‘From what Alastair's told me, he's giving her permission to be herself, in a way.'
Cally nodded slowly. ‘Right.’
‘So don't worry too much about Octavia being some sort of aristocratic ice queen. Maybe you can form a secret society for partners trying to navigate the madness of the Henry-Hicks family gatherings.'
Cally laughed. There was no way she was going to be even thinking about doing something like that. Maybe at some point she’d be friends with Octavia but really she couldn’t see it. She’d keep her distance, be civil and friendly but not get too close. ‘Ha. Yeah.’
‘So, that’s it really. The dinner is the least interesting bit of this weekend, but it is what it is. Has to be done.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Cally answered as she leant forward and helped herself to more shortbread. She hoped the dinner would be fine, but mostly, she was just happy that these days she was actually notabsolutely terrifiedof the social gatherings of those with the surname Henry-Hicks. She was sure that she could survive a formal dinner. Couldn’t she?
13
Cally opened her eyes, realised she wasn’t in her flat, heard nothing much but the sound of silence, and remained dead still for a minute or two. She looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings and glanced at an antique clock on the bedside table. Its hands showed it was just past five in the morning. As usual, because of her regular early morning shifts on the chatbot, her internal body clock had woken her much earlier than she would have preferred. Beside her, she could hear Logan’s breathing and feel his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of bed, pulled the cable out of the bottom of her phone, winced as ancient floorboards creaked under her feet, and tiptoed to the door. Pausing with her hand on an old enamel door handle she glanced back at Logan, as deep in sleep, he shifted and turned over.
On the stairs, a lovely, thick tartan runner felt cosy under her bare feet, and the air on the landing was cool as she held onto the handrail and made her way as quietly as she could down the stairs. Rubbing the side of her arms as goosebumps appeared, she grabbed Logan's hoodie that was draped over thebanister, pulled it on, yanked down the sleeves over her hands, and breathed in the Logan smell. Yes please.
As she made her way down the stairs, each step made a funny little groan as if the actual boards themselves were calling out in protest at the early hour. Cally imagined the wood underneath the tartan runner worn smooth by generations of feet on their way down to the first floor. As she got to the bottom in the dark, the cottage was veering dangerously close to the spooky side. The whole place was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the distant call of an early-rising bird, and the hum of the fridge freezer coming from the open kitchen door.
Once in the kitchen, she clicked the door closed behind her, fumbled for the lamp switches on a stripped pine dresser and blinked as the little wicker lamps filled the room with a glow. Just like the rest of the cottage the kitchen held an amalgamation of bits and bobs that resulted in a cosy, homely, chucked-together feel. A charming mix of old and new sat together quite happily resulting in Cally feeling instantly at home. Whoever had added the new touches had got it right. A lovely old Aga in the corner, a gleaming modern fridge sitting comfortably alongside well-worn wooden countertops, vintage crockery next to a brand spanking new coffee machine and a deep original Belfast sink. She filled the kettle and put it on to boil and stood looking out the window not really focusing on anything at all. As the kettle bubbled the sound of it getting to boiling point interrupted the pre-dawn silence. As she waited, she continued to gaze out at the garden where the estate was shrouded in a thick, low to the ground swirling mist which appeared to be resting on top of the grass. The huge foggy cloud was doing a very good job of muting all colour and sound and adding to the slightly spooky feel. The kettle clicked off, she made a mug of tea, popped milk in the top, gave it a slow stir,and then stood with her hands wrapped around the mug and leant against the back door. Deciding she wanted to go out and stand in the mist, she winced as a loud click filled the quiet kitchen as she turned an old iron key in the lock. Swinging the door open with a creak, a rush of cool, damp air carried an earthy scent of wet grass, heather, fog and pine. Divine.
Cally stepped out onto a small stone patio area. The rough texture of flagstones beneath her bare feet felt cold compared to the wooden floors inside. She stood for a bit by the edge of the lawn, blowing on her tea, and taking in the ethereal landscape around her. The thick heavy mist hung in the air, an outline of ancient trees loomed in the distance, and closer to the house, tended flowerbeds were barely visible under their shroud of fog. Flowers appeared as muted smudges of colour in the dawn light and she could see a couple of lights on over at the main house. Tiny little droplets of mist appeared to cling to her skin and hair. She could taste the mist on her tongue as she stood there, wrapped in Logan's hoodie lost in contemplation.
About ten minutes later, nearly at the end of her tea, she squinted as a movement in the trees caught her eye. Suddenly realising she was not alone, she didn’t move or take her eyes off a beautiful deer as it got closer. Deciding it might like a better look at Cally, the deer then stood perfectly still at the edge of the garden, so motionless that for a moment Cally wondered if she was imagining it. Then, as if sensing her gaze and thoughts, the deer turned its head, regarded Cally as if she had no right to be there, turned and melted back into the mist as silently as it had appeared. Cally sighed, blinked and shook her head. It felt so unreal she hardly believed what her own eyes had just told her she'd seen. Unreal and so very nice.
After making another cup of tea, pulling a tartan rug from the back of the sofa in the sitting room, then grabbing a tin of shortbread and sitting out on the terrace, she was so engrossedin the view and the sounds of the estate that she didn't hear Logan until he appeared around the corner of the back door.
Logan smiled and raised his eyebrows. ‘Morning.’
‘Oh, morning. How did you sleep?’
‘Like a log. You?’
‘Same.’
‘You were up early.’
‘I know.’ Cally gestured to the scenery. ‘I've been sitting out here thinking and putting the world to rights.’
‘Enjoying the view?’
‘I've never seen anything like it. Angus said it’s amazing in the morning and he wasn’t joking.’
‘Yup. I used to love getting up early when I was a kid, just to watch the mist clear. Never gets old.’
Cally nodded. ‘I saw a deer. It was right there at the edge of the garden. I’m still not sure if I was seeing things or not.’
‘Legend has it that seeing a deer at dawn is lucky.’
Cally giggled. ‘Would this legend happen to be one you've just made up? Like the fairy thing?’
Logan's eyes twinkled. ‘I would never. It's an ancient Highland tradition. Passed down through generations of Henry-Hicks.’
‘Ancient tradition, my left foot. Next you'll be telling me that the Loch Ness Monster is real and she takes her tea with two sugars.’
Logan grinned. ‘Well, now that you mention it…’
‘Tea?’ Cally asked.
