Page 5 of The Moon Sister
As a pair of stone pillars flashed past in the beam of the headlights, I wished I’d arrived earlier in the day so I could orientate myself.
‘Almost there,’ Cal reassured me as we twisted and turned and bumped along the drive. As the Land Rover proceeded up a steep slope, the wheels spun as they struggled for a grip on the loose water-logged gravel. Cal finally brought the car to a halt, the engine shuddering to a relieved standstill.
‘Welcome tae Kinnaird,’ he announced as he pushed open the door and climbed out. I noticed he was light on his feet, considering his physical bulk. He walked round and opened the passenger door for me, then offered his hand to help me.
‘I can manage,’ I insisted as I jumped down and promptly landed in a puddle. Thistle leapt out beside me and gave me a friendly lick, before ambling off to sniff around the driveway, obviously pleased to be back on familiar territory.
I looked up and in the moonlight, made out the sharp clean lines of Kinnaird Lodge, its steeply pitched roofs and lofty chimneys casting shadows into the night, warm lights glimmering behind the tall sash windows that peered out from the sturdy shale-rock walls.
Cal collected my holdall from the back of the Land Rover, then led me round the side of the Lodge towards a back door.
‘Servants’ entrance,’ he muttered, cleaning his boots on the scraper placed outside. ‘Only the Laird, his family and invited guests use the front door.’
‘Right,’ I said as we stepped inside and a welcome blast of hot air hit me.
‘Like a furnace in here,’ Cal complained as we made our way along a passageway that smelt strongly of fresh paint. ‘The Laird’s wife has put in some fancy heating system and Beryl hasn’t learnt how tae control it yet. Beryl!’ he shouted as he led me into a large ultra-modern kitchen, illuminated by numerous spotlights. I blinked to let my eyes adjust as I took in the vast, gleaming centre unit, the rows of shiny wall cupboards, and what looked like two state-of-the-art ovens.
‘This is very stylish,’ I said to Cal.
‘Aye, that it is. You should have seen this room afore the old Laird died; I’d reckon there was a hundred years o’ grime hidden behind the old cabinets, as well as a large family o’ mice. It’ll all fall down, mind, if Beryl cannae learn tae work those newfangled ovens. She’s cooked on the old range for the whole o’ her time here, and you need a degree in computer science tae use those two.’
As Cal spoke, an elegant, slim woman with snow-white hair scraped back into a bun at the base of her neck walked in. I felt her blue eyes – set on either side of a hawk-like nose in a long angular face – assess me.
‘Miss D’Aplièse, I presume?’ she said, her modulated voice holding just a hint of a Scottish accent.
‘Yes, but please call me Tiggy.’
‘Likewise, everyone here calls me Beryl.’
I thought how her name belied her. I’d imagined a motherly type with an over-ripe bosom, reddened cheeks and hands as rough and large as the pans she juggled with every day. Not this handsome, rather stern woman in her immaculate black housekeeper’s dress.
‘Thank you for having me to stay tonight. I hope it’s not too much trouble whilst you’re so busy,’ I said, feeling tongue-tied, like a child addressing a headmistress. Beryl had an air of authority about her that simply demanded respect.
‘Are you hungry? I’ve made soup – about all I can manage safely until I’ve worked out the programmes on the new ovens.’ She gave Cal a grim smile. ‘The Laird tells me you’re a vegan. Will carrot and coriander suffice?’
‘It will be perfect, thank you.’
‘Well now, I’ll be leavin’ you both,’ said Cal. ‘I’ve some stag heads tae boil in the shed from yesterday’s shoot. Night, Tiggy, sleep well.’
‘Thanks, Cal, you too,’ I said, stifling an urge to retch at his parting words.
‘Right then, I’ll take you upstairs to your bedroom,’ said Beryl brusquely, indicating I should follow her. At the end of the corridor, we turned into a grand flagstone-floored entrance hall, containing an impressive stone fireplace, over which hung a stag’s head, complete with a magnificent set of antlers. She led me up the freshly carpeted stairs, the walls lined with portraits of Kinnaird ancestors, and along the wide landing above, then opened a door to a large bedroom, decorated in soft beige hues. An enormous four-poster bed draped with red tartan took pride of place; leather chairs with plump cushions sat next to the fireplace and two antique brass lamps standing on highly polished mahogany side tables gave off a soft glow.
‘This is beautiful,’ I murmured. ‘I feel as if I’m in a five-star hotel.’
‘The old Laird slept in here until the day he died. He’d hardly recognise it now, mind, especially the bathroom.’ Beryl indicated a door to our left. ‘He used it as his dressing room. I put a commode in there towards the end. The facilities were at the other end of the corridor, you see.’
Beryl sighed heavily, her expression telling me her thoughts were in the past – perhaps a past she yearned for.
‘I rather thought I could use you as a guinea pig; test the suite for problems, if you like,’ Beryl continued. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d take a shower and let me know how long it takes for the hot water to come through.’
‘My pleasure. Where I live at the moment, hot water’s a rare thing.’
‘Right then, we’re still waiting for the dining room table to return from the restorer, so the best thing is that I bring a tray up to you here.’
‘Whatever’s easiest really, Beryl.’
She nodded and left the room. I sat down on the edge of what felt like a very comfortable mattress and mused that I couldn’t quite work Beryl out. And this lodge . . . the luxury surrounding me was the last thing I’d expected to find. Eventually, I raised myself from the bed and went to open the door to the bathroom. Inside I found a double marble-topped sink, a freestanding bath and a shower cubicle with one of those huge circular shower heads that I just couldn’t wait to stand under, after months of bathing in Margaret’s chipped enamel tub.
