One Summer At The Castle: Stay Through the Night / A Stormy Spanish Summer / Behind Palace Doors. Anne Mather

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      It rained all day Wednesday.

      Rosa, who was confined to Katie Ferguson’s guesthouse, stared out at the weather with a feeling of desperation. She felt so helpless. Where was Sophie? she fretted, the inactivity putting her at the mercy of her fears. All right, she’d said she was okay, and Rosa had to accept that. But something about this whole situation didn’t add up.

      Still, she could do nothing until the ferry arrived the following morning, she consoled herself, rubbing a circle in the condensation her breath had made on the glass. The guesthouse was cosy, her room small, but comfortable. But there were no other guests with whom she could have passed the time.

      She glanced across the room at the table beside the bed. Two paperbacks that she’d bought at the post office-cum-general store resided there. One was a historical romance with a Scottish setting that she’d hoped might distract her from her troubles, but it hadn’t. The other was a Liam Jameson.

      The postmistress, a rather garrulous Scotswoman, had gone on at some length about the quality of Liam’s writing. She’d read everything he’d ever written, she’d said, even though she didn’t usually enjoy that sort of thing.

      ‘But his characters are so good, aren’t they?’ she’d enthused. ‘That Luther Killian! My goodness, I’d never realised that vampires could be so fascinating.’

      Of course Rosa had had to admit that she hadn’t read any of Liam’s books, and that was when she’d discovered how Sam had explained her presence on the island.

      ‘Why, I was sure you’d have read all of them, seeing as you work for his publisher and all,’ the postmistress had exclaimed in surprise. And when Rosa had looked confused she’d added ruefully, ‘Och, old McAllister told us who you were. When Sam Devlin called him out to Kilfoil, he said a young lady from Pargeters had been visiting Mr Jameson.’ She’d nodded at the rain. ‘It’s only a pity you’re seeing the island in its worst light. It’s really quite beautiful.’

      Rosa had admitted then that it hadn’t been raining when she’d first arrived. But, not wanting to contribute to any more gossip, she’d paid for the books and made good her escape.

      However, she wondered now if Sam had told Mrs Ferguson the same story. It seemed possible, although her landlady was much more reserved, and she hadn’t questioned why Rosa should have been visiting the castle.

      Rosa sighed. Nevertheless, it was because of Liam that she’d found it impossible to read his book. She couldn’t help associating Luther Killian with the man who’d created him, and the fact that Liam hadn’t bothered getting back to her was a constant thorn in her side.

      Not that she’d told her mother that. She’d rung Mrs Chantry on Tuesday evening to let her know where she was staying, giving her the phone number of the guesthouse as if she’d never stayed anywhere else. She’d promised she’d be speaking to Jameson again the following day, leaving her mother with the impression that another interview had been arranged.

      Fortunately Mrs Chantry hadn’t questioned that, and Rosa hadn’t talked for long. Apart from anything else, she’d been conscious that Mrs Ferguson could come into the small hallway where the phone was situated at any time, and the last thing Rosa wanted was for her to suspect that her reasons for being here weren’t what she’d heard.

      All in all, it had been a miserable couple of days. The rain had started soon after she and Mr McAllister had left the castle the previous morning, and his old estate car had taken for ever to cross the moor. Then, coming down into the village, they’d skidded onto the grass verge, so that Rosa had been relieved when she’d arrived safely at her destination.

      Leaving her seat by the window, Rosa crossed the room and picked up Liam’s book. There was still an hour to fill before supper, which appeared to be served early in the Highlands. And another couple of hours after that before she could reasonably retire to bed. She had to do something.

      Of course what she ought to do was hire old McAllister’s cab again and drive back to the castle, if only to keep the promise she’d made to her mother. Liam wasn’t going to ring her, either because Sam hadn’t given him her message or because he chose not to, and this might be her last chance.

      But the idea of chancing another ride in the elderly estate car filled her with unease. And, apart from that, she didn’t really have a reason for seeing Liam again. Not a genuine one, at any rate. Wanting to spend a little more time with him just didn’t cut it, particularly after he’d admitted that he’d be glad to see her go. So she might as well resign herself to another night at the guesthouse and a trip back to the mainland tomorrow afternoon.

      But the following morning Rosa awakened to the sound of the wind howling round the walls of the old building. Snuggling under the covers, she wished she didn’t have to get out of bed. It sounded more like a gale than anything, and she could just imagine being on the ferry in such a wind. Goodness, she’d felt sick coming here, and the water had been reasonably calm then. Now it was going to be as choppy as a bathtub. Or rather the ferry would be as helpless as a bathtub in a turbulent sea.

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