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And found her wanting, she was sure. She’d definitely sensed his disapproval. But whether that was because he’d found her watching them, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.
Whatever, he had been attractive, she conceded, remembering his height—well over six feet, she estimated—and the broad shoulders filling out his crumpled shirt. She guessed he was one of the fishermen who, in increasingly smaller numbers, trawled these waters. He hadn’t looked like a tourist, and the man who had been with him had been wearing waders, she thought.
Still, she was unlikely to see either of them again—unless one of them was the captain of the vessel she was hoping to sail on. Maybe someone on the ferry would remember a pretty blond girl travelling out to Kilfoil the previous week. Dared she ask about Liam Jameson? She didn’t think so. According to his publicity, the man was reputed to be a recluse, for goodness’ sake. So why had he been attending a pop festival in Glastonbury? For research? She didn’t think so.
Her mind boggled, as it always did when she thought about what her mother had told her. Sophie had pulled some stunts before, but nothing remotely resembling this. Rosa had thought her sister was settling down at last, that she and Mark Campion might move in together. But now that relationship was all up in the air because of some man Sophie had met during the pop festival.
Rosa got her ticket and moved outside again. The rain that had been threatening earlier seemed to be lifting, and the sun was actually shining on the loch. A good omen, she thought, looking about her for the ferry she’d been told would be departing in three-quarters of an hour. Pedestrian passengers would be embarked first, before the vehicles that would drive straight onto the holding deck.
She saw the man again as she was waiting in line at the quayside. He had driven his car round to join the queue of traffic waiting to board. Unexpectedly, her pulse quickened. So he was taking the same ferry she was. What a coincidence. But it was unlikely he was going to Kilfoil. According to Mrs Harris at the guesthouse, Kilfoil had been deserted for several years before a rich writer had bought the property and restored the ruined castle there for his own use.
Liam Jameson, of course, Rosa had concluded, unwilling to press the landlady for too many details in case she betrayed the real reason why she was going to the island. She’d told her that she planned to photograph the area for an article she was writing on island development. But Mrs Harris had warned her that the island was private property and she would have to get permission to take photographs.
She lost sight of the man when she and her fellow passengers went to board the ferry. Climbing the steep steps to the upper deck, Rosa shivered as the wind cut through even her cashmere jacket. God, she thought, why would anyone choose to live here if they had the money to buy an island? Barbados, yes. The Caymans, maybe. But Kilfoil? He had to be crazy!
Still, she could only assume it gave him atmosphere for his horror stories. And, according to her sister, they were shooting his latest movie on the island itself. But was that feasible? Had the story Sophie had told Mark any truth in it at all? Rosa wouldn’t have thought so, but her mother had believed every word.
If only Jameson hadn’t involved Sophie, she thought unhappily. At almost eighteen, her sister was terribly impressionable, and becoming a professional actress was her ambition. But although she always maintained she was old enough to make her own decisions, she’d made plenty of bad ones in the past.
If she had met Jameson she would have been impressed, no question about it. His books sold in the millions. For heaven’s sake, Sophie devoured every new one as soon as it came out. And all his films to date had been box office successes. His work had acquired a cult status, due to an increasing fascination with the supernatural. Particularly vampires—which were his trademark.
But would he have been attending a rock festival? Stranger things had happened, she supposed, and Sophie had certainly convinced Mark that this was a chance she couldn’t miss. Why she hadn’t phoned her mother and told her, why she’d left Mark to make her excuses, was less convincing. But if she had been lying, where in God’s name was she?
Thankfully, there was a cabin on the upper deck where passengers could buy sandwiches, sodas and hot drinks once the ferry sailed. Rosa stepped inside gratefully, finding herself a seat near the window so she could watch the comings and goings on the dock.
It didn’t take long to board the remaining passengers, and the queue of automobiles soon disappeared below. They must be loaded in the order they would disembark, Rosa reflected, wondering if the man she’d seen was familiar with the routine.
The ferry was due to sail to Kilfoil first, then the other islands on its schedule. Rosa was glad. It meant that Kilfoil was the nearest, and as the boat slipped its mooring lines and moved out into the sea loch she hoped it wouldn’t be too far.
The island of Skye seemed incredibly close as they started on their journey, and for a while other islands hemmed them in, giving an illusion of intimacy. But then the body of water widened and the swell caused the small vessel to rise and fall more heavily on the waves.
Rosa hunched her shoulders and glanced back at the group of people gathered at the snack bar. She wished she’d bought herself a drink before it got busy. As it was, she wasn’t totally sure she could walk across the cabin without becoming nauseous. She’d never been a good sailor, and the bucking ferry was much worse than the hovercraft she and Colin had once taken to Boulogne.
‘Are you feeling okay?’
Guessing she must be looking pale, Rosa turned her head and found the man from the car park looking down at her. So he had boarded this ferry, she thought inconsequentially, noticing that the rolling vessel didn’t seem to bother him. Apart from donning a well-worn leather jacket over his shirt and jeans, he looked just as big and powerful as she’d thought earlier. The shirt pulled away from the tight jeans in places, to expose a wedge of hair-roughened brown skin.
Sex on legs, she mused, momentarily diverted from her troubles, but he was waiting for an answer and she forced a rueful smile. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so rough,’ she confessed, wondering if he was aware that her eyes were on a level with his groin. She endeavoured to look anywhere else than there. ‘I suppose you’re used to it?’
His eyes narrowed, thick black lashes veiling irises that were a clear emerald-green. God, he was good-looking, she thought, noting his tanned skin, his firm jaw and his mouth, which was oddly sensual despite being compressed into a thin line. But then he spoke again, his voice harder than before, and she was diverted from her thoughts by the realisation that he didn’t have a Scottish accent.
‘Why do you say that?’ he demanded, and Rosa blinked, unable for a moment to remember exactly what she had said.
But then it came back to her. ‘Um—I just thought you seemed familiar with the area,’ she confessed awkwardly, wondering what was wrong with that. ‘Evidently I was mistaken. You’re English, aren’t you?’
Liam scowled, cursing himself for the impulse that had driven him to ask if she was all right. She’d looked so damned pale he’d felt sorry for her. She was obviously out of place here. No waterproof clothing, no boots, even the pack she’d dumped beside her looked flimsy.
‘We don’t all speak the Gaelic,’ he said at last, and she shrugged her slim shoulders.
‘Okay.’ Rosa quelled her indignation. At least their conversation was distracting her eyes from the restless sea outside. ‘So,’ she said at last, ‘do you live in the islands?’
‘Perhaps.’ He was annoyingly reticent. And then, disconcertingly, ‘I hope you don’t intend to go hiking in that outfit.’
Rosa gasped. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘No,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘I was just thinking out loud. But I couldn’t help noticing how cold you looked earlier.’
So he had noticed her. Rosa felt a little less antagonistic towards him. ‘It is much colder than I’d anticipated,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t expect to be here long.’
‘Just a flying visit?’
‘Something like that.’
Liam frowned. ‘You’ve got relatives here?’
Rosa caught her breath. He certainly asked a lot of questions. But then she remembered she’d been going to ask if anyone had seen her sister. If this man used the ferry on a regular basis, he might have seen her. And Liam Jameson. But she preferred not to mention him.
‘As a matter of fact, I’m hoping to catch up with my sister,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘A pretty blond girl. I believe she made this crossing a couple of days ago.’
‘She can’t have,’ he said at once. ‘This ferry only leaves every Monday and Thursday. If she made the crossing at all, it had to have been last Thursday.’
Rosa swallowed. Last Thursday Sophie had still been in Glastonbury with Mark. It had been on Saturday night that he’d phoned to tell her mother what had happened, and that had resulted in Mrs Chantry phoning Rosa in such an hysterical state.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked now, trying to assimilate what she’d learned, wondering if Liam Jameson had a plane or a helicopter. He probably did, she thought. Why should he travel with the common herd? He might even have a boat that he kept at Mallaig. It had probably been naïve of her to think otherwise.
‘I’m sure,’ her companion replied, his gaze considering. ‘Does this mean you don’t think your sister’s here, after all?’
‘Maybe.’ Rosa had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him. She took a deep breath. ‘Is it much farther, do you know?’
‘That depends where you’re going,’ said Liam drily, curious in spite of himself, and Rosa decided there was no harm in telling him her destination.
‘Um—Kilfoil,’ she said, aware that her words had surprised him. Well, let him stew, she thought defiantly. He hadn’t exactly been candid with her.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b70c1d66-9bcd-5a8a-b19a-b84d09326c8b)
LIAM WAS SURPRISED. He’d thought he knew everything about the families who had moved to the island after he’d first acquired it. Having been uninhabited for several years, the cottages had fallen into disrepair, and it had taken a communal effort on all their parts to make the place viable again. In the process of rewiring the cottages, reconnecting the electric generator and generally providing basic services, they’d become his friends as well as his tenants. These days Kilfoil had a fairly buoyant economy, with tourism, fishing and farming giving a living to about a hundred souls.
He wanted to ask why she thought her sister might be on the island, but he knew he’d asked too many questions already. Okay, she intrigued him, with her air of shy defiance and the innocence with which she spoke of his island. Unless he missed his guess, there was something more than a desire to catch up with her sister here. Had the girl run away? Or eloped, maybe, with a boyfriend? But why would she come to Kilfoil? As far as he was aware, there was no regular minister on the island.
Rosa saw him push his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, apparently unaware that the button at his waist had come undone. She was tempted to tell him, except that that would reveal where she was looking, and she hurriedly averted her head.
‘About another hour,’ he said, answering her question, and then, as if sensing her withdrawal, he moved away to approach the bar at the other end of the cabin. It was quiet now, and, watching with covert eyes, she saw him speak to the young man who was serving. Money changed hands, and then the young man pushed two polystyrene cups across the counter.
Two?
Rosa looked quickly away. Was one for her? She dared not look, dared not watch him walk back to where she was sitting in case she was mistaken.
‘D’you want a coffee?’
But no. He was standing right in front of her again. ‘Oh—um—you shouldn’t have,’ she mumbled awkwardly, but she took the cup anyway. ‘Thanks.’ She levered off the plastic lid and tasted it. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
Liam hesitated now. This wasn’t his usual practice, buying strange women cups of coffee, letting them share his space. But she looked so out of place here he couldn’t abandon her. She might be a journalist, he reflected, eager to get a story. But, if so, she’d been very offhand with him.
Nevertheless, she seemed far too vulnerable to be alone, and much against his better judgement he dropped down into the empty seat beside her. Opening his own coffee, he cast a sideways glance in her direction. Then he saw her watching him and said hastily, ‘At least it’s hot.’
‘It’s very nice,’ Rosa assured him, not altogether truthfully. The coffee was bitter. ‘It was kind of you to get it for me.’
Liam shrugged. ‘Scottish hospitality,’ he said wryly. ‘We’re well known for it.’
She gave him a sideways look. ‘So you are Scottish?’ she said. ‘You must know this area very well.’ She paused. ‘What’s Kilfoil like? Is it very uncivilised?’
Liam caught his breath, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee. ‘Where do you think you are?’ he exclaimed, when he could speak again. ‘The wilds of Outer Mongolia?’
‘No.’ Despite herself, her cheeks burned. ‘So tell me about the island. Are there houses, shops, hotels?’
Liam hesitated, torn between the desire to describe his home in glowing detail and the urge not to appear too familiar with his surroundings. ‘It’s like a lot of the other islands,’ he said at last. ‘There’s a village, and you can buy most of the staple things you need there. The post and luxury items come in on the ferry. As do the tourists, who stay at the local guesthouses.’
Rosa felt relieved. ‘So it’s not, like—desolate or anything?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Liam, thinking how relieved he’d be to be back again. ‘All these islands are beautiful. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.’
Rosa’s brows arched. ‘Where do you live?’
He was cornered. ‘On Kilfoil,’ he said reluctantly. And then, deciding he’d said quite enough, he got to his feet again. ‘Excuse me. I need to go and check on my car.’
When he’d gone, Rosa finished her coffee thoughtfully. She wasn’t totally surprised by his answer, but she couldn’t help wondering what a man like him found to do there. Could he be a fisherman, as she’d speculated? Somehow that didn’t seem very likely. A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he worked for Liam Jameson. Or the film crew, if they were making a film on the island.
She should have asked if there was a film crew on the island, she chided herself. But then, if she had, she’d have had to explain why she was really here. No, it was wiser to wait until she got there before she started asking those questions. She didn’t want to alert Jameson as to who she was.
She couldn’t help the shudder that passed over her at the thought of what she had to do. Her mission, she thought wryly. Goodness, what was she letting herself in for? But surely if there was a film crew on the island the people in the village would know about it. Whether they’d tell her where Liam Jameson lived was another matter.
The journey seemed endless, even worse than the three train journeys she’d had to make to get to Mallaig. Then at least she’d had some scenery to look at. Apart from a handful of mist-strewn islands, all she could see now was the choppy water lapping at the sides of the ferry.
She sighed and glanced at her watch. If what the man had said was true, it shouldn’t be long now. Glancing towards the front of the vessel, she glimpsed a solid mass of land immediately ahead of them. Was that Kilfoil? She hoped so. She’d call her mother as soon as she stepped onto dry land.
Lucia Chantry would be desperate for news. Sophie was her baby, and although she knew as well as anyone that her daughter could be selfish and willful at times, Rosa had never been left in any doubt as to who was her mother’s favourite. Sophie could do no wrong, whereas Rosa was constantly making mistakes. Not least when she’d married Colin Vincent. Her mother had never liked him, and she hadn’t hesitated to say I told you so when Colin turned out to be such a jerk.
The ferry was slowing now, cutting back on its engines, preparing for its arrival at Kilfoil. As it eased into its berth, Rosa got to her feet, eager for her first glimpse of her destination. It was certainly unprepossessing, she thought, just a handful of cottages climbing up the hillside from the ferry terminal. But the overcast sky didn’t help. She was sure it would look much more appealing in sunlight.
Fifteen minutes later she was standing on the quay, watching as the few cars heading for the island rolled off the ferry. Glancing about her, she saw the road that wound up out of the village and the dark slopes of a mountain range behind.
The island suddenly seemed much bigger than she’d anticipated. But what had she been expecting? Something the size of Holy Island, off the coast of Northumberland, perhaps? And if she did find Sophie here, if she hadn’t been lying, how was she supposed to get her to come home? If her sister was starstruck, she wouldn’t be influenced by anything Rosa said.
Rosa had just located a sign that said ‘Post Office’ when she saw a dusty grey Audi coming up the ramp towards her. The man who’d bought her coffee was at the wheel and she turned abruptly away. She didn’t want him to think—even for a moment—that she was looking for him.
To her relief, the big car swept past her, but then it braked hard, just a dozen yards up the road, and she saw its reversing lights appear. It stopped beside her and a door was pushed open. The man thrust his legs out, got to his feet with an obvious effort and turned towards her.
She noticed he was favouring his left leg, something she hadn’t observed on the ferry. But then, the rolling of the vessel would have precluded any observation of that kind. She’d been decidedly unsteady on her own feet.
Liam, meanwhile, was cursing himself for being all kinds of an idiot for stopping the car. But, dammit, she still looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away. And she certainly wasn’t interested in him. He’d noticed the way she’d deliberately turned her back on him. So what was he doing playing the knight errant again?
‘Got a problem?’ he asked, forcing her to turn and face him.
‘I hope not,’ she said tightly, wishing he would just go away. But, on the off-chance that he might be able to help her, she ought to be more grateful. ‘Um—I was looking for the Post Office, that’s all. I wanted to ask where Kilfoil Castle was.’
‘Kilfoil Castle?’ Liam was wary now. ‘Why do you want to know where Kilfoil Castle is? It’s not open to the public, you know.’
‘I know that.’ Rosa sighed. Then, giving in to the urge to trust him, she added, ‘Do you happen to know if there’s a film crew working there?’
‘A film crew?’ Now Liam was genuinely concerned. Had he been wrong about this woman all along?
‘Yes, a film crew,’ repeated Rosa. ‘I understand they’re making a film of one of the Liam Jameson’s books on the island.’
Like hell!
Liam stared at her, trying to decide if she was as naïve as she looked. ‘Why would you imagine Liam Jameson would allow a film crew to desecrate his home?’ he demanded bleakly. ‘Movies have been made of his books, I know, but they’re not filmed here.’
Was it just his imagination or did her shoulders sag at this news? What was going on, for God’s sake? Had she expected to find her sister on the set? ‘I think you’ve made a mistake,’ he said gently. ‘Someone’s given you the wrong information. I can assure you there’s no production team at Kilfoil Castle or anywhere else on the island.’
Rosa shook her head. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You’re not just trying to put me off?’
‘Hell, no!’ Liam gazed at her compassionately. ‘I realise it must be a blow, but I don’t think your sister’s here.’
Rosa’s brows drew together. ‘I don’t remember saying that I thought my sister was with the film crew,’ she retorted defensively.
‘No, but it doesn’t take a mathematician to put two and two together.’
Rosa bit her lip. ‘All right. Perhaps I did think Sophie might be with them. But if she’s not, then perhaps she’s somewhere else.’
Liam gazed at her. ‘On the island?’
‘Yes.’ Rosa held up her head. ‘So perhaps you could direct me to Kilfoil Castle, as I asked before. Is there a taxi or something I could hire if it’s too far to walk?’
Liam blinked. ‘Why on earth would you think your sister might be at Kilfoil Castle?’ he asked, trying not to sound outraged at the suggestion, and his companion sighed.
‘Because she apparently met Liam Jameson a few days ago, at the pop festival in Glastonbury. He told her they were making a film of his latest book in Scotland and he offered her a screen test.’
To say Liam was stunned would have been a vast understatement. It was as if she’d suddenly started talking in a foreign language and he couldn’t make head or tail of what she was saying. For goodness’ sake, until Sunday morning he’d been in a London clinic having muscle therapy to try and ease the spasms he still suffered in his leg. Besides which, he’d never been to a pop festival in his life.
Realising she was waiting for him to say something, Liam tried to concentrate. It was obvious she believed what she’d just told him. Her look of uncertainty and expectation was too convincing to fake. But, dammit, if her sister had fed her this story, why had she believed it? Anyone who knew Liam Jameson would know it was untrue.
But perhaps she didn’t. Certainly she hadn’t recognised him. And, taken at face value, it wasn’t so outrageous. Two of his books had been filmed in Scotland. But not on Kilfoil. He’d made damn sure of that.
‘Liam Jameson does live here, doesn’t he?’
