Waterfall Glen (29 page)

“It would be easier to believe it was just an accident if it hadn’t been the bride’s croft that went up in smoke, and if it hadn’t been for that guy showing up with the camera, wouldn’t it?”

“A whole lot easier.”

“Of course, that could all just have been coincidence, like the policeman said.”

Kate didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything at all until a few minutes later when she was sitting in the lounge with a stiff drink inside her and another in her hand. “There really could be a curse, Cameron,” she said. “Maybe my family’s fated not to be able to hold on to the glen. It would be a fitting punishment, given what they did to the people who once lived here.”

“Kate, if the fire wasn’t an accident then it was a dirty
trick by Yeoman, not the result of a curse from beyond the grave.”

“It could almost be the same thing. Curses work through ciphers, don’t they? Maybe Yeoman is a cipher for this curse.”

Cameron put his arm around her. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or the glen,” he promised her.

“Maybe there’s nothing you or anyone else can do—look what happened this afternoon. That’s why a curse is so frightening, I suppose: you can’t fight it. Or at least you can’t fight it and win. You’re powerless to stop it running its course.”

Cameron wasn’t sure what to say to that, and was glad to be saved by the ringing of the ancient Bakelite telephone.

Kate got up from the chaise longue and answered with a weary, “Kate Brodie.”

She listened for a moment, then angrily said, “I’d rather not talk to you,” and slammed the receiver down so hard the cradle almost broke.

“Who was that?” Cameron asked, never having heard her be so curt with anyone before.

“Some guy from
The Inverness Morning Herald.”

“What did he say?”

‘“I believe you had a bit of a drama at a wedding in The Cranoch today’,” Kate told him, before adding, “Vulture!”

“I don’t want to interfere, but I think you should talk to him. Or, at least, let me talk to him.”

“Why? Like I said, he’s being a vulture.”

“He would say he’s just doing his job.”

“Well, it’s a pretty nasty job.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?”

“That he’s going to write a story anyway, so it’d be better to have some influence on how it reads. I know from the PR stuff I did in the army that it pays to have good relations with the Press—they can either help you or they can crucify you.”

“Well, in this case they’re not going to help us. We needed good publicity, Cameron, not the sort we’re going to get from this.”

“Yes, but at least we can do some damage control. We can maybe also find out if the guy with the camera was a staffer or freelancer they regularly deal with, in which case the fire probably was just an accident and the photographer showing up probably was a coincidence. But if it was some mysterious third party who took the pictures, then the odds on accident and coincidence are a whole lot longer.”

Kate thought about it for a few moments, then said, “Could you talk to him, Cameron? My head’s spinning after everything that’s happened today. I really can’t think straight.”

Cameron nodded and picked up the phone. He used 1471 for the callback service to get the newspaper’s number, then asked Kate, “Do you remember the name of the man who phoned?”

“McLaren. Harry McLaren, I think.”

Cameron dialled the number. When he got through to the newspaper switchboard he said, “I’d like to talk to Harry McLaren, please.”

“One moment.”

There was a click, then a twenty-Marlboro-a-day voice said, “Harry McLaren speaking.”

“Hello, this is Cameron Fraser calling on behalf of Lady Kate Brodie. I believe you rang a few moments ago.”

“I believe Lady Kate Brodie didn’t want to talk to me a few moments ago.”

“You called at a bad time.”

“Can I ask exactly who you are?”

“My name’s Cameron Fraser. I’m a friend and neighbour.”

“Aye, well, thanks for calling back, Mr. Fraser. Somebody looked into the office here a short while ago, said they’d been driving past The Cranoch and saw smoke. Out of curiosity they went to see what was happening, and got some photos of a wedding party with the bride in a smoke-blackened dress. There are some quite dramatic shots. We just wanted to ask a few questions, fill out the story we’re putting together to go with the photos.”

“First of all, can
I
ask
you
a question: who handed the spool in?”

“He didn’t leave a name or address.”

“Not even for payment?”

“He told us to give any fee to charity, said he just liked taking photos for the fun of it.”

Cameron didn’t say anything.

“You’re not suggesting there was any foul play, are you?” the reporter asked.

“I was just curious,” Cameron said.

“Aye, well, we’ve been on to the police and fire brigade, and they’ve said no one was hurt in the fire and there are no suspicious circumstances. They’ve also said it happened during the wedding ceremony, and that the cottage of the bride’s family was gutted.”

“Yes, it was, so I’m sure you can understand how upset everyone is. Any chance you’d pull the photos?”

“None at all. As I’m sure
you
can understand, it’s way too good a story. Especially given the other circumstances.”

“What other circumstances?”

“You know, the curse that’s supposed to be on the Chisholm family.”

“The bride wasn’t a member of the Chisholm family.”

“No, but the wedding was held in Greystane, wasn’t it, and we believe it was a trial run for a wedding business the Chisholm heiress is trying to start up.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Come on—no journalist worth their salt reveals a source. Anyway, I was just wondering if Lady Kate would like to make any comment.”

“I’ll have to ask her about that. Can I get back to you?”

“Of course. Ask for extension 3212.”

Almost before Cameron hung up, Kate was asking, “What was that all about?”

“Better take another drink,” Cameron told her.

“Why?”

“They’re going to run the story and picture.”

“It sounded like there’s more to it than that.”

He nodded.

“Well?”

“He knows you’re trying to start a wedding business … And he knows about the supposed curse.”

“How did he find all that stuff out?” Kate asked.

“I suppose the curse thing will be common knowledge, and the local journos will drag it out and dust it down at every opportunity—it’s exactly the sort of thing that sells papers. As for the plans for a wedding package business, I’m guessing he was tipped off by the same person who ‘just happened’ to be driving past the glen after the fire.”

“It wasn’t a staff photographer, then?”

Cameron shook his head. “It really is starting to look like a dirty tricks campaign by Yeoman, trying to kill your wedding business plan stillborn with some bad publicity.”

“Couldn’t we tell that to this Harry McLaren? That’d be a good story in itself. Maybe the bad publicity for Yeoman would scare them off.”

“We’ve nothing solid to back it up, Kate. A newspaper—especially a small one that doesn’t have the resources to fight legal battles—wouldn’t print an allegation like that without hard facts to substantiate it, and we simply don’t have them. Besides, the curse aspect is probably a far better one as far as they’re concerned.”

“Like I said, Cameron, maybe they’re one and the same story, anyway.”

“If you honestly believe that, then you might as well just hand The Cranoch to Tony Carling on a plate.”

“You know I’d never do that. What I’m frightened of is that I won’t be able to stop him taking it.”

“Kate, all the great ideas you’ve been telling me about for putting together a wedding package—using the resources of the glen, including the crofters—they all work. They create a chemistry that’s really special. What happened before the fire today proved that, so the day’s not been a total disaster.”

“Tell that to Pamela and Ross. I tried helping them and look what happened because they got involved with me: the misfortune, bad luck, curse, whatever you want to call it, rubbed off on them.”

“Sabotage is what I’d call it.”

“Well that’s not what the papers are going to call it.”

“It’s one paper, Kate, and a local one at that.”

“If it is Yeoman behind this, I don’t think they’ll have stopped with a local newspaper. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve fed the story to the national papers as well.”

“Even if they have, it’s not the end of the world. You said yourself that the main market is going to be overseas. I think the best thing we can do is phone Harry McLaren back and tell him the important thing is that nobody was hurt.

“Then we just have to move on: take the positives from today—the way your package worked so well—and
think about how to sell your idea in the States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand; everywhere with ex-pat links to Scotland. I’ll get our photos developed, and with a bit of luck there’ll be some we can use for adverts in wedding magazines, Scottish interest magazines, clan society newsletters, that sort of thing.”

Kate didn’t say anything.

“It really can work,” he told her. “It’s a great product. It’s just up to you to sell it—and I’ll help in every way I can.”

Kate managed a hint of a smile and squeezed his hand in thanks.

The phone rang once more, and she picked it up.

Cameron watched the smile die on Kate’s face as she listened to the caller. There was no trace of happiness left by the time she said, “The only comment I’d like to make is that no one was hurt, and that’s the most important thing.”

There was a short silence while Kate listened to the person on the other end of the phone.

Then she said, “No, I don’t believe there’s a curse on my family,” and hung up.

“Another paper?” Cameron asked.

She nodded, “And not just a local one this time.”

“S
O MUCH FOR THE OLD SAYING THAT ANY PUBLICITY’S
good publicity,” Kate said disconsolately.

It was the morning after the fire. Cameron had driven her into Inverness for a paper and they were standing outside the newsagents, looking at the billboards.
The Northern Star
billboard read:

BLAZE BLACKENS BRIDE’S BIG DAY

The Inverness Morning Herald
billboard was even more damning:

BRIDE HIT BY CURSE OF THE CRANOCH

Kate sighed heavily. “I can’t think of much worse publicity.”

“Neither could Yeoman Holdings, apparently,” said Cameron.

“I hate to think they can get away with something like this.”

“They won’t if you can make a go of the business and
hold on to the glen.”

“It’s going to be harder now than ever. I’ll tell you something, though, it’s made me more determined than ever.”

Cameron saw the steel in her now, as well as the sweetness, and when he put an arm around her shoulder he was feeling admiration as well as love.

She put her arm around his waist and said, “Doing any work on the cottage today?”

“There’s nothing that can’t wait, though I’m longing for the day when I can say to you, ‘Your place or mine’?”

“When you do, I’ll say ‘your place and mine’.”

They laughed for the first time since the fire.

“If you’ve nothing planned today, how about helping me make up an advertisement to put in magazines in the States and Canada?” Kate asked. “It’s like Archie Cunningham said: people organize weddings a long time in advance, so there’s no time to waste.”

Cameron nodded. He looked at his watch. “I’ve brought the spools from the wedding. The chemist should be open by now, so I could drop them off, we can grab a bite to eat, then pick them up and see if the photos have come out okay.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she told him. “Better than fine.”

“I really hope so. I’d love to be able to give Ross and Pamela something for an album, and you something for an advert. I just hope there’s even one really nice shot.”

“I’m sure there’ll be a lot more than just one. I was watching you at work. When we first met I remember you
told me you were scared of doing wedding photos because you didn’t feel you could put people at their ease, or believe in what you were doing. Well, yesterday you looked like you were having as much fun as the guests.”

“I have to admit I was getting quite into it.”

“Think you’d like to do it on a regular basis?”

“Better wait until you see how these come out before you offer me the job,” Cameron said, taking half a dozen plastic film canisters from his pocket.

He needn’t have worried. A little over an hour later, after bacon rolls and coffee in The Piper’s Arms, they went back to the chemist and picked up the cardboard folders of 9 by 6 prints. He’d ordered two sets, one to give Kate for promotional use, and one for the Alexanders. Cameron handed the first bundle to Kate, and started looking through the other one himself.

“Cameron, these are fantastic,” Kate said as she flipped through the glossy photos.