His thoughts turned to Faye. He didn’t want to lose her too. He’d give it all away – the money William kept depositing in his bank account, The Lake House, if Faye would just forgive him. After that conversation at the airport yesterday, he knew he still had some way to go to earn her forgiveness. How would he do that if he was hundreds of miles away in Scotland?
He was walking to the car with that thought going through his mind, when Gayle called after him, ‘Will you both be joining us for dinner over the next two evenings? I just like to know so that I can plan the meals accordingly.’
Jake wished she hadn’t put him on the spot. He regretted booking two nights. It had nothing to do with the accommodation, staying in this beautiful house. The fact was that he regretted booking an entire week away.New plan, thought Jake. Tomorrow they were both heading home.
Chapter 29
Jake sat in the driver’s seat with the engine ticking over and unravelled the dog-eared piece of paper on which he had written down the address that Arnold Wright had given him. The place was called Cedar Grove. It wasn’t familiar, but then Jake hadn’t lived in this part of the world since he was a child. The centre of Aviemore, the ski slopes in the Cairngorms, and the part of town where The Lake House was situated were the only places he had frequented during their annual winter holidays there.
He looked back at the house when it occurred to him that he could have asked Gayle if she was familiar with a place called Cedar Grove. Jake put the address in the SatNav instead, and was pleasantly surprised when directions popped up.
A few miles outside town, along a winding country road with glimpses of a loch through the trees bordering the route, he spied a small billboard advertising Cedar Grove. Soon after, the line of trees suddenly vanished, replaced by a high brick wall obviously bordering the property. The SatNav indicated that the destination was up ahead on the left.
Jake slowed the car as he came upon a driveway. Two pillars marked the entrance with the wordCedarengraved into cement on the left, and the wordGroveon the right.
Jake swung the car slowly between the pillars and drove up the gently sloping drive. There were no houses packed close together as he had anticipated; just a carpet of neat green lawn either side of the drive. It reminded Jake of exclusive developments with homes so expensive the developer could afford not to build on every inch of the land, leaving an enormous amount of communal space for the residents to enjoy, like this.
Jake backed the car into a parking space alongside a single row of parked cars. He switched the engine off.
He’d expected some sort of housing estate with new-build properties. In reality, a glass structure resembling a domed conservatory separated two dark red gothic buildings. Jake looked at the crumpled address. There was no house number. When he’d seen the sign advertising the place, he’d assumed it was a new housing development. Jake looked up at the houses again. Could he be mistaken, or was this in fact one house?
Jake got out of the car. He walked along the smooth tarmac, up ten wide stone steps onto a veranda spanning the length of the substantial property. Jake approached the front door, which appeared to be propped open. Out of courtesy, Jake rapped on the open door before poking his head inside. A smartly dressed middle-aged couple – deep in conversation – approached. Jake stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘Mr Wright, I’m Jake. Jake Campbell-Ross.’
They stopped in front of Jake and exchanged bemused glances.
‘From London,’ Jake put in, extending his hand further. No one took it. ‘Oh, this?’ He glanced at his bandaged hand. ‘I’m perfectly fine. It was just a little accident, that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong …’ the man began.
‘We spoke.’ Jake interjected, ‘on the phone.’
The woman brushed past. ‘Excuse us,’ she said to Jake, eyeinghim warily as she pulled her husband’s arm, encouraging him to quicken his pace.
Jake stepped aside with his hand still outstretched to let them pass. He watched them walk down the stone steps towards a parked car. ‘My mistake.’ Jake shrugged and walked inside.
A plethora of doors skirted the hallway interior and two staircases rolled up to greet each other under a massive arched window. Tilting his head back, Jake slowly turned full circle, taking in the assortment of tapestries and old oil paintings adorning the walls; in this respect it was not dissimilar to William’s large four-storey London home. It was just on a much grander scale.
‘Can I help you?’ a businesslike voice ventured.
Jake turned abruptly in the direction of the voice. He thought an explanation was in order as to why he’d just walked in off the street uninvited. ‘The door was open,’ Jake pointed out to the smart middle-aged woman who had appeared out of nowhere.
She leaned slightly to one side, taking in the open door behind Jake. ‘It always is,’ she said simply.
‘I’ve come to see Martha.’
‘Come with me.’ She turned on her heel, her pencil pleat grey woollen skirt flapping around her ankles as she clicked down the hallway in razor-thin heels.
‘Mr Wright phoned me,’ Jake explained to her back as he followed her down the hall. ‘We made arrangements to meet.’
‘Oh, I think you’re mistaken.’
Jake opened his mouth to protest just as she disappeared through a door. Catching up, Jake hovered in the doorway. The woman was standing behind a large desk flicking through a notepad open in front of her. She had a biro in her hand.
‘Come through.’ She didn’t look up.
Jake glanced at the door, noticing a small, gold-coloured rectangular plaque with the wordReceptionin black lettering.He stepped into the room.
‘I thought this was a private house?’ said Jake.
