Cauldstane Read Online Free

fine, thanks. It smells delicious. So does the home baking. Are all of those for me, or are you off to feed the five thousand elsewhere?’
    Sh e chuckled. ‘Och, you’ve come a long way! We won’t see you starve while you’re here.’
    Wilma Guthrie wouldn’t see forty again, possibly not fifty , but it was difficult to guess her age. Her plumpness ironed out any giveaway wrinkles and her fine greying hair was cut in an unflattering pudding basin style that she might have worn since childhood. Most of her clothes were hidden under a tabard apron, but I registered thick ankles below her pleated woollen skirt and was surprised to see her feet shod in trainers.
    ‘Now if there’s anything else you want, just let me know. You’ll most likely find me in the kitchen. Go down the stair and follow the sound of the radio. It’s always on. We serve lunch in the dining room at one o’clock. Just a buffet, quite informal. Now, d’you have everything you need?’
    ‘Yes, thank you. I’m sure I shall be very comfortable.’
    ‘Then I’ll pop back later to collect the tray.’ She cast her eyes round the room as if checking it a final time, then she bustled out, splay-footed, but swift and silent in her running shoes.
     
    ~
     
    Shortly before one, I emerged from my room just as a man came jogging up the stairs. It was Alexander MacNab. I recognised him not from his face, which I’d hardly registered in the courtyard, but from his very upright bearing. That was the thing about Alec MacNab. You wouldn’t look at him twice. Not until he moved.
    Boiler suit and safety glasses were now gone. He was wearing a faded T-shirt and old jeans. His hair was an unexceptional brown, rather long and untidy, swept back from his forehead and curling round his ears and temples. His features, though regular, could hardly be described as handsome. Comparing him with his younger brother, you wouldn’t hesitate to say Fergus was the good-looking one. Alec, though much taller, would blend into the background, ceding the field to Fergus who, as I was to learn, wielded charm and a pair of bright blue eyes with as much panache as his brother handled a sword.
    When Alec saw me, he paused, unsmiling, at the top of the stairs. There was a moment’s awkwardness and I stepped forward.
    ‘Hello. I’m Jenny Ryan. I’m here to talk to your father. We might produce a book together.’
    ‘Ah, the ghost ,’ Alec said, with a faint smile.
    ‘Yes, that’s me.’
    He extended his hand. ‘How d’you do, Miss Ryan.’
    ‘Oh, please call me Jenny.’ I took his hand and felt rather than saw that two of his fingers wore plasters at the end. I supposed accidents must be one of the hazards of producing sharp blades. I glanced down at his hand and registered the same extraordinary long thumb joint that I’d seen on the stone carving above the MacNab motto. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, I felt absurdly thrilled, as if I’d shaken hands with history.
    Alec was still looking at me, his head on one side. ‘Have we met before?’
    ‘ I don’t think so. This is only the second time I’ve been to Scotland.’
    ‘You look familiar. Are you famous?’
    ‘No , quite the opposite! No one’s supposed to know who I am.’ I was beginning to feel disconcerted by his direct gaze. ‘I mean, that’s the point of being a ghost writer. Anonymity. You should be invisible.’
    His eyebrows shot u p. ‘How d’you manage that?’
    ‘ Well, my name doesn’t appear in the book and I’m contractually bound not to reveal who I’ve written for. It’s a point of honour anyway that ghosts don’t reveal who their subjects are. If you did, you’d never work again.’
    ‘So someone else takes all the credit for what you write?’
    ‘Yes. That’s what we’re paid for. But I take a more positive view. I see it as a sort of facilitation job. I enable people to tell their stories – stories which wouldn’t find a reader unless someone ghosted them. Do you sign your