One Summer At The Castle: Stay Through the Night / A Stormy Spanish Summer / Behind Palace Doors

‘She doesn’t know that.’ Liam sighed. ‘It’s long story, Sam, but now’s not the time to share it. Just play along, will you? I intend to tell her who I am, but—not yet.’

Sam grimaced. ‘But why bring her here—?’ he began, and then broke off when the young woman left the car and started towards them. She was slowed by the snuffling of the dogs, but she was too near now for them to continue their conversation. He collected himself with an effort. ‘Welcome to Kilfoil, miss.’

‘This is Sam Devlin, Liam Jameson’s second-incommand,’ said Liam smoothly. ‘Sam, this is Miss Chantry. Rosa Chantry, isn’t that right?’ He looked to her for confirmation. ‘Perhaps Mrs Wilson would be kind enough to provide Miss Chantry with lunch.’

‘I’m sure she’d try,’ Sam agreed drily, but Rosa couldn’t impose on her host in that way.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘if I could just have a quick word with Mr Jameson—?’

‘Mr Jameson’s—tied up at present, Miss Chantry,’ said Sam, with a wry look at his employer. ‘If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you where you can wait.’

‘Oh, but—do you think he will see me?’

Rosa addressed her words to Sam now, even though Liam had assured her he’d arrange it himself.

Sam looked at his employer blankly. ‘I think it’s—possible,’ he said, gaining a nod of approval. ‘Um—why don’t you follow me?’

Rosa hesitated, turning to the man who’d driven her here with a grateful smile. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Mr Killian.’

Liam inclined his head, aware that Sam was staring at him, open-mouthed. ‘My pleasure,’ he replied, realising he meant it. He turned away as Sam pulled himself together and led her into the castle. She wasn’t going to be so pleased when she discovered who he really was.

Meanwhile, Rosa was experiencing an unwarranted feeling of regret that she wouldn’t be seeing Luther Killian again. He had been kind, in spite of her ingratitude. She wished she’d asked him where he lived now. After all, whatever happened later, she was going to be stuck on the island for at least another couple of days.

She followed Liam Jameson’s man into the castle with some reluctance. Despite her desire to speak to Jameson and get this over with, it was a little daunting being faced with such surroundings. Although the hall they entered via an anteroom was brightly lit by several wall sconces, and the huge fire that was burning in the grate, it was intimidating. With its lofty ceiling and tapestry-hung walls, it reminded her that the man she’d come to see made his living from scaring his readers.

‘We only use the hall as a reception room,’ Sam Devlin offered, as she hovered just inside the door. ‘The rest of the castle is much more cosy. It would be impossible to keep the place warm otherwise.’

Rosa could believe it. ‘Does Mr Jameson live here all the year round?’

Sam seemed to consider his words before replying. ‘Mostly,’ he said at last. ‘Except when he’s away on business or pleasure. Now, please come this way.’

To Rosa’s surprise, and trepidation, they crossed the hall to where a winding flight of stone stairs led to an upper floor. Although the stairs were carpeted, Rosa viewed them without enthusiasm. She’d assumed the man was going to show her into one of the rooms that opened off the hall.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I just waited here for Mr Jameson?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid not.’ Sam was polite, but resolute. ‘This floor of the castle is given over to kitchens and storerooms, as well as providing living quarters for the full-time staff.’

‘I see.’ Rosa was reassured by the idea that there were other people living as well as working here. Luther Killian hadn’t told her that.

With no alternative, she followed the man up the stairs, realising as she did so that this must be one of the towers she’d seen from the road. She wasn’t good with spiral staircases, but happily it opened out onto a narrow landing, with windows in an outer wall that gave an uninterrupted view of the bay.

‘Oh, isn’t that wonderful!’ she exclaimed, pausing at a window embrasure and gazing out at the view. The windows overlooked the front of the castle, with the little bridge they’d driven over just below her. And she saw, with some surprise, that Luther Killian’s car was still parked in the same spot. Frowning, she glanced round at Sam Devlin. ‘Um—Mr Killian’s still here.’

‘Is he?’ Sam didn’t sound particularly interested, and then Rosa remembered Killian had said he’d speak to Liam Jameson himself. He might be explaining the situation. If so, that would be something else she had to thank him for. Maybe she’d ask Sam Devlin where Killian lived before she left.

But thinking about leaving reminded her that she still hadn’t phoned her mother. ‘Er—do you think I could make a phone call while I’m waiting?’ she ventured, and Sam shrugged.

‘There’s a phone in here,’ he said, opening a door into what appeared to be a library. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll ask Mrs Wilson to provide some refreshments.’

‘You will tell Mr Jameson I’m here?’ Rosa reminded him, wondering about the rather curious look that crossed his face at her words.

‘I’ll tell him,’ he agreed, remaining on the landing. ‘If you’ll excuse me…?’

Rosa nodded, trying not to feel apprehensive when he closed the door rather firmly behind him. Well, she was here. She’d reached her destination. And if the circumstances were not what she’d expected, it wasn’t her fault.

Turning, she surveyed the room with determined confidence. One wall curved, as if it was part of the tower she’d just climbed, but all the walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a granite-topped desk, strewn with papers and a laptop computer, and several leather chairs.

Rosa wondered if these were Liam Jameson’s books, but there were obviously too many for that to be so. Approaching one of the shelves, she drew out a bulky tome, hand-carved in leather. But the title, Vampire Myths of the Fifteenth Century, made her hastily push it back again.

But she was wasting time, she thought, noticing the neat black instrument set at one end of the desk. She had to call her mother. Mrs Chantry would probably be biting her nails by this time. Particularly if she’d tried to ring Rosa herself.

As she waited for the connection, Rosa perched on the edge of the window seat. The walls were thick and the sills were broad, plenty broad enough to provide a comfortable seat. Glancing down, she saw that from this angle she could see the gardens at the back of the castle, and a couple of huge glasshouses, set into the lee of the tower.

Obviously the place was self-sufficient, she thought. And, despite her initial reaction, Rosa quite envied Jameson for living here. It was peaceful in a way very few places were these days.

Then, her mother answered. ‘Rosa? Rosa, is that you? Have you found Sophie? Is she all right?’

‘I haven’t found her.’ Rosa decided there was no point in prevaricating. ‘There isn’t a film crew on the island, Mum. Sophie must have been making it up.’

‘Oh, she wouldn’t do that.’ Mrs Chantry was so gullible where her younger daughter was concerned. ‘If she’s not there, then Mark must have made a mistake. Scotland’s a big place. They must be filming somewhere else.’

‘But where?’

‘I don’t know, do I? That’s for you to find out.’

‘Perhaps.’ Rosa was non-committal. ‘I may know more after I’ve spoken to Liam Jameson himself.’

‘You mean you haven’t spoken to him personally?’

‘How could I?’

‘Well, for heaven’s sake, Rosa, what have you been doing?’

‘Getting here,’ retorted Rosa indignantly. ‘It was a long journey, you know.’

‘So where are you now? Sitting in some bar in Mallaig, I suppose. And who told you there’s no film being made on the island?’

‘As a matter of fact, I’m on the island at this moment. I’m at Kilfoil Castle. And I’m pretty sure that nothing’s going on here.’

Her mother snorted. ‘So if Jameson’s not there—’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Rosa interrupted. ‘Haven’t I just said I’ll know more after I’ve spoken to him?’

‘So he’s not with the production?’

If he ever was. ‘It would appear not,’ said Rosa trying to be patient. She heard the sound of someone opening the library door. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll ring you later. As soon as I have some news.’

She rang off before Mrs Chantry could issue any more instructions. Then, getting up from the window seat, she turned to find Luther Killian standing just inside the door. He’d evidently changed. The crumpled shirt and jeans he’d worn to travel in had been replaced by a long-sleeved purple knit shirt and drawstring cotton trousers. Judging by the drops of water sparkling on his dark hair, he’d had a shower as well.