On the inner wall – the outer wall being made entirely of glass – are mounted several stags’ heads. The shadows thrown by their antlers are huge, as though cast by old dead trees. The glass eyes have the effect some paintings have; they seem to follow you wherever you go, staring balefully down. I see Katie look at them and shiver.
You’d think that the modernist style of the building wouldn’t work with the homey interior, but, somehow, it does. In fact, the exterior glass seems to melt away so that it’s as though there is no barrier between us and the landscape outside. It’s as though you could simply walk from the rug straight into the loch, huge and silver in the evening light, framed by that black staccato of trees. It’s all perfect.
‘Right,’ Heather says, ‘I’m going to leave you now, to get settled in. I’ll let you decide which of the cottages suits each of you best.’
As she begins to walk away she stops dead, and turns on her heel. She smacks a palm against her head, a pantomime of forgetfulness. ‘It must be the champagne,’ she says, though I hardly think so; she has only had a couple of sips. ‘There are a couple of very important safety things I should say to you. We ask that if you are planning on going for a hike beyond our immediate surroundings – the loch, say – you let us know. It may look benign out there, but at this time of year the state of play can change within hours, sometimes minutes.’
‘In what way?’ Bo asks. This all must be very alien for him: I once heard him say he lived in New York for five years with only one trip out of the city, because he ‘didn’t want to miss anything’. I don’t think he’s one for the great outdoors.
‘Snowstorms, sudden fogs, a rapid drop in temperature. It’s what makes this landscape so exciting … but also lethal, if it chooses to be. If a storm should come in, say, we want to know whether you are out hiking, or whether you are safe in your cottages. And,’ she grimaces slightly, ‘we’ve had a little trouble with poachers in the past—’
‘That sounds pretty Victorian,’ Julien says.
Heather raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, these people unfortunately aren’t. These aren’t your old romantic folk heroes taking one home for the pot. They carry stalking equipment and hunting rifles. Sometimes they work in the day, wearing the best camouflage gear money can buy. Sometimes they work at night. They’re not doing it for fun. They sell the meat on the black market to restauranteurs, or the antlers on eBay, or abroad. There’s a big market in Germany. We have CCTV on the main gate to the property now, so that’s helped, but it hasn’t prevented them getting in.’
‘Should we be worried?’ Samira asks.
‘Oh, no,’ Heather says quickly, perhaps realising for the first time how all of this might sound to guests who have come for the unthreatening peace and quiet of the Scottish Highlands. ‘No, not at all. We haven’t actually had any proper poaching incidents for … a while, now. Doug is very much on the case. I just wanted you to be aware. If you see anyone you do not recognise on the estate, let either of us know. Do not approach them.’
I can feel how all this talk of peril has dampened the atmosphere slightly. ‘We haven’t toasted being here,’ I say, quickly, seizing my champagne glass. ‘Cheers!’ I clash it against Giles’s, with slightly too much force, and he jumps back to avoid the spillage. Then he gets the idea, turns to Miranda, and does the same. It seems to work: a little chain reaction is set off around the room, the familiarity of the ritual raising smiles. Reminding us of the fact that we are celebrating. That it is good – no, wonderful – to be here.
KATIE
There’s no point in my expressing any preference over which cabin I get. I am the singleton of the group, and it’s been tacitly agreed by all that my cabin should be the smallest of the lot. There’s a bit of good-natured wrangling over who is going to get which of the others. One is slightly bigger than the rest, and Samira – probably rightly – thinks that she and Giles should have it, because of Priya. And then both Nick and Miranda clearly want the one with the best view of the loch – I suspect for a moment that Nick is saying so just to rile Miranda, but then he defers, graciously. Everyone is on best behaviour.
‘Let’s go for a walk now,’ Miranda says, once it’s all decided. ‘Explore a bit.’
‘But it’s completely dark,’ Samira says.
‘Well, that will make it even better. We can take some of the champagne down to the loch.’
This is classic Miranda. Anyone else would be content simply to lounge in the Lodge until dinner, but she’s always looking for adventure. When she first came into my life, some twenty years ago, everything instantly became more exciting.
‘I have to put Priya to bed,’ Samira says, glancing over to where the baby has fallen asleep in her carrier. ‘It’s late for her already.’
‘Fine,’ Miranda says, offhandedly, with barely a glance in Samira’s direction.
I don’t know if she sees Samira’s wounded look. For most of today Miranda has acted as though Priya is a piece of excess baggage. I remember, a couple of years ago, her talk of ‘when Julien and I have kids’. I haven’t seen her enough lately, so I’m not sure whether her indifference is genuine or masking some real personal suffering. Miranda has always been a champion bluffer.
The rest of us – including Giles – traipse outside into the dark. Samira gives him a look as she stalks off towards their cabin – presumably he, too, was meant to go and help with Priya’s bedtime. It’s probably the closest I’ve ever seen them come to a disagreement. They’re such a perfect couple, those two – so respectful, so in sync, so loving – it’s almost sickening.
We walk, stumbling over the uneven ground, down the path towards the water, Bo, Julien and Emma using the torches provided in the Lodge to light the way. In the warmth indoors I’d forgotten how brutal it is outside. It’s so cold it feels as though the skin on my face is shrinking against my skull, in protest against the raw air. Someone grabs my arm and I jump, then realise it’s Miranda.
‘Hello, stranger,’ she says. ‘It’s so good to see you. God I’ve missed you.’ It’s so unusual for her to make that sort of admission – and there is something in the way she says it, too. I glance at her, but it’s too dark to make out her expression.
‘You too,’ I say.
‘And you’ve had your hair cut differently, haven’t you?’ I feel her hand come up to play with the strands framing my face. It is all I can do not to prickle away from her. Miranda has always been touchy-feely – I have always been whatever the opposite of that is.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I went to Daniel Galvin, like you told me to.’
‘Without me?’
‘Oh – I didn’t think. I suddenly had a spare couple of hours … we’d closed on something earlier than expected.’
‘Well,’ she says, ‘next time you go, let me know, OK? We’ll make a date of it. It’s like you’ve fallen off the planet lately.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I’ve had to resort to Emma … God, Katie, she’s so nice it does my nut in.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘it’s just that I’ve been so busy at work. You know, trying for partnership.’
‘But it won’t always be like that, will it?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Because I’ve been thinking, recently … remember how it used to be? In our twenties? We’d see each other every week, you and I, without fail. Even if it was just to go out and get drunk on Friday night.’
I nod. I’m not sure she can see though. ‘Yes,’ I say – my voice comes out a little hoarse.
‘Oh God, and the night bus? Both of us falling asleep and going to the end of the line … Kingston, wasn’t it? And that time we went to that twenty-four-hour Tesco and you suddenly decided you had to make an omelette when you got home and you dropped that carton of eggs and it went everywhere – I mean everywhere – and we just decided to run off, in our big stupid heels …’ She laughs, and then she stops. ‘I miss all of that … that messiness.’ There’s so much wistfulness in her tone. I’m glad I can’t see her expression now.
‘So do I,’ I say.
‘Look at you two,’ Julien turns back to us. ‘Thick as thieves. What are you gossiping about?’