Down the Rabbit Hole

“That’s all part of the art of negotiating. You need to know just how far you can push the client before he loses interest.” Darda clapped a hand on her niece’s shoulder. “But I should add that I’ve found a lovely villa in the south of France that could be ours for just under five million.”

Ours. The very word registered as alien to Beth’s ears. Though Darda was responsible for raising her, she’d never felt any bond of kinship between them. In truth, Darda had always deliberately held Beth at arm’s length, sharing nothing but their name.

“Not bad for a few days of having to put up with a stuffy Highland lord. Did I mention that the firm arranged for you to stay on at Stag’s Head Lodge?”

“But why? If the negotiations should stall, don’t you think it would be a lot less awkward if I had a room in a nearby village?”

“Awkward for you or the client?” Darda’s eyes narrowed. “Your comfort isn’t important. You always want to remain close to the client. That way, whenever the opportunity presents itself, you’re there to press him.” Darda’s carefully cultured voice played through Beth’s mind. “Let me remind you. Not only is your job on the line here, but my reputation, as well. I expect you to do whatever it takes to land this deal. Do I make myself clear?”

Beth struggled to put aside any lingering guilt at the thought of separating a Highland lord from his ancestral estate. She knew she had to land this for the firm, no matter the cost to her conscience. After a lifetime of being told she was too tenderhearted, or, as Darda liked to say, too warm and fuzzy, to ever succeed in the hard-knock world of business and finance, she intended to finally win her aunt’s approval and guarantee a place with this new firm.

While she finalized her mental strategy for dealing with her hard-nosed client, she peered at the gunmetal gray clouds spitting rain over the gloomy countryside. In a strange way she welcomed the bleakness of the day. She needed no distractions as she went over in her mind the moves that Darda had so carefully planned and plotted.

As she drove through the village of Stag’s Head, she decided to make a stop, noting the clean streets, the smiling faces. It would be her last chance to be alone until the deal was finalized.

Though she hadn’t planned this, she found herself drawn to a little shop offering late-afternoon tea and scones.

The shopkeeper brought her order to a small round table for two and paused to pour tea.

After a few pointed questions about her reason for the visit to his town, he smiled, giving him the look of an ancient, gnarled cherub.

“Ye’ve business with the laird, have ye? A finer man ye’ll never meet. ’Tis thanks to him that I’m still in business. Most of the folks in town will tell ye the same. Unlike some who’ve inherited land and titles, our Laird Gordon truly cares about the lot of us. This town wouldn’t survive without the laird’s generosity.”

Beth considered his words as she enjoyed the scone, still warm from the oven, and strong, hot tea. Fortified for the rest of her journey, she walked to the doorway where the old shopkeeper stood.

“Thank you. I’m glad I made a stop here. The tea and scones were lovely. Now I’m off.”

“Aye. It’s just up the road a bit, lass. No more than a few kilometers and ye’re there. Take care, now. It isn’t safe to be out of doors after dark, or . . .”

A customer stepped between them, placing a hand on the old man’s arm and engaging him in small talk.

Beth glanced at the old man, who waved a hand before continuing his conversation with his customer.

Fortified by that brief respite, Beth settled into the rental car. She couldn’t wait for her first glimpse of Stag’s Head Lodge.

As the car followed the twists and turns of the narrow road, she could just make out the stark outline of a fortresslike castle up ahead before it was hidden from view by ominous clouds.

She smiled. Only the very rich would consider calling a castle of that size a hunting lodge.

She was still smiling when, without warning, her car’s engine suddenly died.

Puzzled, Beth tried the ignition. Nothing happened. She sat for a moment before trying again.

The engine was completely dead.

Darda’s first rule popped into her head: Punctuality. In order to impress her clients, it was necessary that she reach her destination on time.

Annoyed, Beth slung her bag over her shoulder and dug into the backseat for her small overnight case. The rest of her luggage would have to remain with the car until she came back for it. Locking the doors, she started on foot, determined to walk the final mile. As she trudged, she questioned the wisdom of having worn such fashionable heels. She’d wanted to make a good first impression, but her choice had been frivolous. Still, her walking shoes were in her suitcase. There was no time to turn back to the car and rummage around for them.