“Next, you need to listen,” said Rudy. Trevor did as asked but could hear nothing.
“What am I listening for?”
“Just listen. What can you hear?”
Once again, Trevor strained to hear something, anything. All he could make out was the gentle rush of wind and the distant sound of a car engine navigating one of the small lanes around the loch.
“Honestly, I can’t hear a thing.”
“Exactly. Even in winter the birds would be chirping on a morning like this. So why aren’t they?”
“No idea. Gone for breakfast?” Trevor’s stomach rumbled in sympathy.
“Look up there. Hiding in the juniper tree,” said Rudy, pointing to a branch in a nearby tree. At first Trevor could make out nothing, but then he noticed a row of birds bunched together. “They huddle when snow’s coming. I’ve seen the same behaviour many times before. And the last thing is that if you’d stepped out of the lodge last night and looked at the sky—instead of getting bladdered on foreign whisky—you would have seen a halo around the moon. Sure sign of snow on the horizon.”
“How did you know we had whisky last night?”
“I can smell it on your skin. That hike up the hill must have opened your pores.”
“Wonderful. So I smell like a distillery?”
“You smell good, actually.”
Trevor had no smart-ass comeback for that comment, but instead felt a trace of pleasure that went straight to his groin at the thought of Rudy noticing how he smelled. He tore his gaze back to the stately house.
“So you’ve lived here all your life?”
“As I said, on and off. Spent time here during school and university holidays. Moved back permanently almost six months ago to the day. For the past seven years I’ve been living and working in York. Studying and managing a sports centre.”
“What happened?”
“Long story. I decided to come back home because—” Trevor could sense Rudy looking sidelong at him. Was he making up his mind whether to let on to the real reason? “Because of a bad break-up.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Actually, I don’t think you do. How could you? But that’s my problem. Let’s just say we were together for six years—I’m twenty-nine now—and in all that time we never moved forward. Not really. I wanted to, but things were difficult, the timings and situation were never right. It didn’t help that Debbie spent a lot of time working or travelling and I found myself alone too much. Even when we were together, we were never a proper couple, due to one thing or another. And after a while I realised that not only was I making all the compromises, but I felt as though I was slowly being suffocated. That’s when I decided to cut and run, come back home, much to the consternation of my father. But now I’m helping him manage our portfolio of holiday properties, which is not particularly taxing but which nicely supplements our other family business—”
“Whisky distillery and cake baking, by any chance?”
Rudy turned to face Trevor, his eyebrows raised.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“Only just figured it out a moment ago. That castle down there—the old house—is showcased on the labels of the bottle and cake you brought this morning. Very generous of you, by the way.”
“I should have dropped those off the day you arrived,” said Rudy. “If she asks, don’t tell my mother I messed the gift basket as well as the electricity. What do you do for work, Trev? Sorry, I didn’t ask earlier.”
“That’s okay. I’m a freelance chartered accountant. After I finished my exams, which took forever, I worked for a big firm for a couple of years. Hated every moment. They tend to own your life—well, the one I worked for did. More by luck than anything, my uncle working in the London restaurant trade put me in touch with a few owners who needed bookkeeping and accounting services. That was around five years ago. I’ve now got around thirty clients on my books, mostly based in Central London, and although sometimes I’m completely swamped at the end of the tax year, my time is largely my own. So I love my job, earn an average enough wage, but I’m also lucky enough to have great clients, who I think of more as friends.”
“Friends as clients. Sound great. Talking of which, how are your friends settling in?”
Maybe because of the beautiful morning vibe, Rudy’s opening up, or perhaps because of the whisky amnesia from the night before, Trevor had forgotten entirely about the dysfunctional group back at the lodge. He almost shuddered to think of them purposely ignoring one another around the breakfast table.
“Come to dinner tonight,” he exclaimed, barely resisting the temptation to go down on one knee again. “Please, Rudy. I’m sure Mrs M will be fine. Don’t make me beg. I’ll do anything you want, just…please.”
“Whoa there, pal,” said Rudy, chuckling. The steadying arm he placed around Trevor’s shoulders almost undid him. “What the hell happened?”
Trevor knew he was jabbering, but once the emotions began to tumble out and mix with words, he couldn’t stop them.
