And the Bride Wore Prada

And the Bride Wore Prada by Katie Oliver Page A

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Authors: Katie Oliver
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dryly, ‘not that you care.’
    ‘Not true.’ He paused. ‘Where are you, exactly?’
    ‘You’ll never believe it, but I’ve landed at Draemar Castle, where the celebrity lovebirds are staying with the Campbell family even as we speak.’
    He let out a soft whistle. ‘And how did you manage that?’
    ‘The embankment I hove over just happened to be on the castle property,’ she told him, and cast another wary glance around her. ‘I’d no idea Dominic and Gemma were even here until this morning. I’ve been invited to stay until my hire car’s repaired...which might be a few days.’
    ‘Perfect. So...have you got anything for me?’
    ‘Not much. The wedding’s to be in four weeks. Gemma’s demanding a horse-drawn sleigh, and kilts, and masses of white roses, and all manner of ludicrous, romantic fol-de-rol.’ Scorn undercut her words.
    ‘Where’s it to be, then? At the castle?’
    ‘No. Northton Grange. It’s a tiny village in the highlands—’
    ‘Yeah, where Dominic’s got that estate he never goes to,’ Tom finished. ‘So when are they going on to Northton G? Soon?’
    ‘Oh, I imagine they’ll leave just as soon as this bloody
snow
stops falling.’ She glanced around her with a shudder. All those medieval instruments of war and knights in armour unnerved her. ‘And you can bet your arse that when Dominic and Gemma leave this pile of mouldering Scottish stone, I’ll be right behind them—’
    At the sound of a footstep nearby, Helen broke off. She whirled around to see Colm standing there.
    ‘I’ll call you later,’ she murmured, and rang off. She glared at him. ‘What are you doing? How dare you creep up on me like that! You startled me.’
    ‘I think the better question,’ he said grimly as he took her by the arm and drew her aside, ‘is to ask what the hell it is
you’re
doing, Ms Thomas.’
    Helen met Colm’s narrowed eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she snapped, and shook his arm off. ‘Why are you here, anyway, skulking around like a – a ghost? Shouldn’t you be outside, seeing as you’re the bloody groundskeeper?’
    ‘You were giving out information to someone, information about a Campbell houseguest. Who were you giving it to, I wonder? And why?’
    ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said scornfully. ‘You have a very active – and a very misguided ‒ imagination.’
    ‘Don’t lie, Ms Thomas.’ He clipped off her name like something distasteful. ‘I know what I heard.’ He leant his face closer, inches from hers. ‘And I know who you really are.’
    As she stared into those hard hazel eyes, she suddenly understood how a snake must feel when the snake charmer mesmerized it. She was powerless to move or speak.
    ‘Helen! There you are. We’re just about to go in to dinner.’
    Guiltily, Helen turned around. Wren and Tarquin stood in the drawing room doorway; their expressions were polite, but curious.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, flustered. ‘I was...I was just—’
    ‘I was just telling Ms Thomas that we’ve more bad weather coming in,’ Colm said. ‘It’s started up snowing again. I’ve stacked extra wood outside the kitchen door.’
    ‘Good. Thank you.’ Tarquin hesitated. ‘Listen, Colm, about my remark earlier, I owe you an apology—’
    ‘Dinnae know what you’re on about,’ Colm said, his words short. ‘I’ve brought wood enough inside to keep the fires lit through the night. G’night to you both.’
    He didn’t wait for a reply, but thrust a flat cap on his head and left as abruptly as he’d come.
    ‘Aren’t you hungry, Helen? You’ve scarcely touched your dinner.’ Natalie’s voice was low and concerned.
    Startled, Helen looked up from her plate of roast mutton and turnips. ‘No. I think perhaps I ate too many cucumber sandwiches with tea,’ she admitted, and smiled.
    ‘More wine?’ the butler offered.
    She nodded. As he poured a deep red Syrah into her wine glass, Helen wondered how much – if anything – Colm

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