The Longest Shadow Read online

  It was over.

  Still in a daze, and breathing heavily from his exertions he made his way to the staircase. There, Thoroughgood spotted the brown-haired teenager whose accidental intervention had saved him.

  Thoroughgood smiled at him, “Nice work, Becks. You saved my bacon, son, and for that you have my eternal gratitude.” The teenager was clearly lost for words, but an astonished grin crept across his uncertain features as Thoroughgood extended his right hand with a crumpled £10 note in it, “That should cover the cost of a new ba’.”

  “Thanks, mister,” said the boy.

  4

  ELIZABETH, LADY Roxburgh, sipped afternoon tea from a bone china teacup and gazed out of the huge bay window of Roxburgh Hall, enjoying the beautiful view of Loch Lomond that she had taken for granted all these years.

  Her eyes swept over the immaculately manicured lawns flanking the Hall and down into the bluebell wood as she lost herself in memories of happy days, long since gone. Lady Elizabeth’s mind’s eye hit replay as she smelled the sweet aroma of flowers and felt the warmth of the sunshine on her face, picturing her beloved William going down on one knee and proposing to her among the bluebells, all those years back.

  It was a special place, one that was a sanctuary for her. When Elizabeth needed to escape she would take the short walk down the drive and lose herself in the stillness of the wood, seated on the wooden bench which exactly marked the spot where William had proposed. A special place, she had made it even more special by having William buried there, and now his grave provided Lady Elizabeth with something tangible she could focus on and somewhere she could lose herself in her most treasured memories.

  At times she had whispered his name, recalling those golden times, sure she sensed his presence around her. But today she could not hope to hide from the problems of the present. Lady Elizabeth took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. Over afternoon tea, her future and that of her family, all the Roxburgh dynasty had striven for and held dear for over 200 years, would be decided.

  The chimes of the grandfather clock situated in the flag-stoned reception hall struck four and she took a deep breath, attempting to quell the tension growing within her as she awaited the arrival of her two sons, Robert and Alexander. Their meeting, to decide exactly what was going to happen to the family-run distillery, situated a few miles north of the village of Strathblane, was moments away.

  The whisky business had made the Roxburghs great. The elevation of James Roxburgh to Viscount Lomond in the late 18th century, and the building of Roxburgh Hall in striking baronial style, 1000 yards from the south bank of Loch Lomond, in 200 acres of prime farm land, had seen the Roxburgh’s stately home lauded as Scotland’s gothic mansion.

  It had been a project funded by the fine malt whisky, born from the secrets of Scotland’s slowest whisky distillation, which came courtesy of a pure water supply flowing from a nearby hillside spring that had made the Roxburgh’s fortune. Settled in these rich and rolling grounds that stretched back from the bonnie banks of the loch itself, the family had prospered into one of Scotland’s greatest whisky dynasties.

  Lady Elizabeth gazed at the portrait of the second Viscount, Andrew, dominating the mansion’s main reception room, staring down in full Highland regalia. It was Andrew who had helped the family’s stock rise still further when he had named the hill, providing the most beautiful view of the loch as the ‘Queen’s View’ during one of Queen Victoria’s many visits to the area, and so gained royal patronage and Her Majesty as a regular visitor to Roxburgh Hall.

  Her golden hair French-combed to a remarkable perfection and smooth alabaster skin masked the fact that Lady Elizabeth was now nearing her 58th year. She sipped her tea and reflected on the family heritage, wondering just what those distant and intimidating ancestors would make of the impasse the family now found themselves in.

  The panelled oak door opened and Robert Roxburgh entered the lounge followed by his younger brother Alexander. At 35, his six foot four frame was a powerful reminder of his spell with the Scots Guards. But the burden of maintaining the family empire was now leaving its mark and his face was gaunt and taut from the strain of preserving the distillery he had run ever since his father’s death. Determined as he was to avoid the ignominy of becoming the Roxburgh upon whose watch the family’s fortune had been ruined, the effort of doing so was taking an evident toll.

  “Good afternoon, Mother,” said Robert in the clipped public school tones that had been with him ever since his days at Gordonstoun as he sank into the armchair he favoured whenever he was within the great house’s main lounge. It was known as the Scott lounge in honour of the great Victorian novelist, Sir Walter Scott, whose regular sojourns at the Hall were said to have inspired him to write his celebrated Waverley novels.

  Eyeing his brother with a contempt that was all too obvious, Alexander leaned against the mantle of the huge fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the crackling logs that helped remove the chill of a cold Scottish spring day, before greeting his mother with due deference.

  “Hello, Mother. I hope you are prepared for Robert’s cunning plan.”

  Before Lady Elizabeth could speak, Robert’s wrath exploded, “Damn it brother, hold your tongue! Mother knows full well the dire straits we are in and it is I, not you, who has found the means to get us through them and safeguard Roxburgh Hall and the future of the Roxburghs! Pull the chord for Macintosh and see if we can get some coffee before we go into the whole business of the merger with the Gwai Lo Cartel.”

  Lady Elizabeth’s raised finger ensured Alexander remained quiet and did as he was bid. She was the matriarch of Roxburgh Hall and had raised the family almost single-handed since William’s death, some 20 years previously, from a massive heart attack on a squash court.

  At that moment the door opened and a man in an immaculate pin-striped suit and slick, brown hair appeared bearing refreshments and glided over to a large antique coffee table.

  His eyes and his words were directed solely at Lady Roxburgh. “Lady Elizabeth, I took the liberty, in the knowledge that Viscount Robert and Master Alexander would be arriving, of having coffee prepared for them. I trust you are happy with your afternoon tea and confectionery?”

  “Indeed I am, Macintosh, and thank you, as always, for your efficiency. I don’t know what we would do without you,” said Lady Elizabeth.

  “Good show, Macintosh, you are a mind reader,” added Alexander.

  “Thank you, Master Alexander,” replied Macintosh, with a precise nod of his head and adding, “If that will be all, my Lady?”

  “Yes, Macintosh, you may go,” the dowager replied and Macintosh slipped soundlessly out of the room.

  Moments later after taking a draught of his black coffee, Robert cut to the chase. “Forgive my brusqueness, mother, but time is of the essence. I have an agreement in principal from the Gwai Lo and quite frankly, I don’t see how it can be bettered.”

  Alexander was far from convinced, “Is it too much to ask you to translate your new chums’ nom de plume into the Queen’s English, brother?”

  Robert’s face seemed to turn to stone as he seared his younger sibling with a glare that showed little evidence of any brotherly love. “Gwai Lo can roughly be translated as Ghost Man, little brother. It was originally used as a deprecatory term towards foreigners. The term apparently arose in the 16th century when European sailors appeared in southern China, as they were associated with barbarians. So our new Chinese business partners are not without humour, Alex, you see. If you will just give them a chance.”

  Alexander remained unimpressed. “So, what is the deal? A couple of million up front and they take over our distillery and then our Chinese associates remove all presence of the Roxburghs from the board which will in turn be filled with our new Oriental friends? Roxburgh Hall renamed Mandarin Mansion and Mother evicted and shunted into a converted stable?”

  Robert took a deep breath as he tried to keep the lid on his mounting anger, but befor
e he could answer his brother’s accusations his mother intervened. “Alexander, flippancy and excited accusation does no one any good! I have every confidence that your brother has acted with our best interests at heart.” Yet the fact the matriarch of Roxburgh Hall played with her pearls betrayed the concern that was continuing to mount within her.

  Robert’s gaze shot from his mother back to his younger brother who stood motionless at the side of the fireplace, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup perched on the mantlepiece, but the younger Roxburgh’s eyes blazed.

  “The terms are as good as we are going to get from anyone out there for a whisky distillery that is in need of considerable overhaul and to wipe out the debt we already owe the bank. Yes, there is an upfront payment, but it is considerably more than the one you mentioned and will help Mother carry out all of the repairs required at the Hall. It will also sustain her and Victoria here in comfort, where the Roxburghs have been since before the Jacobites were begging us for safe haven back in ‘45, for the foreseeable future,” Robert raised his right hand to stop his brother interjecting.

  “I will retain the position of managing director and I have even managed to get a place on the board for you, dear little brother, and a suitable salary to go along with it. So you don’t need to worry about your ridiculous subscriptions at the Carrick and your continued control over the day-to-day workings of the distillery. On top of that, we will now have Glen Lomond Malt whisky flooding into the Asian market through the Gwai Lo supply outlets.

  “I have also had to agree to the production of whisky liqueur which the cartel wants produced specifically for the Asian market. The translation, in Her Majesty’s English, for your benefit little brother, being The Dark Ocean, but, pardon the pun, I can swallow that. Yes, there are some forfeit clauses if we fail to make production targets, but these are minimal,” Robert smiled reassuringly at his mother before returning a cold gaze to Alexander. “Mother, I promise you the future of the Roxburghs, Roxburgh Hall, our distillery and Glen Lomond Malt Whisky will be safe.”

  Lady Roxburgh smiled thinly, “Good boy, Robert. I knew we could rely on you,” and rose elegantly from the chaise longue and made her regal way over to the bay window overlooking the drive, neatly colonnaded by birch trees.

  The brief moment of silence was punctured by Alexander’s dissent, “If you believe any of that, you are even more deluded than I thought. This is your fault, Robert, you and the crap tables you have become obsessed with at the River Boat Casino. We will be no more than puppets in our own theatre. You should be ashamed Robert, you have sold us out. A whisky liqueur called The Dark Ocean, funded by Ghost Men? You are taking the piss. You will make the Roxburgh name a laughing stock. Furthermore, just what are the specifics of these production targets you have neatly avoided telling us about?”

  As she sighted a horse and rider galloping through the parkland leading to the house, Lady Elizabeth spoke, although she did not turn to face either of her sons. “Enough! I won’t tolerate such language within the Hall, or out of it, for that matter, Alexander. Victoria is on her way, and I will not have the two of you bickering like two schoolboys over this. Alexander, there is no alternative. You will support your brother in this whether you like it or not. Do I make myself clear?”

  But Alexander had one final parting shot to aim at his elder brother before he left. “You mark my words, Rob. You will have the bloody curse ringing throughout the Hall and five centuries of history and the Roxburghs on the banks of Loch Lomond wiped out, just as the damned Jacobites threatened.” Then the younger Roxburgh son was gone and the crash of the door provided an answer Lady Elizabeth did not want to hear.

  The powerful white stallion galloped over the gently undulating parkland leading to the Hall. The beast’s thunderous gallop was the perfect combination of sinew and muscle working in complete harmony, mastered as he was by an expert rider who had been his mistress since he was a colt.

  Expertly bringing Pegasus to a stop on the white gravel, just below the famous triple level grey granite stairs that provided the imposing entrance to the hall, Victoria, youngest of the Roxburgh siblings, had reined in her mount just as her brother Alexander left the Hall.

  “In a hurry, Alex?” she asked.

  “Damn it, Victoria! This business with the bloody Chinks will be the end of everything that we hold dear, and all because Robert has frittered away everything that generations of Roxburghs have built up, with a mountain of gambling debts. Father will be turning in his grave,” said Alexander.

  Victoria tried to sooth him with a radiant smile, “Come on, Alex, it can’t be as bad as all that. If it was, do you think mummy would allow it?”

  “He might have all the smart answers, but behind them the plain truth is, Robert has sold out our heritage and is about to make a laughing stock of the Glen Lomond brand. But you can ask Mother about that in a moment. Personally, I have had enough of all this for one day. Bye, Vicky.” With that Alexander stormed over to his waiting Range Rover.

  Victoria flashed a smile at Macintosh, who had appeared in the central section of the triple archway preceding the Hall’s imposing oak doorway. The air filled with the sound of gravel being sprayed everywhere as the seething Alexander took his leave.

  Brushing past the butler, Robert also made his exit from the Hall, his face tight with suppressed rage and as Victoria’s eyes met his, the eldest of the Roxburgh brood waved a hand at her almost dismissively, “Not now, Vicky. It’s been a bad day and I need to get back to the distillery.” He stopped a foot away from her, running the fingers of his right hand through the golden hair he had inherited from their mother, “Look, I’m sorry Vicky, but the truth is out now and you might not like what Mama has to tell you. He may be our brother, but that temper Alex has is a liability. He just can’t help himself, and shooting off at the mouth about that damned Jacobite curse helps no one. Just remember, I may have contributed to the mess we are in, but I did not bring it all about and I believe I have found the remedy to all of the Roxburghs ailments.”

  Victoria’s brown eyes searched his troubled face as she asked, “Just how bad are our ailments, Robbie?”

  The childhood term of endearment cut no ice with her eldest brother, “Trust me, Vicky, it will all be fine. I wouldn’t let you or Mama down would I, sis? Now, I must get going. I have a lot to iron out before the deal is ready to be signed on the dotted line.”

  With that, Robert leant over, kissed his sister on the cheek, gave her a reassuring wink for good measure and strode over to his Bentley.

  Victoria was joined by Macintosh at the foot of the steps. The butler smiled benignly before greeting her with a slight and deferential nod of his head, “Good afternoon, Miss Victoria, shall I have Pegasus taken down to the stables?”

  “That would be kind of you, Macintosh, he’ll need a feed and I will be down to see to him shortly, after I have had a chance to talk with Mama. Tell me, how is she?” asked Victoria.

  “Lady Elizabeth is bearing up, miss. I think that is the best way to put it,” said the inscrutable Macintosh.

  His words failed to stop a mounting sense of foreboding enveloping Victoria as she entered Roxburgh Hall.

  5

  LADY ELIZABETH continued to stare through the window as she heard the lounge door open, heralding the arrival of her only daughter. As she turned slowly towards Victoria, the youngest Roxburgh could see worry written deep in her mother’s face, entirely understandable considering just how much stress the Roxburgh matriarch had been under of late.

  “Mama, is everything all right?” asked Victoria, removing her riding hat.

  “It will be, my darling,” said her mother and in an act that was completely at odds with her usual calm self-containment, she wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her close. Her head buried in the mohair of her mother’s elegant green cardigan, Victoria heard her murmur, “It will be and we shall make it so, Vicky.” Again, the use of the shortened form of her Christian name came as a surp
rise to Victoria.

  Her mother slowly pushed her to arms length, keeping a hand on each shoulder and addressed her daughter, “I do not know how much Alexander told you out there on the drive but I have no doubt he had his say on the business deal. Robert has reached agreement with the Chinese consortium, or the Gwai Lo as I should call them. But whatever Alex has said, you must remember that it is the only deal on the table and the only one that will allow the Roxburghs to retain control of the Glen Lomond distillery and keep us here at Roxburgh Hall where we belong.”

  As she tried to digest the news Victoria said, “If Robert believes the deal will save us and there is no other option, then what alternative do we have, mother, but to support him?”

  Lady Roxburgh smiled serenely, “You are right, but I doubt if Alex sees it that way. However, I want us to make the most of this: make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear as your father would say. That means we should embrace the Gwai Lo and the launch of The Dark Ocean liqueur on the Asian market.”

  A frown crept across Victoria’s refined features and she sat down on the elegant chaise longue, but her attention remained 100 percent focused on Lady Elizabeth.

  “I just wondered if you knew what the English translation of Gwai Lo was, mummy?” enquired Victoria.

  At last a smile crept across the dowager’s face as she responded, “I believe it means Ghost Man, or Men, in the case of the cartel. Quite amusing really, to do business with ghosts, don’t you think, Vicky?”

  Victoria was unable to return her mother’s smile. “I think it all sounds a bit creepy, but if needs must then so be it.”

  “Indeed, my darling. We will put our all into making sure that the launch of The Dark Ocean liqueur will be a night to remember, here. This is a show that will, and must, go on and I want every section of Scottish society that matters here,” said Lady Roxburgh. Taking a breath, her voice became steelier. “Instead of allowing this business to be seen as a weakness, we will make it into a strength by adding a new dimension and profile to the Glen Lomond brand, and show our new Chinese friends just how valuable the Roxburgh name is, and its connections, can be to them.”