All The Time You Need (2 page)

Of all the things Analise Shaw might doubt, her grandmother’s love had never been one of them.

“Thank you, Mrs.—”

“Now, now…none of that, dearie,” the woman exclaimed, hooking her arm through Annie’s and pulling her into the house. “I insist you must call me Syrie. No need for Ellen Shaw’s granddaughter to stand on formality with me.”

“Syrie, it is,” Annie amended.

“I’ve a pot of hot tea and some lovely biscuits waiting for us in the parlor. I hope you’ll indulge me and allow me some time to get to know you so that you and I might become friends, just as my dear Ellen and I were.”

“Of course,” Annie agreed, following along beside her grandmother’s friend, down a long hallway and into a bright, sunny room.

Annie’s grandmother had warned her that Syrie could be a little strange, but she’d also told her that she trusted this woman as she had no other in her whole life. High praise from a woman like Ellen Shaw.

“Here we are now,” Syrie said as they approached a table overlooking a wildly blooming garden. “Have a seat, dear. Would you like cream with your tea?”

“No, thank you. Just sugar, please.”

“As you wish. Did you have a pleasant flight? Any problems finding me?”

“No, no problems at all,” Annie said. “Your directions were very good.”

She didn’t see any point in telling her hostess that she’d been delayed because the airline had routed her luggage to some tropical island rather than sending it along to Scotland with her. Complaining wasn’t something a proper lady did when making new acquaintances.

Had she really just thought that? It was as if her mother was sitting on her shoulder, telling her how to behave. Four thousand miles separating them and still she couldn’t escape.

Syrie laughed, a musical tinkling sound that struck Annie as something that might come from someone much younger than her hostess. On meeting Syrie’s gaze, she realized that the laugh suited the woman perfectly, matching bright green eyes that seemed oddly out of place in her deeply wrinkled face.

“We work so diligently to find ourselves, don’t we?” Syrie asked, her question seeming more a comment on Annie’s thoughts than on their conversation. “I do hope you’ll accept my most sincere condolences on the loss of your grandmother. Ellen was a shining example of the best mankind has to offer. An extraordinary woman and an even more extraordinary friend.”

Annie dipped her gaze to the cup she accepted, all thoughts of Syrie’s odd question fleeing as she struggled to maintain her composure in front of this stranger. The loss of her grandmother still hurt as if it were a fresh wound, not a loss going on two months past.

Ellen had been more than just her grandmother. She had been Annie’s best friend and most trusted confidante. It was for that reason Annie had insisted on making this trip, this pilgrimage as her grandmother had called it, in spite of her mother’s protests. And, considering how much Ellen’s death still hurt, perhaps her mother had been right. Perhaps this whole trip was nothing more than a self-indulgent excess of foolishness, running off to Scotland when she should be home helping to plan her wedding.

A wedding she wished with her whole heart she could avoid, though she knew there was no way out of it at this point.

“Nonsense,” the woman sitting across from her muttered into her cup before looking up. “I’m sure you must know Ellen put a great deal of thought into sending you here. I’m quite pleased to see that you chose to honor her wishes and come to experience her beloved slice of Scotland.”

A trickle of guilt threaded through Annie’s heart at Syrie’s sentiment. If she were truthful with herself, it really had been her own selfish desire to escape, as much as any loyalty to her grandmother, that had brought her to Scotland. Her grandmother’s will had left her a comfortable trust, along with a cottage in the Highlands, but Ellen had insisted that Annie must promise to travel to Scotland and spend a few days at the cottage by herself so that she might learn why it had been her grandmother’s favorite refuge. As a part of the experience, Ellen had asked her to meet with Syrie to claim the keys to the cottage.

Over the protests of her parents and her new fiance, Annie had chosen to honor her grandmother’s request, as much for herself as for her grandmother’s memory.

After twenty-four years of always obediently doing the
right
thing, including her having agreed to marry the
right
man from the
right
family, she desperately wanted to carve out a small piece of time just for her. A tiny sliver of time, in which she could experience who she really was and what she really wanted before she was forced to return home to live out the perfect life her family demanded of her.

“It’s a difficult path to have everything you need but none of what you want, yes?”

“I’m sorry?”

The cup in Annie’s hand shook as she carefully set it in front of her. In spite of her grandmother’s warning, she found Syrie to be a most unsettling woman. For the second time in her short visit, a strange suspicion nibbled at the back of Annie’s mind, almost as if her hostess had read her thoughts. That sort of thinking, of course, was ridiculous. People couldn’t read one another’s minds.

“You remind me of her, you know,” Syrie said, her steady gaze fixed on Annie, as if she meant to see straight through bone and tissue, right down into Annie’s deepest secrets. “Hard to believe in her later years, perhaps, but Ellen was once as unsure of her path as she’s told me you are. She, too, was wont to run at the first sight of conflict rather than face up to the inevitable.”

Flustered, Annie didn’t know how to respond. She had no idea that her grandmother had discussed Annie’s misgivings about the upcoming marriage with anyone, let alone a complete stranger.

A stranger to
her,
that is. She had to remind herself that to Ellen, Syrie had been a dear and trusted friend. But that didn’t mean
she
had any intentions of discussing her most private concerns with this woman, no matter what her grandmother might have shared.

All things considered, her best response would be to ignore the subject entirely by turning to another.

“I’m excited to finally see my grandmother’s cottage. I know she always looked forward to her visits there. She called them her special pilgrimages to her nest.”

“Indeed she did,” Syrie said, a smile brightening her face, as if her memories wiped years from her age. “Did she ever tell you about the meaning of its name? No? Well, Bield means shelter or retreat. In the old Scots, it meant boldness. Ellen always did say a few weeks at Bield Cottage and she could boldly return to the real world and deal with anything.”

Annie nodded, sipping her tea. Her grandmother had never made any excuses for how much she loved her time away from everything.

“She frequently met with you when she came over, didn’t she?” Annie asked. “Will you be going along to the cottage with me?”

“Ellen and I never missed an opportunity to spend time together but, in answer to your question, no, my dear Annie. Though I’ve little doubt your visit will be an interesting one, you’ll be making this journey on your own. I’ll do my best to give you good guidance before you leave here today. As for me, I fear I’ve already spent far too long away from home and, even after all we’ve been through together, my beloved husband gets overly grumpy when I’m away too long.” Syrie smiled, her happiness sparkling in her eyes. “I must hurry home soon or everyone living in our castle will likely desert us over his foul temper.”

“You live in a castle?” The knowledge had caught Annie by surprise. “Nana Ellen never mentioned that. It must be wonderful to be surrounded by so much history every single day.”

“Ah, yes,” Syrie said with a chuckle. “We do have our share of history in our home. But let me assure you, there’s much to be admired in the here and now, too. History is all well and good, but I’ve learned that there’s much to be said for a trusty microwave and some reliable indoor plumbing. Sometimes, to find true happiness, you simply have to decide upon your priorities.”

Something about Syrie’s expression as she spoke sent a shiver down Annie’s spine, as if the woman knew more than she was saying.

“Are you trying to tell me there’s no reliable indoor plumbing at Bield Cottage?”

Such a discovery could put quite a damper on Annie’s plans to fulfill her grandmother’s request. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun to hide away from life in a place missing what she considered to be the most basic necessities.

“No,” Syrie answered, peering over the rim of her cup. “Not the cottage. The cottage is nicely updated. The surroundings, though, other places nearby, are quite rustic. Plenty of that history you mentioned to get your teeth into. There’s an old castle on the grounds, in fact. Long abandoned and little more than a ruin, really, but a beauty in its day.”

A castle of her own came with her inheritance? Annie felt like clapping her hands in joy. No wonder her grandmother had loved to visit the place.

“Is it safe to explore?” she asked, already envisioning a full day of wandering the ruins.

“Of course it is,” Syrie answered. “Ellen spent a great deal of her time there, though I believe it was the old gated arbor beyond the original castle walls that she loved most of all. I suspect you’ll find it a fascinating place as well.”

“I’m sure I will,” Annie said, still shocked that her grandmother had neglected to tell her about castle ruins on her property in Scotland. Without a doubt, the place must be much larger than she’d expected. “Are there people living nearby? Neighbors?”

Syrie shook her head and offered a folded sheet of paper that she’d retrieved from the shelf next to the table. “These days, the cottage grounds abound in privacy,” she said with a smile. “Here’s a map I’ve prepared for you. One side is driving directions to the property and the other side is a rough drawing of the grounds’ layout so that you can get your bearing once you’re there and ready to explore. I’ve had the pantry stocked for your arrival, and here’s the key. I think that about covers everything I was supposed to remember to tell you.”

Annie accepted the little silver key hanging from a ribbon, and opened her purse to drop it inside. As soon as she did, she spotted the small box she’d brought along with her and set it in the center of the table.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot this. I think I’m supposed to give it to you,” she said, nudging the box closer toward her hostess. “The last time I spoke to Nana Ellen at the hospital, she insisted I take this. She said it was important that I return it to its home. I assumed from the way she talked about it that you must have given it to her. So, here it is, home again, just as she wanted.”

Syrie frowned, her brow wrinkling even more than Annie would have thought possible as she opened the box and lifted a silver pendant and chain.

“I remember this little trinket well,” Syrie said quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself before she looked up and placed the necklace back in the box. With a sad smile lifting the corners of her lips, she pushed the box back toward Annie. “But I’m afraid it’s not meant for me. This is not its home. I was not the one who gave this trinket to Ellen.”

Annie ran a finger over the pendant, a heart within a heart that had hung around her grandmother’s neck for as long as she could remember.

“If you didn’t give it to her, do you know who did? I promised her I’d see it returned home, and I can’t imagine not keeping that promise to make sure it gets where it needs to be.”

“I do indeed,” Syrie responded, rising from her seat and taking the necklace from Annie’s fingers to drape it around Annie’s neck. “His name was Aiden, as I recall. But it was a very long time ago when he gave it to your grandmother. In going to the cottage, you’ll end up taking the necklace home. There,” she said, fastening the clasp and then returning to her seat. “That’s exactly where I suspect Ellen wanted that little trinket to end up. If you really want to honor her wishes, you should keep it hanging right where it is now. That’s what I would do, if I were you.”

His
name, Syrie had said. Aiden. A man so important to her grandmother that she’d never taken off the necklace he’d given her and yet she’d never breathed a word about him. A sigh escaped Annie’s lips, frustration building at having to pry every tiny piece of information from her only source. This woman was every bit as odd and secretive as Nana Ellen had led her to believe. But, apparently, no more secretive than her own grandmother had been.

“Aiden,” Annie repeated at last, fixing her gaze on the woman who delicately sipped tea across the table from her. “My grandmother never spoke of this Aiden. Can you tell me more about him?”

“I’m sorry, but I simply can’t,” Syrie said, not looking the least bit sorry. “I never met him. Perhaps…Ellen kept a journal when she was at the cottage. Did you know about that? If you can locate her journal, it will hold the key to all you need to know.”

Her grandmother had kept a journal? Another surprise.

An hour ago, before she’d ever set foot in this house, before she’d spoken her first words with Syrie, Annie would have sworn that she knew everything there was to know about her Nana Ellen. She would have bet her life on there being no secrets between them. And now…

“Everyone has secrets, my dear.” Syrie smiled and rose to her feet, extending a hand to Annie. “And one of mine is that I’ve kept my dearest husband waiting overlong as I enjoyed my afternoon, lingering here over tea and mysteries, with my dear Ellen’s granddaughter. I would so love to spend more time with you but, for now at least, our time together must draw to a close.”