Stranger in the Woods: A tense psychological thriller Page 7

  I turned the heater down to its lowest setting and stepped out.

  Greer drove in just as I reached the front porch.

  I waited for her. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re coming to dinner tonight.”

  She shot me a smile and a wink. “I said I’d be here for you during your stay, and I meant it. I’m not going to abandon a poor wee lass to the wilds of Scotland—and the McGregors—on your first couple of days here.”

  The house was surprisingly warm inside, considering the huge expanses. It must have very good insulation and double glazing. I made a mental note to mention that to Alban later. It might win me a point or two with him. I had to attempt to win over my clients somehow. A month was a long time when you were practically living in someone’s home.

  Alban was in the kitchen. Jessica wasn’t around. Their little girl was sitting at a child-sized table setting, scribbling with crayons.

  “Hope you’re cooking up a feast, Alban,” called Greer. “I’m right starved.”

  He grinned. “One of your favourites.”

  “Well, thank goodness,” she told him. “This is no time to be trying out one of your fancy gourmet meals. Too many of them have gone wrong.”

  “Ingrate.” Alban washed a couple of tomatoes under the sink. He wore his hair back in the same style as he had earlier in the day, a chef’s apron over his clothes.

  I was relieved to hear the chatter between Greer and Alban. It made him seem a lot more approachable.

  “Can I help with anything?” I asked, crossing the room to the kitchen with Greer.

  He glanced at me. “I think I’ve got things under control. Hope you’re well-rested, Isla.”

  “I am, thank you,” I answered, wondering if he’d seen me madly running across the moor earlier.

  Greer took a couple of steps over to Rhiannon and crouched down—somewhat awkwardly. She was one of those tall people who seemed not to be in total control of their gangly limbs. Her knees and elbows stuck out at odd angles. “Well, what are we drawing, hmmm? Is that a tree?”

  Rhiannon shook her head. A ponytail on top of her fair head was half falling out. She wore a grey skirt, pink top and matching pink boots that seemed a little too formal for dinner at home.

  “I know…is it Daddy?” asked Greer. “Daddy’s got a big head.”

  “Aye, right.” From the kitchen, Alban gave a short, protesting laugh.

  Rhiannon giggled and shook her head again, then eyed me nervously.

  Greer raised her eyes to me. “Wait, I don’t think you two met properly earlier. Rhiannon, this is Isla. She’s going to be staying in the cottage here. And she’s going to be taking lots of pictures with her camera. Isla, this little moppet is Rhiannon. She likes to draw and paint and cook pumpkin scones with her Auntie Greer.”

  “Hello, Rhiannon.” I walked across and knelt beside her. I knew from my photography work that getting down on the same level as small children made you seem a little less scary.

  But in response, Rhiannon shrank back slightly.

  “Oh, you two’ll get used to each other in no time.” Greer met my eyes, shrugging with a smile. “Okay now, Rhiannon, you’re going to have to tell me what your drawing is. I’m all out of guesses.”

  In response, Rhiannon drew four spindly legs on her figure. She pointed at the picture with a tiny finger. “Ruff.”

  “Eh?” said Greer, angling her head around at Alban. “I need a baby translator. What is a ruff?”

  A voice came from across the room. Jessica’s. “Giraffe. That’s her word for her toy giraffe.”

  Jessica stood in a stiff pose, wearing a grey pencil skirt and pale pink long-sleeved top. Her outfit looked a lot like Rhiannon’s, apart from Rhiannon’s little pink boots and tights. She came and fixed Rhiannon’s ponytail.

  “Well, that’s a mighty fine giraffe, Rhiannon,” said Greer. “Of course I knew it was a giraffe. What else could it be?”

  Rhiannon looked pleased.

  Greer shot me a lopsided saved-by-the-bell grin.

  Jessica gave me a very different sort of grin—all tight and tense. “I have to apologise for not greeting you properly earlier. My stomach was upside-down and so was my head. I haven’t been well lately.”

  I shook the limp hand that she proffered. “I’m sorry you’ve been ill.”

  “Time for dinner now. Please join us at the table, Isla.” Jessica gathered her daughter up and sat her in the special child seat at the table. She began bringing bowls of food and items across from the kitchen.

  I stood, my legs still feeling a little stiff from the long walk and the sleep on the sofa. “Let me help you with those.”

  “No,” Jessica answered quickly, then took a breath. “Just relax. You’re our guest. Come sit at the table. You too, Greer.”

  Greer and I seated ourselves directly across from the McGregors. The table was already set with plates and cutlery.

  Dinner was lasagne and salad, served with crusty bread. It looked and smelled amazing.

  “Did you make the bread, Alban?” asked Greer as Jessica served her a portion.

  “No, I cheated and bought some.” He smiled.

  Jessica finished serving out the meals and started making up a small plate of food for Rhiannon.

  “This is wonderful,” I told Alban. “Really tasty.”

  I was actually relieved to know that he hadn’t made the bread himself. It was a thing that made him seem more human. I was already feeling a slowly grinding unease in my stomach. How was I going to photograph him if I couldn’t get some real sense of who he was?

  Alban poured me a glass of red wine. “How did you go today, Isla? Did you have a good look around Braithnoch?”

  Okay, so you did see me wandering off this afternoon. I nodded. “Yes. Well, not all of it. I had a wander around the moor and the edges of the forest.”

  “Careful of the peat marsh. At the far end,” said Alban.

  “Oh, yes, the marsh. I’d forgotten about that,” Greer mumbled through a mouthful of crunchy salad. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t go heading into a load of sticky mud just for a photograph.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t be nice to have wee Isla stuck out there in the middle of a bog.”

  “Well, I’ve done some crazy things for a photograph before,” I admitted. “In one of my last assignments before I came here, I was on a yacht in Sydney Harbour, taking pictures of another yacht that was racing that day. The weather was stinking hot and I’d already gotten too much heat. I was trying to get a special shot, sitting on the railing on the bow and leaning way over. And then I fainted, falling backwards, straight into the harbour.”

  Greer’s eyes opened wide and she gasped. “No.”

  I grinned at her. “Pretty stupid of me, right?”

  “You could have drowned,” said Jessica in a serious tone. She dabbed at the sauce on Rhiannon’s chin with a napkin.

  “That’s what my mother said,” I quipped.

  My words fell flat with Jessica. Alban was also staring at me strangely. What I’d considered a funny story obviously made me seem less than professional in their eyes.

  I sipped my wine, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe they were wondering if I’d been drinking too much that day on the yacht. I hadn’t been drinking at all. Alcohol and I didn’t mix. Toying with the stem of my glass, I debated whether I should mention my seizures. Then I made a firm decision not to. The subject hadn’t really come up.

  “Anyway, the client fished me out, so no harm done,” I added, trying to fill in the awkward space that had opened up.

  “Sounds like your work takes you on some big adventures,” said Greer brightly.

  “Not really,” I admitted. “I generally accept work close to home. Lucky that I live in a big city.”

  Greer nodded. “Oh yes, you did tell me that the first time we spoke over the phone. Well, we’re very glad you’re here with us now.”

  With a clatter, Jessica dropped the plate that she was feeding Rhiann
on from, its contents splattering over the table and the little girl’s clothes.

  “God, I’m such a butterfingers,” Jessica exclaimed.

  “It’s okay, Jess,” said Alban. “We’ll get her cleaned up and I’ll grab her another plate.”

  “It’s not okay,” Jessica stressed. “These fabrics will stain. Anyway, she was finished and just playing with her food.”

  “You’ve barely touched your own,” Greer told her. “I can go change Rhiannon while you eat.”

  “I’m fine.” Rising, Jessica took Rhiannon from her chair. The next minute, I heard Jessica’s shoes heading up the wooden staircase.

  Alban sighed, taking a gulp of his wine. Greer carried the conversation for the next few minutes, which I was grateful for. I didn’t seem to be able to say the right thing around these people.

  But then a phone call took Greer away, and it was just Alban and me sitting at the dinner table. I glanced across at him with a quick close-lipped smile, finishing up my last mouthfuls of lasagne.

  Okay, relax, I told myself. This is your chance to find out more about him.

  “Braithnoch is beautiful,” I began.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he replied. “Greer tells me that you’ve never been to Scotland before?”

  “No. It’s actually my first time in the UK.”

  “Hmmm.” He studied me for a second. “So, tell me what life is like for you in Sydney?”

  “Well, to be honest most of my time is taken up with my photography. I seem to be always either at a job or editing images.”

  “No hobbies?”

  “Nothing too dramatic. I go out cycling sometimes, around the harbour. I like old movies. I read.” Shrugging, I gulped a mouthful of wine.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Not at the moment.” I kicked myself for answering that. It was too personal. I’d had clients ask me that question before and it was always intrusive, whatever their reason. Some of my male clients made it their mission to try to flirt with every woman who crossed their path. Alban hadn’t seemed like the flirting type. But I might have been wrong about that. Maybe Jessica had good reason to be arguing with him.

  Alban turned his head slightly and glanced in the direction that Jessica had gone. Was he checking to see if she’d walked back into the room and heard his last question?

  I decided to steer the conversation away from myself, maybe even attempt to rescue his opinion of me. “I’m impressed with the design of your home. It’s so modern, yet it just fits so well into the landscape.”

  A small smile flitted on his lips. Was that because he knew why I’d changed the topic?

  “That’s what I aimed for,” he told me. “The house was made from the land. Centuries ago, the first house built on this land was made of wood from the forest. Eventually, that was torn down to build a cottage of stone, up in the hills. After that, it was decided that a house on the flat, closer to the entry would be best, and a second stone house was built. The stone of the old part of the house was cut right here in Braithnoch. The new addition is clad in wood from the forest. So, you could say it has come full circle.”

  “I think I spotted the old house in the hills a bit earlier.”

  He nodded. “Yes, you would have seen it from where you were. I’ve long had delusions of restoring it, but so far I haven’t made a start.”

  I wondered how long he’d been watching me for from the house. “Well, it’s wonderful that you’ve kept the connection strong to the land’s history on the new extension. I love the look of the wood on the exterior.”

  “Thank you. It’s scorched larch. From the forest here.”

  “Is larch a traditional Scottish building material?”

  “It’s Japanese larch. But my ancestors planted it hundreds of years ago. Many properties in Scotland were planted with different species of larch.”

  “So, Japanese larch has become part of the identity of Braithnoch?”

  “Yes, very much so. It was planted sometime in the 1800s.”

  I finished my wine without realising it. I hadn’t meant to drink it all. “The name, Braithnoch, where did that come from?”

  Alban sat back in his chair. “Quite a bit of history in that, too. In 1672, a small battle happened here. Really you could call it a bit of a skirmish. But three of my people—all brothers—spilled their blood on the land. The only brother who survived—Griogair—decided that he should buy the land in honour of their deaths. The brothers’ last name was Braithnoch.”

  “Wow, what a story.”

  “Aye.” A wistful smile spread across his face.

  He was really very handsome when he smiled, I decided.

  “Are there any descendants of Griogair’s that bear the name, Braithnoch?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, no,” he replied. “But I am Griogair’s closest blood descendant. He had three daughters, and when they married, he divided his land into four. It was called Braithnoch square. This lot of land was where Griogair lived, and the other lots are where the Chandlishes, the Flanagans and the Keenans live today. Those families are distant blood descendants of Griogair. Only this lot of land retained the name, Braithnoch.”

  “Well, knowing the history of Braithnoch helps me,” I told him. “And I’ll be sure to play up the look and texture of the house’s stone walls and larch cladding in my photographs. I’ll emphasise that as much as the modern lines.”

  “It’s a funny thing about designs that seem modern,” Alban mused. “Because in time, that will pass, and they’ll no longer be modern. I think the challenge is to design something that’s timeless. Something that merges with nature.”

  I nodded. “Do you think it’s true that, in the past, buildings weren’t designed with that function in mind. I mean, people seemed to want to separate themselves from nature quite a bit.”

  He looked at me closely. “Yes. I believe so.”

  I exhaled silently. Finally, I’d said something right. “What would you say is your concept of a home, Alban?”

  He stroked his chin. “Hmmm. Most homes are like closets—a place to lock ourselves away from the world. People are all caught up with bringing obscenely edited snippets of the natural world indoors—potted plants and floral wallpaper and the like. Myself, I prefer to be confronted by nature, in all its moods. And I like the exterior to be a living, breathing skin rather than resembling a dead shell.”

  Alban would hate the house where I lived, with all its potted palm trees. I liked them as much as my mother did, but I wasn’t about to admit to that now. The way his gaze was fixed on me, I worried that my expression would reveal the awful truth—my house was filled with palm trees and palm-tree wallpaper.

  “Can I offer you another glass of wine?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. I’m not a big wine drinker. Just that glass alone has made me sleepy, I’ll admit.”

  “You do look tired. Perhaps you should go and have a good, solid sleep. I’d best go check on Jess.” A vaguely distracted look came over his face.

  I stood. “Thank you so much for dinner. I’ll clean up the dinner things before I go.”

  “Greer and I will do the clean-up. You’re obviously still recovering from jet lag. Goodnight.” He left the room before I could object.

  Unsure whether to feel pleased or dismissed, I wandered out into the hallway to find Greer and tell her goodnight. I caught sight of her through the door of a small sitting room. She stood by a window, facing away from me, one ear to her phone. She was crying, saying in a subdued voice, “No, I didn’t want this. You know I didn’t….”

  I backstepped quickly and headed back through the dining area, feeling like I’d eavesdropped on a highly personal conversation. It seemed odd to find the bright and capable Greer in such deep distress.

  A single, dim light illuminated the path from the house back to the cottage. I felt almost spooked walking it alone at night. The glass of wine made my head a little woozy and I stumbled here and there on the uneven stepping s
tones.

  Stepping inside the cottage, I shut and locked the door. During the day, I’d wished the cottage was further away from the house, for added privacy. But at night it seemed isolated and vulnerable.

  I put the kettle on to boil and went to change into pyjamas. Tonight had gone a little better than my first meeting with the McGregors. But I still hadn’t been able to connect with Jessica. My phone rang—it was Greer.

  “Isla, gosh, sorry. I lost track of time. Did you make it back to the cottage okay?”

  “Of course,” I told her. “Alban sent me off. He wouldn’t let me help with clearing anything away.”

  “He’s…used to that. Jessica is unwell quite often.”

  I stirred my tea. “That’s not good—about Jessica. Does she have some kind of condition?”

  “Nothing with a name as far as I know. Just a lot of headaches and tummy upsets. Well, I won’t see you most of tomorrow. I have some things to attend to. But I’ll be back for dinner. At seven, like tonight.”

  “I’ll see you then. And thanks so much again for everything.”

  I sat nursing my tea in the dim kitchen. I checked my phone and found five messages from Mum—all asking how I was. Typing out a quick text, I let her know that I’d just had dinner with the McGregors and then said goodnight.

  Crawling into bed, I pulled the covers up high. I felt myself quickly drifting into a heavy sleep.

  I woke with a start hours later.

  A twig snapped somewhere outside my bedroom window.

  Is that what woke me? Is someone walking about out there?

  Immediately, I thought of the school teacher, Rory.

  10

  ISLA

  My eyes flew open.

  A shadow moved in the mirrored wardrobe directly across from me. The mirror reflected the bedroom window.

  Remaining perfectly still, I eyed the mirror. A gasp caught silently in my throat. Moonlight cast a feeble light across a man’s face.

  Alban.

  As soon as I’d seen him in the mirror, he was gone. I could hear him walking away into the forest, twigs crunching underfoot. I listened until the sound of his footsteps faded away.