on the other side.
‘Good luck,’ he declared in an educated voice as the door closed between us.
Inside, I found myself standing in a room every bit as impressive as any I’d been in, bedecked with richly illustrated tapestries and wallpapers hanging against the warm tones of even more antique panelling. At the far end of the room a huge stone fireplace took up most of the wall there, others occupied by row upon row of books. It was a library-cum-games room, and smelled as it looked: cosy, old and vibrant. Charlie would have gone nuts for a room like this.
None of the twenty or thirty men, most in formal dress, slowed from their card games as I fumbled the cake onto the nearest surface. Laughter throbbed around me, along with cigar smoke and general merrymaking. This was very definitely a boys’ club, not a place for girls.
Which one is Fergal Argyll? I wondered, scanning the room for a face to match the name, or maybe the cake. Over at the fireplace, the colour of danger caught my attention again. The only other woman in the room, the goddess’ presence put me at ease instantly. I looked at her across the smoke and laughter and smiled that smile of sisterhood women have for one another. She lifted her chin and looked away, and like that I was on my own. I watched as she waltzed past her admirers to the loudest gentleman in the room.
He was raucously shouting at his fellow card players, rising to his feet when the goddess-cum-ice maiden approached his table.
‘Watch out, boys, here’s ma lucky charm,’ he declared in a gentle Scottish accent. His hand rested where her gown dipped at the small of her back. He was handsome, in his jacket and kilt, and suited the vibrancy of his surroundings. I’d put him somewhere around the fifty mark, although something about him seemed both younger and older.
The ice maiden accommodated him with a smile and then looked over at me, her gaze leading his.
‘What do we have here?’ he asked ‘Another gift from the dragon, perhaps?’
It was him. It had to be. ‘Mr Argyll?’ I said.
‘At your service, sweetheart. What can I do for ye?’ His short neatly cropped greying beard gave him the look of a laird, whilst darker hair falling forward over serious eyes were more the edge of a backstreet boxer.
‘I have a delivery for you, could you sign here, please?’
Argyll approached the table and peered down at his cake. The boom of his laughter made me jump for the second time tonight.
‘I take it this is te celebrate ma divorce papers?’ he asked, a look of contentment in his dark eyes. ‘I have te hand it te her,’ he ruptured, ‘she’s got a streak all right that woman. Have a look at this boys,’ he growled heartily, grabbing the cake from its box and spinning it around to show his company. ‘She always told me I got by not on the size of ma brain, gentlemen, but on the size of ma balls!’
He turned from his audience of dinner jackets and rested serious eyes heavily on me. He was a handsome man, if not flamboyant, and smelled of a heady mix of cigar smoke and brandy.
‘You, miss, have got the size of me about right.’ He grinned, looking to the pair of testicles in his hands.
‘Glad you like them, Mr Argyll. Would you mind signing for them?’
He put the cake back down on the table next to us and I held my pen out for him. His eyes still hadn’t left mine.
‘Ye don’t look convinced, darlin’. Here … Let me prove it to ye.’ I watched him cock his head, smiling, before my brain could register what was coming next. The ice maiden disappeared from view as Argyll’s kilt rose high into the air between us. His beard wasn’t the only thing greying. My eyes darted upwards, focusing on his huge hands. He had worker’s hands, years of hard graft ingrained in the set of his knuckles, like Charlie’s and my dad’s.
It was time for me to leave.
I left the delivery sheet alongside the cake and calmly turned for the way out. I didn’t need Mrs Ludlow-Ballbreaker’s money that badly. Jesse would have to lump it.
The ice maiden’s boyfriend stood watching, his eyes following as I crossed the room towards him. I hadn’t felt enough embarrassment to blush until I saw him watching me closely. It was no wonder Fergal Argyll was so sure of himself—judging by his son, he must have had a youth full of women clamouring for his attention.
A Scottish accent followed me out through the doors, slipping from the mouthful of cake Argyll was chomping on. ‘No wonder the ladies love me, boys. I never knew I tasted so good!’ It was safe to smile here, I was nearly out.
Charlie would have laughed his ass off. He gravitated towards men like Argyll, Jack-the-lads with big personalities.
The entrance lobby was deserted when I made it there. I should have just left my bag in the van. I peeked around the staircase listening for signs of life. Nothing. Behind me, I heard the doors to the games room open and close again. I didn’t look, not even when heavy certain steps grew slowly closer.
Daintier taps of a woman’s feet came at me from the opposite side.
‘Did you find him?’ she asked. You had to love house staff, they were just so efficient.
‘Hi again, yes, thanks. Could I get my bag, please?’
‘Ah, of course. Just a minute, dear.’ And the friendly lady disappeared again.
Argyll junior had moved casually along the hallway and settled himself against one of the decorative pillars near the foot of the staircase. He was sharply dressed in a well-cut dark grey suit, his ice-white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He was sharp all right, but less formally so than his father, and every bit as certain it seemed.
I tried not to fidget as I waited for my bag’s return.
‘Working late?’ He was being polite. I hadn’t expected it.
‘Yes.’ I smiled, knowing that it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I let them fall away to the intricate tile work of the floor.
‘I’m sorry if Fergal embarrassed you,’ he said in a smooth and certain voice holding only a fraction of his father’s Celtic lilt. I smiled again. I used to feel more awkward about uncomfortable silences, but I’d survived a lot of them and I didn’t feel the need to fill them the way others did.
‘He gets carried away with cake.’ His eyes narrowed with the quip.
‘He didn’t mean any harm,’ I offered, looking off to the doors the lady had disappeared through.
‘You’re right, he doesn’t,’ he said, pulling my eyes back to him again. His hair was a little longer on top than his father’s, but fell forward slightly in nearly the same place.
Out here, without the clouds of cigar smoke, there was nothing to compete with the scent of the rich wooden panelling, the preparation of savoury foods somewhere off in the house and, over that, the subtle sweetness of the more polite Argyll’s cologne. It wasn’t like the bottle I slipped under Charlie’s pillow every Christmas Eve, not quite so familiar. This had a sweeter edge to it, the difference between flowers and berries.
‘Nice cake, by the way,’ he said, trying again for polite exchange. ‘I haven’t seen one like that before.’ He smiled then, it was a good smile, but his didn’t reach the eyes either.
‘Ciaran, your father’s ready,’ the ice maiden purred, sashaying along the corridor to us. I hadn’t heard the doors that time. This close I could see she’d made her blue eyes colder with smoky makeup.
‘Here you go dear.’ The friendly lady smiled, approaching us again.
‘Thank you … Goodnight.’ I smiled, taking my bag from her.
‘Goodnight,’ Ciaran Argyll called as I reached the cool of the evening air outside.
I looked back over my shoulder to the perfect couple and gave him an acknowledging smile.
Moving