“I tell you, that Dylan Duffy is as easy on the eyes as he is on the big screen. And what lovely manners his wee ones have.”
“He was here with his family?”
“Stayed in the dower hoose,” she says, her accent slipping on house as she pushes on the plunger. The delicious scent of the dark roast is just heavenly. “Milk?” she asks, making her way over to the fridge.
“A little, please.”
“There was him, his gorgeous wife, who is Scots herself, and their two laddies.” Grabbing a glass bottle of milk, she turns back. “They were here for weeks. Oh, I’ve just remembered, Dougal made some Dundee cake last time he was here. It’s in yonder pantry.” She puts down the milk, indicating the wall behind me. “Grab it, would you, hen? We’ll make this our elevenses.”
I push back my chair, resisting the urge to cluck, feeling a little tickled at her form of address. Elevenses I can handle, especially in the form of cake. “This one?” I ask, looping my fingers around the door handle.
“No, that’s the larder. The other wall. Aye, that’s it. On the shelf with the bread, I think.”
While still wondering what the larder might be, I see the pantry is more like another room, lined with shelves along with every baking ingredient, herb, spice, and condiment known to man.
“It’s like a supermarket in here,” I call back, scanning the thick wooden shelves.
“Dougal keeps it well-stocked.” Chrissy’s voice sounds like she’s very far away. “Just don’t mess with his organisation, or you’ll feel the lashing of his tongue.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had that pleasure,” I murmur, though I refuse to indulge in thoughts of Alexander. You’re in another country now. Put that awkwardness behind you. That would be the awkwardness of seeing him again because the good Lord knows nothing was awkward about his tongue game. “Crackers, biscuits also known as cookies . . .” My finger trails in the air, following the stacked shelves. “Porridge oats, vanilla pods, rose water, and . . .” This is a strange filing system. “Ah!”
I pull down a battered enamelled tub that looks like something cake might be stored in. As I pull off the lid, the rich aroma of whisky and sugar tells me not only that it is, but it also tells me that Dundee cake is a fruit cake. Caramel-coloured, the delicious concoction is decorated with nothing but a daisy-looking circle of almonds.
Get in my mouth!
Turning back to the door, I’m about to call out that I’ve found it when somewhere in the kitchen, a door slams. The sound is quickly followed by a woman’s tearful voice.
“Oh, Chrissy. I’ve done it! I’ve left him.”
“Och, come here, my love. There, there. You get it all out.”
Heart-rending sobs fill the room as I pause at the pantry doorway, not sure what to do. Stay? Go? Either way, I have cake.
“I c-caught him at it, the bastard.” Between her sobs, I make out that the woman’s accent is English and as smooth and as polished as glass. I’m not sure why I expected Lady Isla to be Scottish. That’s assuming this is who she is. “W-With the nanny, of all people.”
Oh, fudge.
Maybe I’ll just stay here, I think, hugging the cake tin to my stomach. But I’m not guilty by association. I’m not even here in the capacity of the nanny. I begin to push on the door, hoping to sneak out when Chrissy catches my eye over the top of the other woman’s head, currently pressed into her shoulder. She whispers something into her ear, something that makes the woman’s shoulders stiffen.
“I’ll, erm. I’ll just put this there and catch you some other time.” Taking a step into the kitchen, I put the cake tin on the countertop when Lady Isla turns around.
Dark blue eyes stare back at me. The fact that they’re red-rimmed and swollen does nothing to diminish her beauty.
“No, really. It’s all right.” She swipes her fingers under her eyes, laughing unhappily as she uses the back of her hand under her nose. “You must be Holly.” I nod as she laughs again, obviously thinking better of offering me her hand.
“Come and sit down, hen,” Chrissy says, her hands on the other woman’s shoulders as she steers her onto a kitchen chair near the window.
Making myself useful, I pour out three coffees and one tea, just in case, and even slice cake, reluctant to intrude on the pair’s quiet murmurs. The first day at any new job can be awkward, even uncomfortable, but avoiding those red-rimmed eyes will be tough. I hate being a sympathetic crier.
“Dougal used more than a dram of whisky in this.” Lady Isla’s words are filled with a forced brightness, yet not one of us is unaware of how she chews that first mouthful without tasting. The rest of her cake, she mostly crumbles into crumb with her fork.