Page 46 of Highland Getaway
I hand him a bowl of pasta, hoping he won’t figure out therealreason I decided to cook dinner, which is that I wanted to try to delay the moment when I’ll have to go back to my room on my own, knowing that the turnip stabber might reappear at any moment.
‘You’re not having any?’ he asks, watching as I take the second bowl to Hannah, who’s playing Minecraft in the living room, before returning to clear up.
‘Oh. Well, it’s your food,’ I say. ‘I didn’t like to just help myself to it.’
‘Och, come on, Rosie. You cooked it,andyou cleaned the kitchen – I think we can spare you a wee bit of pasta in return,’ Hunter replies with a grin. ‘This isreallygood, by the way,’ he adds through a mouthful of food. ‘I didn’t realise you were such a good cook.’
‘It’s just cheesy pasta.’ I shrug, dishing up a bowl for myself. ‘I have a bunch of nephews and nieces who’re permanently starving when I babysit for them, so it’s good to have something quick I can make for them.’
‘Well, you’re welcome to cook for me and Hannah any time you like,’ Hunter replies, sitting down at the little kitchen table. ‘Especially if it’s always as good as this.’
‘So, did you speak to Dante?’ I ask, taking a seat opposite him. ‘What did he say? Did he have any ideas who might have access to my room?’
Other than Dante himself, obviously. And presumably literally everyone else who works here.
‘Ah. Right. Dante. I couldn’t find him,’ Hunter admits, rubbing his head bashfully. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. I looked everywhere – that’s why I was gone for so long – but there was no sign of him. It’s his night off, mind; he’s probably gone to the pub in the village.’
‘Oh. That’s a shame,’ I reply, struggling to imagine Ken-doll Dante sitting in a rustic village pub, when he looks more suited to a spooky old turret, say. Or a coffin. ‘I was really hoping to get to the bottom of this. Although, if it was Dante who did it—’ I nod at the turnip, which Hunter has placed on the table, thankfully minus the dirk ‘—I don’t suppose he’d just admit to it, would he?’
‘I suppose not,’ agrees Hunter. ‘I can’t imagine Dante being behind this, though. He wouldn’t want to risk the hotel’s reputation – or his own. This job’s a big deal to him. It’s basically his entire personality. You saw how he reacted to your video.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I reply, cringing at the memory. ‘Hannah told me he’s always “creeping around” the place, though. I mean, doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?’
‘He’s the manager of the hotel,’ Hunter replies, sounding infuriatingly unbothered by this nugget of information. ‘What Hannah sees as “creeping around” is probably just him keeping an eye on things. It’s his job. And it would be pretty strange for him to sabotage it by terrorising a guest, wouldn’t it? Come on, Rosie, you have to admit, that’s pretty far-fetched, even for you.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, refusing to concede the point. ‘Or maybe if the hotel’s that important to him, he’d think nothing of trying to scare off someone he saw as a liability to it? I mean, how well do you really know him, Hunter?’’
I twirl my fork absent-mindedly in my spaghetti, more convinced than ever that Dante is the dark force behind all of the things that have been happening since I got here.
‘I know him well enough, I suppose,’ Hunter says, helping himself to some more pasta. ‘I know his mum moved here from Italy before he was born. Apparently she fell in love with a Scotsman, but it didn’t work out, so she ended up having to raise Dante on her own. I think she worked here in the castle at one point, too.’
‘As, like, a scullery maid or something?’ I ask, suddenly feeling a bit more sympathetic to Dante now that I know he was raised by a struggling single mum, just like I was.
Hunter snorts so hard I think he’s about to choke on his pasta.
‘I don’t know how old you think Dante is, Rosie,’ he says at last, ‘but I’m pretty sure he’s around my age. This would’ve been the 1990s, not the nineteenth century. I don’t actually know what his mum did here, but I don’t expect it was cleaning the grates, or whatever it is you’re imagining.’
‘OK, OK,’ I reply, blushing. ‘So, what elsedoyou know about him, then?’
‘Er, that’s it, really,’ Hunter admits. ‘Men don’t really have deep and meaningful conversations with their colleagues, Rosie. We just talk about the weather, and sometimes football.’
‘So, I’m guessing you don’t know anything about the rest of the staff, either?’ I say, disappointment making my shoulders sag in defeat. ‘Agnes? The guy who drives the minibus?Anyone?’
‘I haven’t been here all that long, really,’ he says apologetically. ‘No one has; it’s a brand-new hotel, so we haven’t had a lot of time for staffbonding. And I spend most of my time out in the grounds. So I know everyone about as well as I need to, but not much more than that yet. None of them strike me as the kind of people who’d go around sticking dirks into turnips as a warning, though, so .?.?. I’m not much help here, am I?’ he finishes ruefully. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie, really. I wish there was something more I could tell you. I’m almost as much of an outsider here as you are, though.’
‘Oh, I doubt that very much.’
I chew my bottom lip, anxiety rising as it occurs to me that I mightneverfind out who’s behind all of this now – especially if I do get kicked out of the hotel first thing tomorrow morning, like I’m expecting to. And even though it technically won’t matter anymore by then, I hate the idea of the mystery being forever unsolved.
‘Try not to worry,’ says Hunter. ‘You’re safe here. Hannah and I will look after you. And I’m sure Sabrina and Dante will see the funny side of the cucumber video eventually. What is it they say? “All publicity is good publicity”?’
‘That might be what theysay,’ I point out, starting to clear away our plates. ‘But it’s not what anyone actuallythinks. I was supposed to be influencing people to come to the hotel; not toavoidit.’
‘And it’s important to you, this influencing thing, isn’t it?’ Hunter asks, getting up to help me.
‘Ithoughtit was,’ I tell him ruefully. ‘I didn’t get to be popular in high school; I guess I thought I could make up for it by being popular on the internet. But it turns out I’m not particularly good at that, either. And I’m not sure I reallywantto be anymore. I’m not sure I want to be like Bex, or the rest of them. And after speaking to Izzie and Ian at the market, I just .?.?. well, I just thought that if I’m going to influence people, maybe I could do it over something more important than clothes. I thought if I could do something to make people want to come to the hotel, then that would help save your job – and Dante’s, and Agnes’s, and everyone else’s. And, OK, I messed up by posting the unedited video rather than the version I’d planned, but I didn’t do it on purpose. Lesson learned, though; at least I’ll be happy enough to go back to being invisible again after this.’
‘You’re only “invisible” because youmakeyourself invisible,’ Hunter points out, rummaging in the fridge until he finds a bottle of wine. ‘Buying the same clothes as all the rest of them; trying to act like them and be like them. That’s what makes you invisible, Rosie. Er, not that I think youareinvisible, obviously.Ialways notice you, anyway.’
