Christmas at the Castle (3 page)

Pulling into the staff car park, Alice was surveying the immediate grounds for any willing helpers to carry the crates of alcohol into the storeroom for her, when Cameron came out of the castle's side door, his arms wrapped around a giant cardboard box.

Lucky box
. Alice couldn't prevent the flutter of lust that rose within her. It was always the same whenever she saw Cameron, with his thick, muscular arms on display to the elbows, his tightly curled ginger hair cropped back army style, and his sturdy frame so strong and capable. She fancied him something rotten, and more – much more – but the fact he wanted more from her as well frightened her to death. And as being afraid was a sign of weakness, and powerful businesswomen did not have time for weakness in their lives, Alice had kept her feelings a secret and walked away.

She was fairly sure she'd broken his heart, but Cameron had never actually said so, and she certainly wasn't going to act on her lust-fuelled imagination and ask him outright. Anyway, she'd broken her own heart as well, even though he didn't know that.

Picking up a box of wine, Alice called across the empty car park, ‘Cameron, where do you want the festival booze? Any handy chaps around to help me unload the Jeep?'

Whirling around, Cameron crashed the side of the lanterns box against the solid wooden door that he'd been in process of swinging shut behind him. ‘Damn it, woman, you made me jump.'

‘Sorry. It's just these are heavy.' Alice fluttered her eyebrows at him, unable to stop herself from flirting in the line of duty.

‘And I suppose you think this box is feather-light!' Cameron tried not to glance at Alice's long, bare legs or ask if she was freezing as he put down his own box and took hers. ‘Over here. I've cleared a space in the store of the Horsemill, seeing as that's where the festival will be mostly taking place.'

Managing to make the words ‘Sounds sensible' sound like ‘Thank you,' Alice picked up another box and followed Cameron into the round stone building where once horses had walked in never-ending circles, turning the millstones that had crushed oats. Now the building housed a restaurant and seminar facility. It was the perfect place for a book festival, and once the staff had finished decorating it with traditional garlands and trees from the wood, it would be the very essence of a Scottish Christmas.

Desperate to break the silence that hung between them, Cameron asked how the festival preparations were going.

‘Great. There's one or two problems to overcome, but there always are with events like this.'

‘Have we sold many tickets?'

‘Not yet. I find it's always last-minute with bookish things.'

Sensing evasion, Cameron risked his blood pressure increasing and studied Alice properly, ‘My future depends on this Alice. How many tickets, roughly, have been sold for each event?'

‘Approximately none at all.'

‘What!'

‘Keep your kilt on, Cameron. We have ages yet.' Alice mentally crossed her fingers against the lie she was telling. ‘Literary festivals are always last minute.'

Cameron's forehead knotted attractively as he stared down at Alice's shorter frame, his Scottish burr sounding gruff as he asked, ‘And the other problems?'

‘Local bookshop owner is being difficult and my right-hand girl has walked out on me.'

Opening a vast cooling cupboard in which to place the champagne, Cameron said, ‘I can't imagine John at the bookshop being difficult?'

‘He doesn't run it any more. John passed it on to his nephew. Believe me, he is a very different kettle of fish.'

Cameron grunted, ‘You mean he wants to make a profit and not a loss?' Not giving Alice the chance to reply, he went on, ‘So you've upset the new bookshop guy. Nice going, Ms Warren. And presumably you've offended your assistant as well. Who was that, by the way?'

Bristling from the idea that she always upset everyone when all she was doing was being businesslike, Alice bit her tongue. ‘You remember Erin Spence, aka Charlie Davies. You've met her loads of times.'

‘Have I?'

Alice felt a flutter of uncertainty. She'd never believed Charlie when she'd said that Cameron hadn't noticed her. Swallowing the fact that she may have done her friend a disservice, Alice persisted, ‘You remember Charlie. I lived with her in Banchory after university?'

‘The girl who lodged with you?'

Alice's pulse began to thump harder in her neck.
Charlie can't have been right about this … surely it was paranoia …
‘Come on, Cameron, stop messing around. You must remember. It was Charlie's house, not mine. It still is.'

Frowning as if trying to recall the girl they'd passed in their hurry to get to bed, Cameron asked, ‘Was she blonde?'

‘Cameron! That's appalling. How can you have forgotten Charlie? She was lovely to you. She made us breakfast and coffee, and you chatted over the kitchen table while you waited for me to get ready to go out lots of times.'

Stacking the champagne bottles into the fridge, Cameron paused, ‘Oh yeah, the writer woman. She was alright. Very generous when slicing a cake.'

‘Is that really all you remember about my best friend?' Alice spoke so quietly that Cameron turned to look at her.

‘How do you expect me to remember anything about anyone else when you're around?'

Chapter Four

Sunday November 22
^nd

Ignoring the voice at the back of her head repeating that it was a mistake to have accepted Cameron's invitation, Alice slipped her knee-length boots on and brushed down her short skirt.

When Cameron had tentatively asked Alice to join him for a drink, he'd insisted it was to discuss the festival arrangements. He'd sworn he had no other agenda, and that he badly wanted them to be able to leave the past behind them and become friends.

Feeling more than a little guilty that she'd been so wrong about Charlie's perception of her time with the Scotsman, Alice had agreed. She wanted to tell Cameron how they'd hurt Charlie without meaning to, and ask if he could think of ways to make amends.

Deep down, Alice also wanted to tell Cameron how she felt about him. But that wasn't going to happen,
ever
. The last thing her career needed was a man messing things up and making demands on her time. Of course, there were compensations, Alice's mind briefly pictured Cameron's fit body as he stood showering in Charlie's bathroom, but she wiped the image from her mind. Those sorts of daydreams would get her nowhere.

Straightening the collar of her blouse under her cardigan, Alice gave her reflection a nod of approval. She didn't look as if too much effort had been made, but at the same time showed she had some pride in her appearance.

Locking the hotel door behind her, Alice headed down the stairs of the Bonnie Bide Hotel to the foyer, where she knew Cameron would be already be waiting for her.

‘You're not late!'

Alice tried not to let herself melt in the face of an off-duty Cameron in clean black denims and a white shirt, which was open enough at the neck to hint at the muscular torso beneath.
I am not going to allow myself to love him. I have a business to run. I am a woman in control.

‘As if I'd be late!'

Cameron held out his arm and Alice took it.

Charlie hugged her arms around her duffel coat as the sharp evening breeze cut along the High Street. After an unproductive day, in which she had spent more time going over her last conversation with Alice in her head than writing, Charlie had come to the conclusion that she'd never get anything done if she didn't clear the air. So she'd turned the computer off and decided to go to the hotel to see if Alice was free to talk.

It didn't matter that it was Alice who should be the one apologising; Charlie knew that wouldn't happen. Alice never said sorry. It was one of the things you accepted about her early on. As Charlie walked to Alice's hotel she thought about sending a text or an email, but there was always the chance that her words could be taken out of context and make things even worse.

Lost in thoughts about what she was going to say, determined to make Alice see her point of view for once, Charlie studied the pavement as she walked, not looking up until she was outside the Bonnie Bide.

She was about to turn up the stone steps, when she froze on the spot.

Walking down the opposite side of the wide hotel steps, arm in arm, were Alice and Cameron, both grinning as if they'd been laughing at something.

Nausea rose in Charlie's throat, and with the uncomfortable sensation that they'd been laughing at her expense, she spun on her toes and walked home far faster than she had left it.

Chapter Five

Monday 23
^rd
November

Gwen Pickering sat on her granddaughter's sofa and regarded her carefully. ‘Right then, Lottie my girl, tell me why I've had a phone call from that Alice asking me to help out with the festival because you aren't doing it anymore?'

By way of reply, Charlie's arm pointed to her desk in the corner of the room where her laptop rested.

Gwen looked stern. ‘Don't give me any twaddle about needing to finish a book. You're always busy, and busy people are the best for getting things done.'

Stalwart of the local book club and terror of the local Scottish Women's Institute, Charlie's grandmother had moved from London to join her granddaughter in Banchory three years ago, after it became clear that Charlie's parents would not be returning from their life in the States any time soon.

‘You'll think me feeble.' Charlie stood up. ‘Cup of tea, Gran?'

‘Thank you, Lottie dear. If this is going to be a tale of heartbreak and woe then tea is just the thing.'

Charlie couldn't help but smile. ‘And what makes you think a failed romance is behind this?'

‘Books.'

‘I'm sorry?' Charlie clicked on the kettle and got out a mug for herself and a cup and saucer for her Gran, who refused point-blank to drink tea out of anything else.

‘You love your work. I know you get nervous about doing the publicity bit, but you let Erin take over, and you just do it. So not to do this festival when it's on your doorstep makes me think it has to be love. You've never worried about money or reputation, and apart from health, what else is there?'

‘That's quite a speech, Gran,' Charlie spooned sugar into her cup, ‘but honestly, I'm too busy.'

‘Charlotte Davies, don't give me that rubbish.' Gwen pointed at the kitchen table. ‘Sit down and tell me what's going on or I'll force you to come to the next SWI meeting, and I'll put you on tea duty with Mrs Crippit!'

‘That woman is a nightmare!'

‘I know! So spill the beans.'

‘Rather than spill the coffee, sugar,
and
boiling water like Mrs Crippit always does?' Charlie smiled at the image of the bossy old lady who, despite constantly criticising others for sloppiness, was permanently distracted by what she was going to do next rather than what she was doing now, and therefore made a mess of everything.

Gwen laid a hand over her granddaughter's. ‘Come on, Lottie, what's wrong? Can I help at all? I was quite surprised when that Alice called me and asked for my help with the festival. We've never hit it off. She uses you; you know that, don't you?'

Having had this particular conversation many times with her gran since Gwen had first met Alice, and not wanting to repeat it, Charlie picked up her mug and sat down. ‘OK. It's not love, although I thought it was once upon a time. Let's call it hurt pride and humiliation.'

Getting up long enough to retrieve the biscuit tin her granddaughter kept on the dresser, Gwen placed the open tin in the middle of the table. ‘Come on, Lottie love, there's nothing new under the sun.'

Fiddling a cookie between her fingers, Charlie gave in. ‘OK, Gran. Five years ago, just before I was due to write my second novel, Alice …'

‘I knew it! It's always Alice when you're having a rough time and …'

‘Gran, please! I know you don't like her, but Alice has been my friend for ages, and she's lovely underneath the businesswoman front. She gets wrapped up in the quest to not just be successful but to be seen to be successful, that's all.'

‘I have yet to see any evidence of that nice side, but go on. What did Alice do that made you unable to forgive her this time?'

‘Alice didn't do anything. It was her boyfriend at the time.' Carelessly dunking her cookie in her tea, Charlie sighed. ‘You already know what happened, Gran.'

‘No, I don't.' Gwen was confused.

‘You've read my books, haven't you?'

‘Of course, and jolly good they are too.'

‘Thanks, Gran.' Charlie sucked at her tea-soaked cookie, suddenly cringing with embarrassment at the thought of how she'd laid her humiliation and heartbreak bare for anyone and everyone to read. ‘Well, if you've read them all then you already know.'

Gwen's eyes widened as realisation dawned. ‘Your second novel?'

‘Yes.'

Putting her hand back over her granddaughter's, Gwen asked, ‘So, who was the love-blind boy then? Or perhaps I should say, who is he, if the situation has been stirred up again now?'

‘Cameron.'

‘Crathes Castle Cameron?'

‘The very same.' Charlie let out a groan. ‘I know I'm being ridiculous, Gran, but all the time he was going out with Alice she was using him. She said so over and over again. It was a relationship of convenience between finishing her masters at Aberdeen and moving on to be a business tycoon in Edinburgh.'

Gwen picked up her teacup. ‘Let me guess; he fell for her, and if my memory of your manuscript serves me well, you fell for him but he didn't notice you even existed whenever Alice walked into the room.'

‘Got it in one. I'm a walking cliché.' Charlie tugged a persistent knot from her hair. ‘It was awful. One minute we'd be sat together around this table chatting, laughing, talking about life and stuff, and then Alice would walk in. The second Cameron heard her footsteps outside the kitchen door he'd stop talking, mid-sentence or not. He'd go quiet. I'm not sure Cameron even knew he was doing it. Then our whole conversation would be wiped from his head, and if he looked at me at all it was blankly. It was as if Alice was the sun and she outshone everything, making Cameron blind to anything but her.'