Page 5 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)
SIXTEEN YEARS EARLIER
I’d had a wonderful holiday in Scotland and was utterly depressed that it was almost over, and I’d soon have to go home.
‘That’s what makes holidays so special,’ my friend, Jenni, pointed out. ‘The fact that they end. Chin up. We can always come back next year.’
I doubted it. This painting holiday had been relatively inexpensive, but given the way things were back home, who knew when I’d be able to put the money aside to return.
If I could have afforded it, I’d have been back three or four times a year to paint the Highlands in all their different seasons.
Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t afford it.
The future was way too uncertain, and I was already sick of the situation I’d found myself in.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Jenni breathed as she peered over my shoulder at the canvas I was working on. ‘You’ve really caught the atmosphere of Caerbrighde Castle. It looks – I don’t know – haunting somehow.’
‘I just painted what was there,’ I said with a shrug.
‘No, there’s more to it than that. I painted what was there. You, on the other hand, added your own special magic to it. It looks amazing.’
I had to admit, I was quite pleased with it myself. I loved old buildings, and they seemed to bring out the best of my artistic talents. I was good at drawing figures and animals, but when it came to stately homes, castles, abbeys and the like, it was as if my brush had a life of its own.
Arriving back at the hotel later that afternoon, I’d showered and changed, ready and eager for dinner. It had been a long day. Jenni and I had gone out very early, taking only a few sandwiches and a thermos flask of coffee with us, so we were both hungry.
The hotel was pretty basic, but it was clean, and the food was tasty and filling, even if it had no chance of being awarded a Michelin star.
‘You know what?’ I said, as we settled at the table and perused the menu. ‘I’m going to try the haggis, neeps and tatties.’
‘You never are!’ Jenni giggled. ‘Are you insane? You know what they put in a haggis, right?’
‘Well…’ I hesitated. I wasn’t 100 per cent certain to be honest, but I had a feeling it wasn’t something I’d eat under any other circumstances. ‘Not really, but?—’
‘Lamb’s heart, lungs and liver,’ came a voice behind me. ‘All nicely mixed up with a bit of beef or lamb mince, some onion, oatmeal, suet, salt and pepper, spices like nutmeg, mace and coriander, and maybe an extra pinch of black pepper.’
I looked round to see a young man with dark hair and twinkly brown eyes smiling at me from the next table.
‘All wrapped up and cooked in a sheep’s stomach,’ he finished cheerfully.
Jenni made a gagging sound, and he laughed.
A fair-haired man sitting opposite him shook his head. ‘Fancy telling them! You should have let them eat it and then told them.’
‘Well, aren’t you charming?’ Jenni said.
‘I’d never be so cruel,’ the dark-haired man said solemnly. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Jack. My friend with the warped sense of humour is Richard.’
Hesitantly, I reached over and shook it. ‘Clara, and that’s my friend Jenni. You don’t sound Scottish, but you seem to know a lot about haggis. Are you a chef?’
The two of them laughed.
‘Him?’ Richard whooped. ‘He’d burn water, that one.’
‘I just figured, if I was coming to Scotland, I should look these things up,’ Jack explained.
‘So have you tried haggis then?’ Jenni asked doubtfully.
‘Not yet,’ he admitted. ‘Trying to pluck up the courage.’
‘Oh, come off it,’ Richard said scornfully. ‘You know perfectly well you won’t touch it. None of us will, and who can blame us?’
‘Well,’ I said firmly, ‘I’m definitely having it.’ Who did he think he was, telling me what I would and wouldn’t eat?
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What, the full works or the vegetarian option?’
‘There’s a vegetarian option?’ Jenni sounded relieved. ‘Oh, thank God! I think I’d barf if I had to eat lamb’s innards. I’ll go for that.’
Jack and I looked at each other, each silently daring the other.
‘There’s the Balmoral Chicken,’ Richard announced, studying the menu.
‘What’s that?’ Jenni asked, as Jack and I continued to lock eyes in a challenge.
‘Chicken breast, stuffed with haggis, wrapped in bacon and served with a whisky cream sauce.’
My mouth watered at the thought. It sounded so much nicer than haggis, neeps and tatties.
‘No,’ Jack said firmly. ‘I’m going for the traditional dish.’
I tilted my chin. ‘Me too.’
‘Why don’t you two wee lassies join us at our table?’ Richard suggested, putting on a dreadful Scottish accent. ‘Then we’ll be able to keep a close eye on each other and see who throws it all up again first.’
‘Deal,’ Jenni said. We moved over to their table and duly placed our orders with a grinning waiter. He must have seen the fear in my eyes.
In the end, Richard went for the Balmoral Chicken, which really did look tasty, while Jenni – after all that fuss – chose scampi and chips.
Jack and I were served our meals in long, shallow dishes with three compartments.
One contained the neeps – mashed turnips – one the mashed potatoes, and one the dreaded haggis.
We were also given a jug of what turned out to be the whisky and cream sauce, which we were expected to apply liberally to our meal.
Maybe, I thought hopefully, the sauce will hide the taste of the haggis.
Jenni and Richard were already eating, although I noticed Richard was tucking into his potatoes and avoiding the stuffed chicken breast for now.
I picked up my fork and let it hover uncertainly over the dish, not sure which compartment to dive into first.
‘I dare you,’ Jack murmured.
I narrowed my eyes and immediately dug my fork into the haggis. As I raised it to my lips, I realised all three of my companions were watching me in silence, and there was no going back now.
Trying not to think about what was in it, I shovelled it into my mouth and chewed valiantly. To my astonishment, it wasn’t that bad.
‘Well?’ Jack asked.
‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘Sort of like a spicy mince.’
‘Really?’ Jenni asked suspiciously.
‘Do you want to try a bit? Unless you’re too scared.’
‘Not scared,’ she said wryly. ‘I just have more sense than the rest of you. Mm, this scampi’s fab!’
Richard and Jack immediately braved the haggis, and although Richard had technically taken the wimp’s way out, all three of us congratulated ourselves as we finally put down our knives and forks and decided that, although we probably wouldn’t make a habit of eating haggis, it hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as we’d feared.
Providing we didn’t think about what it was, of course.
‘I suppose,’ Jack said thoughtfully, ‘it’s no worse than eating black pudding with your breakfast.’
‘I would never eat black pudding,’ I admitted. ‘Just the thought of it makes me heave.’
Realising how ridiculous that sounded I couldn’t help but laugh, and Jack joined in.
‘Well, I think you did brilliantly,’ he told me. ‘Let me buy you a drink to celebrate your courage.’
I was about to tell him how patronising that sounded, but I was rapidly running out of money, and alcohol was an extra luxury I was having to ration, so I nodded and thanked him.
After that, the four of us hung out together in the bar. Richard and Jenni seemed to get along all right, but it was Jack and I who really clicked. He was funny, warm and kind, and – yeah, okay – seriously hot. We stayed up talking long after the other two had retired to their rooms for the night.
‘So how long are you staying here?’ he asked me, as we sipped whisky in the otherwise empty bar. He’d dared me to drink it, and after my bravado with the haggis I could hardly refuse, could I? I’d never tried it before and, to be honest, it was vile, though I had no intention of admitting it.
The hotel was all dark wood and tartan and clearly aimed at tourists. Even so, it was comfortable and had a nice atmosphere. I liked it, and wished I didn’t have to leave so soon.
‘Just another two days,’ I said regretfully. ‘How about you?’
‘Only just arrived,’ he said. ‘That’s a shame. It would have been nice to see more of you.’
I raised an eyebrow.
He blushed fiercely. ‘I mean, more of your company. Not… Anyway, it’s a shame. That’s all.’
He was sweet, he really was. Surprisingly so, for someone so gorgeous.
‘I guess there’s no chance you could stay on a bit longer?’ he asked, swirling the amber liquid round in his glass and eyeing me with a hopeful expression.
I shook my head. ‘Afraid not. I’ve got to get back home.’
‘Work?’
I sighed. ‘If only.’
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘You sound fed up.’
‘I got made redundant a month ago,’ I said. ‘Not that it was a brilliant job anyway, but even so.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I worked in human resources for a paint manufacturer in Lancashire. Horrible company, but the pay wasn’t bad. I got a bit of redundancy money, but it won’t last long. I’ve signed up with a couple of employment agencies, but who knows how long it will be before I find another job?’
‘Aw, sorry to hear that,’ he said. He stared into his glass and pulled a face. ‘You know what? This is bloody awful.’
I grinned, relieved he’d said it first. ‘Isn’t it just!’
‘I could murder a beer. How about you?’
‘Beer’s fine by me,’ I said.
He ordered us both a local beer which, thankfully, turned out to be much nicer than the whisky.
We spent the next hour chatting about my painting, and how I’d been lucky enough to find a work colleague like Jenni who was interested in art, too, and had been happy to come to Scotland with me instead of signing up for the package holiday in Lloret de Mar that some of our friends at the factory had arranged.
Jack told me how Richard had persuaded him to come up to the Highlands to do some hiking as his friend was, apparently, an outdoorsy type.
‘Are you into hiking then?’ I asked.