Saving Nathaniel

Chapter 1

She was cold. She was wet. She was late.

The keys hit the icy puddle with a soft splash and the woman with the tattered wreck of an umbrella swore as she bent down to retrieve them.

She continued her muttered cursing as she fit the right key into the lock on the heavy wooden door and gave it a double turn, heaved the door open and stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind her.

‘Well you’re knackered,’ she said to the umbrella, and rammed the now useless object into the waiting mouth of the waste bin, giving the bin a kick for good measure.

She shrugged off her sodden coat, shaking free a shower of water droplets before hanging it up, all the while directing ever louder and more vehement curses toward the unseasonably foul weather.

'And what time do you call this?'

She wheeled around, slamming her back against the door, eyes wide, an ear piercing squeal of fright erupting from her throat.

Leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, a man peered at her over a pair of reading glasses, his face carrying an expression of quiet amusement. 'Good morning. I hope I didn’t startle you.'

She blew out a breath. ‘Scared me half to bloody death is what you did.’

'I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist. Come on in if you’re coming.'

She didn’t move. ‘Are you Mr Mackie?’

He nodded. ‘The one and only…apart from my father that is.’

She took a step forward, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. ‘You’re not supposed to be here. Why are you here?'

'Because it's my house,' he said, as if addressing a half wit. 'And if you're not who I think you are, one of us is in serious trouble. You’re dripping on the floor by the way.'

He reached to the large pine dresser behind him, pulled a cotton tea towel from a drawer, and tossed it over the table toward her. She used it to dry her hands and face and stem a rivulet of water leaking from her hairline. Mackie watched her every move with interest before pulling a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and squinting at it through his spectacles. 'So would I be wrong in assuming you're my accident-prone housekeeper's sister…um...? Me-gan..? At least I think that's what it says. I can't always read my own writing.'

She nodded. 'It probably does, yes, I mean no, no you're not wrong…I'm her…Megan…Megan Thomas.'

'You're sure?'

'Yes.'

'Good, I'm glad we've sorted that out.’ He stood, and with a welcoming smile offered her his hand. 'Nathaniel Mackie. It's very nice to meet you, Ms Thomas.'

Megan's own smile was small and cautious as she placed her hand in his. His skin felt warm and smooth and the grip firmly masculine. 'Just Megan, please.’

A perfunctory shake and the essentials of introduction were complete. Mackie gestured for her to sit, and she continued to dab her wet hair with the towel while he poured coffee into a squat, round mug and slid it over the tabletop to her. She thanked him and tasted the contents carefully; it was strong and quite delicious.

An expensive brew. That's a good start.

'You're late, Just Megan.’

She shook her head. 'Now that wasn't my fault. I set off in plenty of time. It's been pouring with rain all night and there was a flood on the road. I had to detour and because I'm fairly new to the village, I got a bit lost. I know it's a pathetic excuse, but it's the truth.'

'I'm sure it is. And what happened to your brolly?'

'The wind ripped it in two. Serves me right for buying cheap rubbish. I’m sorry for being so late, and so…vocal.'

'Nae bother. Although last time I heard language like that was a Saturday night down by the docks.'

Megan felt heat rising in her neck and feared she might blush. 'I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. Rebecca told me you wouldn’t be back until after the weekend. If I’d known you were here, I wouldn’t have— Because I don’t usually— Not that I’m making excuses—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.'

'I'm very glad to hear it. It’s not at all ladylike. Don’t let your coffee go cold.'

She took a good drink of her brew, savouring its richness, and in the ensuing silence realised the scared rabbit thrumming of her pulse in her ears had settled to a more normal rhythm.

She risked a surreptitious glance over the table to Mackie. Her sister Rebecca's description had been fairly accurate; mid-fifties and well featured, with soft grey-green eyes and hair nicely greying at the temples. Quite handsome in a stern sort of way, and with a Scots accent that burred gently; not like the raw teuchter she heard about the village.

‘So, business trip, eh?' she ventured.

Mackie didn’t look up from his newspaper. 'That's right.'

‘Must have gone well if you’re back so soon. Where'd you go? Home or abroad?’

‘Glasgow.'

‘That’s not too bad. What is it 150 miles or so?’

‘More or less.’

‘How do you like to travel? Train or plane?’

‘I prefer to drive.’

‘I didn’t see a car outside. Is it in the garage? What sort have you got?’

A sigh. ‘Range Rover.’

‘Really? That’s— What?’

‘Are you always this nosey? Asking so many questions of someone you’ve only just met?’ he said, eyeing her over his glasses.

Megan took an innocent sip from her mug. ‘Was that too many? I thought it was just right.’

A pause, before Mackie said, ‘I only picked up Rebecca’s message last night. It was sketchy to say the least. She said she’d had an accident, couldn’t work, and to expect you in her stead. What happened?’

‘Slipped on some seaweed at the beach, went base over apex, coming down onto her elbow. They’ve had to use all kinds of fixings to stabilise it and she’s in plaster from fingertip to shoulder. Can’t even dress herself, so she’s going to be off work for a good few months.’

‘I see. And you just happened to be on hand to take up the slack.’

‘Yes. As I’m between jobs at the moment and have plenty of time on my hands, we thought we could kill two birds with one stone. I would have something to do, and you wouldn’t be left with no clean shirts through no fault of your own.’

Mackie’s eyebrows rose. ‘I do know how to operate a washing machine.’

‘But why should you? You’re a busy man with things to do, places to go, people to see. Spare time must be precious luxury to you, so why would you want to waste it on dreary domesticity?’

He lifted his chin to look down his nose at her. ‘What makes you think I don’t enjoy a little dreary domesticity now and again?’

She stared at him, one eyebrow raised.

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘You’re right. I don’t. I bloody hate it, and if truth be known, I don’t have a sodding clue how the washing machine works either.’

‘Thought so. We also thought that so long as the work got done you wouldn’t mind which one of us did it.’

Mackie spread his hands. ‘So now you’re here, what do you think of the old heap?’

‘The house?’ Megan smiled her approval. ‘I think it’s utterly charming.’

The old granite house was not only charming, it was also one of the most imposing in the village, standing as it did in proud isolation, set back from the road and enclosed by a high wall, ensuring privacy and security. A pair of wrought iron gates granted access to a wide gravelled driveway that swept a lazy arc around a gigantic ancient oak tree to deposit visitors at a front door guarded by twin bay trees in terracotta pots.

Even with a sketch plan of the house’s layout in hand, Megan found her first visit somewhat overwhelming.

She started on the ground floor, in the hall, and soon found the sitting room, dining room and conservatory; all impeccably carpeted and decorated, all spotlessly clean and tidy and, it appeared, rarely used.

The final door she tried opened onto a room in complete contrast to the others. Dark and gloomy, the curtains being half closed and shutting out the weak autumn sunlight. In it she could just about make out walls lined with bookshelves, a huge oak desk, and a tatty looking chair and footstool set beside an ornate fireplace. Some kind of study cum library, she thought, and well used if the general state of shabbiness and lingering odour of cheese sandwich was anything to go by.

Back into the hall, and the curved staircase that carried her up to the five bedrooms and two bathrooms making up the first floor.

Apart from the master bedroom, Mackie's own she concluded, which had its own en suite, all the others appeared not to have been troubled for a long while.

She ventured into one and peered out of a window which gave her a view of an extensive rear garden. Even outside, everything was as neat as a pin. Clipped shrubs bordered an expanse of manicured lawn. In one corner of it stood an enormous apple tree, its trunk surrounded by a slatted wooden bench. She saw too a thriving vegetable patch and a well stocked greenhouse.

An elderly man in Wellington boots puffed on a pipe clamped between his teeth as he trundled a wheelbarrow across the lawn. When he reached the garden wall he took out a pair of secateurs, and through clouds of tobacco smoke, began snipping at a fading rambling rose.

He, she presumed from Rebecca’s notes, would be Old John, the taciturn gardener.

After her tour Megan returned to the kitchen, undoubtedly the hub of the house's activity, and where she and her potential employer were now sat.

‘It’s quite the most beautiful house I’ve seen in a long time.’

Mackie shrugged. ‘It’s nothing special. Bricks and mortar; four walls and a roof. It serves its purpose. It keeps me warm and dry and gives me somewhere to work and sleep in peace. What else would I need?'

‘Home is where the heart is.’ For the first time she noticed the gold band he wore on the third finger of his left hand, and recalled the story Rebecca had told her.

Maybe not.

‘So…Megan…’ Megan’s attention was drawn back to Mackie, or more especially to what he had in his hand. ‘Want to tell me about this?’

It was her notebook, the one with the sketch map and details of all her chores and responsibilities, not to mention a few choice notes of interest about Mackie himself, including some personal comments. She hadn’t even noticed the book was missing. It must have dropped out of her coat pocket. She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘So you admit it’s yours.’

‘You already know it is, so there would be no point denying it would there?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘So you already knew I’d been here and you were just playing me along?’

He smiled. ‘Yup.’ He fanned through the pages. 'I had a read of it last night. Some very interesting points have been made.'

Heat raced across Megan’s cheeks and she concentrated on stirring her drink with a teaspoon. 'It was Rebecca's idea. She thought it might help me get things in order. Prior preparation is the key to efficiency after all.'

Mackie flicked the pages again. 'And it might well be if it weren't for a few key points you missed.’

'I thought we'd covered just about everything.'

He leaned forward, arms resting on the tabletop, hands clasped around the book. With barely a pause, his manner switched from friendly and welcoming to uncompromising businessman. ‘Not quite. And if you want to continue as my in loco chatelaine, you would do well to pay full attention to the rules. Understand?’

'Listening.’

'First off, don't answer the phone, not even the extension. It won't be for you. I work from home most of the time and more than likely any phone calls will be business. Even if I am home, leave it alone. I like to screen my calls so I let the answer machine pick up first. Saves a lot of hassle. You may make calls connected with domestic stuff, deliveries, workmen et cetera, but ask me first. No personal calls. Use your mobile for that.' He didn't give her a chance to explain that she didn't have a mobile phone to use.

He continued. 'Next point. As you already know, Struan Lodge is a big house and you'll have the run of it – except one room. I have a study at the front of the house. It is to be considered completely private and out of bounds. If the door is closed I expect not to be disturbed unless it is a most dire emergency. House on fire, terrorist attack, that sort of thing. You can go in there to clean by invitation only. Is that clear?'

'Absolutely.' She made sure her impassive expression did not betray the fact she had already violated his sacred space.

'As far as you are concerned, how you structure your day to do your work…once you get here of course, is entirely up to you. You are free to come and go as you please. I have no interest in the ins and outs of your routine.'

She nodded despite feeling slighted by the fact he felt it necessary to mention her lateness again.

'On the other hand, I feel it only reasonable to warn you that I tend to go away at short notice and can be gone for days at a time, so when I’m gone you’ll be in charge. Make sure you lock up properly.’

She nodded again. ‘Understood.'

'The same working hours will stand; weekdays only, eight 'til six; weekends by arrangement.'

'As long as you give me plenty of notice.'

'If I can. I wouldn't want to interfere with your social life.'

She snorted. 'There's not much chance of that, I don't have one.'

'Then there'll be no problem, will there? Have I made everything clear?'

'As crystal.'

'You don't want me to go over anything again?'

'No.'

He appeared to relax a little. 'Is there anything you want to ask me?'

She mirrored his posture. 'Yes, three things. Firstly, I know you're expecting me to cook for you, but I tell you now I don't do fancy stuff. Plain and simple. If you're expecting some exotic Cordon Bleu concoction, you're going to be disappointed. If that's going to be a problem, I'd rather you tell me now.'

He shook his head slowly. 'No. Whatever you do will be fine.'

'You might want to reserve judgement on that. Even our dog turned up its nose at my offerings.'

'Secondly?'

'How do I pay for things? Groceries and such like? My own pockets are rather shallow and I take it you won't want the supermarket budget range.'

'I'll give you a credit card to cover expenses; legitimate ones that is. I'll be checking the statement closely, mind, so keep your receipts. Any abuse will mean instant dismissal.'

His presumption of dishonesty was annoying to say the least. ‘I wouldn't dream of it.’

'Anything else?'

'Yes. Do you have any preference as to how you would like to be addressed - Mr Mackie or Sir?'

Mackie leaned back in his chair and regarded her as he pulled thoughtfully on his earlobe. ‘Neither. I think, when it's just the two of us, we can keep it fairly casual. I have no objection to you calling me Nat if you like.'

'Nat? Okay. That's short and sweet.'

'Of course, if there are other people about I expect you will use your discretion.'

‘Of course.’

‘Fine.’ He sat up. ‘More coffee?’

‘No thanks.’

‘You don’t mind if I do?’

‘Not at all. It’s your coffee.’

Mackie poured himself a second cup. ‘Rebecca will have no doubt told you some tales about me already.’

She had indeed. Hardly a day went by when she didn’t have something to say about his many irritating quirks and eccentricities.

‘She did happen to mention that you are somewhat, how did she phrase it…traditional in outlook, particular in nature.’

The actual words Rebecca had used were an old fashioned, overbearing, nitpicking old fusspot.

‘That’s because I have high standards. Some might say too high, that I’m unreasonable with them. I don’t think so. A job half done is no job done in my book. If you agree to do something, always make sure you’re doing to the very best of your ability. Beyond even. If you can’t give one hundred and ten percent, then don’t do it at all. Don’t you agree?’

Jawohl, mein Kapitan, Megan thought, but did not say. She nodded. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’

That seemed to please him and he smiled. ‘Good. Excellent.’

He has a nice smile. Lovely eyes too. Unusual colour…

He slapped his palms on the table, making her jump. ‘Right then! To work. You have plenty to do and enough time's been wasted on idle chit chat already.’

He stood and slid his chair under the table. 'Welcome to Struan Lodge, Just Megan. I hope you don't find your time here too…arduous.'

With his newspaper tucked under his arm he left the room, leaving behind the faintest trace of his cologne.

Megan's nostrils flared as they took in the scent and it tickled something deep within her, causing a small smile to play across her lips.

Chapter 2

It was half past six when Megan got home that evening, exhausted after her first official day’s work at the Lodge. The kitchen of the homely cottage she shared with her sister was dark, lit only by the sliver of light oozing around the slightly open sitting room door.

She could hear the TV on in there, but called out in case Rebecca and her boyfriend, Paul, were getting up close and personal on the sofa. She’d caught them at it before, much to everyone’s embarrassment.

‘If anyone’s in there shagging, you’d better stop because I’m coming in!’

She gave them a count of three to make themselves decent before pushing the door open.

No evidence of groping or fumbling or fondling; just two tired looking people slumped on the sofa in front of the TV, one with her arm fixed at 90 degrees at the elbow in a plaster cast supported by a mesh pocket sling.

Megan dropped into the easy chair by the blazing fire, kicked off her shoes and dropped her head onto the back of the chair, eyes closed. ‘What a day!’

Paul got up, fetched a glass from the sideboard, and half filled it from the bottle already open on the coffee table. ‘Get that inside of you. You look like you could use one?’

She could. ‘Thank you, sweetie.’ She took a deep quaff and sighed. ‘Oh, that’s better.’

‘Hard day then?’

Another smaller sip. 'It was okay, once I got over the shock.'

Rebecca's attention immediately shifted from the TV news onto her. 'What shock? What's happened? What did you do?'

Megan peered at the dancing flames through her wineglass turning them a rich orange. 'It wasn’t me. It was him. Your man Mackie. The one you said would be away for two more days? He came back last night and he was there waiting for me. There I was dripping like a mop and cursing like a sailor and he's sitting as calm as you like at the kitchen table taking it all in. He scared the living be-Jesus out of me and made me look a complete ninny.'

'Not a great first impression then?' Paul said.

'Not one of my best, no.' Megan rubbed at her toes and made a mental note to wear more comfortable shoes in future.

'So what do you think of him?' said Rebecca. 'Miserable old git isn't he?'

'Becca! That's an awful thing to say!' Paul exclaimed.

It got him a huff from Rebecca. 'You wouldn't say that if you knew him like I do.’

'I think he's really rather nice,' said Megan affably. ‘He was polite, open, friendly, quite the charmer in a stiff reserved sort of way. Good looking too. I love his accent. That gentle Scots burr is really quite sexy.'

‘It’s all window dressing. A book with an attractive cover. You want to keep it at arm’s distance and open it with care because when you do, you’ll find all the pages are coming loose. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

A silence fell. Megan slumped down in her chair and sipped at her wine. Rebecca began to twist a lock of her hair around her fingers.

‘Do you really think this is going to work, Meg?’ she asked. ‘I really need this job. I can’t afford to lose it. Do you think you being there, not knowing the first thing you’re doing, is the right way of keeping it open until I’m better?'

Sensing something needing to be said between the sisters that didn’t concern him, Paul released Rebecca from the loving protective arm he had draped around her shoulder, excused himself for a call of Nature, and left the room.

Megan swiftly took his place on the sofa. 'It’s the only way,’ she said. ‘Unless you suggest he get someone from an agency in there?’

Rebecca’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Who might do a better job and take over permanently!’

‘That’s why our way is best.’ Megan turned her glass around in her hand. ‘I’ve been run off my feet today, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to Mr Mackie properly, but I’ll do it tomorrow first thing. I’ll tell him this type of job is not my particular forte. If he thinks better of me being there and would rather have someone from an agency instead, fair enough. I’ll go, but I’ll make him promise to keep your job open, however long it takes. If he lets me stay, I’ll do a good job to the best of my abilities, I promise.’ She kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘I won’t let you down, Becca.’

The hair twisting continued. Not all Rebecca’s anxieties it seemed had been laid to rest. ‘Don’t let it happen again, Megs,’ she said, the whisper barely audible. ‘He’s damaged goods. He’ll drain you dry.’

‘Things are different now, Becky. I’m different. I’ve learned my lessons, taken my punishment and moved on. I shall simply keep my head down and do my job and not get involved at any level. A definite line of demarcation will be drawn – temporary employer, temporary employee, and neither of us is going to cross it. It's only for a few months. There won’t be time for him to get under my skin. It will pass in no time and then everything will be as it was. You’ll see.'

To her own ears at least, her argument sounded convincing enough.

Paul returned from his tactical retreat in time to catch the sports bulletins, and dropped into Megan’s chair by the hearth. Quickly engrossed by the league cup tables he paid no heed to the women's hushed conversation.

‘Mackie found the notebook,’ Megan said.

‘What?’

‘It must have fallen out of my pocket. He had it there at the table.’

‘Had he read it?’

‘Yep.’

Rebecca closed her eyes and groaned. ‘Crap.’

‘He didn’t seem too bothered actually,’ said Megan. ‘Although he did bring up a couple of points he thinks we missed.'

'Like what?'

‘My not trespassing in his study for a start. He was most emphatic about it; almost threatening in fact. Stay out of my private space or else.'

'Did he suspect you’d already been in there snooping about?'

Megan shook her head. 'If he did, he didn’t say…and I wasn't snooping. I was just getting the lie of the land. He does seem pretty firm about maintaining his privacy, however, so I have to ask, Becks, is there anything else you might have forgotten to mention? I don't want something trivial upsetting the applecart.'

Rebecca shook her head slowly. 'I don't think so, but after all these years it's all just second nature to me. I can't remember every tiny detail. If I think of anything I promise I'll tell you.'

Megan stretched out her legs and rested her head on the back of the sofa, letting her eyes fall closed. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and the wine had set her empty stomach to gurgling, reminding her that her day’s work was not yet quite over. She gulped down the rest of the wine. 'Right then you lot. What am I making for dinner?'

Home alone at Struan Lodge, Nathaniel Mackie absent-mindedly thumbed through the notebook Megan had left behind again. It was full of neatly handwritten directives, essential for the smooth running of a house of Struan's size, and some notes pertaining to him in particular.

One page mentioned coffee and cheese, his two main addictions, were always to be in stock, even listing his favourite brands. Another detailed how she should keep an eye on the liquor stock, to remember that what was on view was not always the truth, and to be aware that he kept a bottle hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk.

'How the hell did she know about that?'

He put the book aside and poured himself another stiff measure of his favourite tipple, filling his mouth with the warm spicy liquid as he thought back over his first day with his new housekeeper.

His first perception that she might be a little bird-brained could not have been wider of the mark. Confident, intelligent, wit as sharp as a tack, he had to admit the woman intrigued him.

Once recovered from her initial surprise, she had not shown any fear when he challenged her, maintaining eye contact when speaking to him. She had nice eyes; a bright, intense blue that looked right through him. He suspected he wouldn't be able to hide much from her and it would be a waste of time trying. It was apparent to him also that she would stand up for herself, and any demands she considered unreasonable, should he be foolish enough to make them, would no doubt be met with a stubbornness which would easily match his own.

Apart from her eyes, he was finding it difficult to picture her properly in his mind. Every time he had seen her, she had been either dripping wet or scowling with annoyance.

He couldn't make an accurate guess at her age, forty-ish maybe and he supposed her to be average looking for someone of that age, with clear skin and, on the rare occasion he saw it, a ready smile. He gauged her height to be about five foot four in her socks and although her figure had been hidden beneath a dowdy overall, he felt confident in his assumption that all her 'bits' were Nature's own. The true shade of her neatly bobbed hair was hard to determine due to its perpetual dampness, although he couldn't help noticing the striking silver-white streak running through it from crown to jaw line.

Physical characteristics aside, there was something else about her he couldn't quite put his finger on; an odd yet strangely attractive quality. He had experienced it whenever they had happened upon each other during the course of the day. It was elusive, intangible, ethereal almost, and it exuded from her like a wispy aura; something impossible to interpret or define with words, but most definitely present and it disturbed him somewhat.

Despite his misgivings, he found himself looking forward to seeing her again the next day. His curiosity had definitely been piqued.

Chapter 3

Megan arrived for work the next morning as Nat, still in his dressing gown, was finishing his breakfast. She let herself in without fuss and gave him a cheery, 'Good morning,' as she hung her coat on the hook behind the door.

'Good morning.’ He followed it up with a cheeky, 'And on time too.'

She slipped her tabard over her head, fastening it at her waist, and tamed a stray wisp of hair with her hand, all the while aware of him watching her. She checked herself over. 'What's the matter?