a laugh escaped her lips regardless. ‘Well, yes, I do actually. I mean, not lots—’ she tried to save the situation ‘—but I do like wine. Are you … offering some?’ God, he was hard to talk to.

He nodded. ‘Red? Goes nicely with lasagne.’ He looked toward the cookbook where the bottle of wine stood. ‘I could open some if you want?’

Kate was about to say she would only have some if they were having some when Liz saved the situation from a politeness tipping point by hopping up and bringing the bottle to the table, turning back to fetch three wine glasses.

‘Good to see your manners haven’t failed you completely.’ Liz told James as she opened the bottle. It made a satisfying plucking noise as the cork was withdrawn. He shrugged and started tucking into his plate of lasagne.