Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Turning, I watched Walker step out and nod his thanks to the men before those intense eyes came to me. “You good?”
“Yeah. Again, thanks.”
Walker studied my face for a second, as if weighing a decision. He must have made it, because he gave me another abrupt nod and marched away.
“Guess that was a no to Saturday,” I muttered forlornly.
Two
SLOANE
The head housekeeper, Mrs. Agnes Hutchinson, asked after my well-being once I returned downstairs (reluctantly in that damn elevator with my cart) to have lunch. She then asked me, before I hit the staff cafeteria, to deliver a message to Mr. Ramsay, the maître d’hôtel, about a new stock of silverware that had arrived. Mrs. Hutchinson seemed to know all the goings-on at the castle, including the minutiae of everyone else’s jobs. Having delivered said message, I was trying to stroll inconspicuously through the dining room as I headed toward the staff quarters to have my lunch.
All staff quarters were at the back of the first floor (or ground floor, as they called it here) of the castle. The rooms and hallways were utilitarian compared to the rooms dedicated to the members. Soft gray walls and wooden floors gave way to wood-paneled and wallpapered walls and hardwood floors covered in Aubusson carpets.
I hurried out of the dining room and glanced to my left. The grand reception hall of Ardnoch Castle was a thing of beauty. I saw the head butler, Mr. Wakefield, carrying a tray with cups and a teapot. He gave me a nod and swept into the grand hall in his butler’s tailcoat and white gloves.
He strode across polished parquet flooring that was interrupted by an enormous Aubusson carpet in the center of the room. The décor was traditional, Scottish, timeless luxury. A grand staircase descended into the center, fitted with a red-and-gray tartan wool runner. It led to a landing where three floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows spilled sunlight. Then it branched off at either side, twin staircases leading to the floor above, which I could partially see from the galleried balconies at either end of the reception hall. A fire burned in the huge hearth on the wall adjacent to the entrance and opposite the staircase. The smell of burning wood added a coziness to an otherwise mammoth room. Tiffany lamps scattered throughout on end tables gave the space a warm glow too.
Opposite the fire sat two matching suede-and-fabric buttoned sofas with a coffee table in between. Mr. Wakefield moved toward it where a member sat reading on his phone.
Moving quickly past, I entered the staff area and got excited about lunch. The amazing estate chef served lunch to the staff. It was a definite perk of working at a five-star resort that we got to eat five-star meals. Even staff who worked in separate buildings farther out from the castle made the trek across the estate for lunch.
I grabbed my phone from my locker before I headed toward the lunchroom. There were no texts from Callie, though there were a couple of new cake orders from locals. I smiled at that and resisted the urge to text my daughter. I’d given her a basic cell phone because it made me feel safer knowing she could contact me whenever she wanted, but I also tried to deter her from using it unnecessarily. And definitely not at school.
I’d dropped her off this morning for her first day of primary six. It took some getting used to—the names for things. Callie would be a fifth grader if we were back in the States. Right now, she was dismayed because last year Monroe had been her teacher, and this year, Monroe was on maternity leave. Callie had Mrs. Hunter, who wasn’t as warm and sweet as Roe. I was itching to know how my girl was. I hated the thought of her not enjoying school.
Before I could even step foot in the lunchroom, however, my phone rang. I stopped in the quiet hallway, concern flashing through me at the sight of Regan Adair’s name. “Regan?”
“Hey.” Her bright, American-accented voice sounded free of worry, and I relaxed a little. “Sorry to call you during your lunch break, but we missed each other this morning at the school gates, and I wanted to run something by you.”
“Oh? What’s up?”
“So, yesterday while Callie was at our place, Lewis was showing her the program for the tae kwon do school he starts next week. It’s in Inverness.”
Confused, I replied, “Okay?”
“Well, Callie got really excited about the idea of attending the classes too.”
I frowned. “She never mentioned a thing to me last night.”
“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t let her.”
Feeling defensive, I asked stiffly, “What does that mean?”
“Oh, no, you’re an amazing mom, Sloane. I … you’re just super protective. Which I get.”
Of course I was super protective. I’d given birth to Callie when I was seventeen years old. I was a scared kid, but I took one look at my daughter and she became my entire world in an instant. As terrifying as it had been (especially any time she got sick), it had been my job to protect her. Only mine. It was difficult to loosen the reins sometimes.