Glen Haven

Glen

Haven

Margaret L. Lauder

AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

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© 2013 Margaret L. Lauder. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/16/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7887-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7886-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7888-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916366

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Chapter Index

Chapter One    Christmas at Glen Haven.

Chapter Two   Marcus’s farewell party in Paris.

Chapter Three   The accident.

Chapter Four   Tom moved over to Tuscany.

Chapter Five   Kate’s dream.

Chapter Six   Barbara and Marcus renew their marriage vows.

Chapter Seven   Mark’s letter to Lord Logan.

Chapter Eight   The engagement party.

Chapter Nine   Oscar retires.

Chapter Ten   The wedding.

About the Author

Margaret L. Lauder was originally from Glasgow a gifted soprano where she had a promising singing career in the 1960’s. With countless successful events behind her captivating audiences all over Scotland and was scheduled to make a major tour of the United States in conjunction with the Andrew MacPherson singers. Following various moves around the country because of her husband’s career she finally came home to Scotland to live near her daughter Elaine and husband Stephen and their three children Callum, Caitlin and Elise.

Dedication

This book is lovingly dedicated to the memory of my father

James Lauder with deepest gratitude for his constant gifts of his time and encouragement who always supported me in my promising singing career.

I have worked for several years on my book which gave me the oportunity to thank my father, this is after all my first novel and the only one that I shall write. Unfortunately my father will never read it.

And finally I want to take this opportunity to thank my husband Brian for his hard work in contributing with his vast computer expertise and infinite patience.

Good bye and sweet dreams

Margaret L. Lauder

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank the Duke and Duchess of Argyle for granting permission to use the castle as part of the design of the front cover for which I am profoundly thankful. Hopefully I have managed to capture the essence of this romantic castle one of Scotland’s finest stately homes.

Chapter One

Outside, snow was softly falling as Barbara Logan looked out of the window. It was so peaceful; winter was her favourite season. There was something about snow that softened the world, made it seem like make-believe for the briefest of time.

Barbara slipped out of the door and walked to a large maple tree in the garden, where she felt at peace with herself. She walked on down to the wrought iron gates, which were standing open. Scarlet oaks leading up to the house were covered in snow, and she felt a wave of pleasure as she surveyed the gentle beauty of the hills. She glanced at her watch; it was four o’clock. She had been out almost an hour. She walked on, thinking as she made her way up the avenue of scarlet oaks towards the house. There was timelessness about Glen Haven Castle that never failed to move her. How much this house must have seen, being rooted in the fourteenth century. The castle had a majestic dignity. It was her safe haven, the home that she could never leave, no matter what the circumstances. She hurried on to the conservatory, opened the door, and went into the comfort of Glen Haven with its blazing log fires and mulled wine on frosty nights and dear friends at the end of the day.

That evening, Gwen, Tom, and Adel, Marcus’s best friends, were coming to dine, as they did every Thursday.

Barbara got ready for the evening and went downstairs. Mrs Cullen, the housekeeper, had built up a big log fire; she sat down on the armchair near the fire, leaning back against the cushions and gazing into the flames burning so fiercely, and then closed her eyes. The flow of memories was inescapable. She had been shattered by Edward’s untimely death at the age of sixty-four; he had never been ill in his life and seemed the sort of man who could go on forever. She was on her own now, and at sixty, she was still young. She could hardly wait to get away, to give herself time to think. Going on holiday had been a good idea, and that was where she had met Marcus Logan: on board the cruise ship Queen Elizabeth II.

He was sixty-three and had never married; his paintings, the works of art he produced, were his life. He had studios in London and New York, but his love would always be his home, the castle Glen Haven in Scotland, with its wonderful views of Loch Inver, the hills, and the glens. He found that with Aunt Bray and his paintings, life was complete. He loved them both, and when she died at age ninety, he had to get away for a little healing. Marcus had inherited the looks of his mother, a woman of great beauty. Gentle in his ways, a refined man, he told Barbara that he hadn’t even noticed her the first time he had gone to dinner at the captain’s table. He had been too deeply absorbed in his own pain, and only when the rawness of the situation began to ease had he started to look around. Even then, he wasn’t consciously aware of the people around him, but she was one of the most attractive women he had ever seen: a lovely face, gentle in repose. He liked her shoulder-length hair, which was dark brown with a hint of chestnut; her sea blue eyes; her lovely low and melodious voice; and her exquisitely mannered way of expressing herself. He began looking forward to seeing her at dinner, and in the weeks to come on board ship; the emotional attraction was established and strong.

Barbara’s late husband, Edward, had been an investment banker, a loving husband, and a devoted father. These were two people who had lost someone very dear to them, and they found life had a new meaning with each other.

Her life was not over; a new chapter had begun, and a year later they were married. Slim, elegant, and beautiful, she wore a tailored suit in lustrous, ice blue Shantung silk, teaming it with a large pale gold hat and matching shoes. The wedding ceremony proceeded without a hitch; posies of white rosebuds and white and gold ribbons were attached to the ends of each pew. She carried her small white Bible; it was dressed with heather and blue ribbons cascading down.

The reception was being held at Glen Haven Castle, where a marquee had been erected. It looked wonderful, with miniature lights in place and the linings falling smoothly from the central point like a circus tent. Small gold chairs surrounded the tables, and clusters of red and white roses, set in scalloped edged glass bowls, were nestled amongst bright green foliage on the silvery and white organza cloths to create a delightful centrepiece. The garden was in full bloom, and the roses grown by Elgar, the gardener, were at their best, providing a beautiful display that filled the air with their sweet perfume. Lights sparkled and spangled like stars over the lawn and in the trees; the air was soft, warm, and filled with laughter, happiness, and joy, to overflowing champagne flowed in crystal flutes.

A signal from Oscar Minnelli, Marcus’s best man, brought the meandering music to a close; Oscar noticed with a smile that Marcus seemed nervous as Paul Webster’s musicians started up again, playing Love Is a Many Splendid Thing, In the morning mist two lovers kissed and the world stood still. Barbara and Marcus began a slow waltz around the marquee floor as the assembled guests applauded; as she danced in his arms, she whispered, Darling, thank you for making me so happy.

The ceremony was lovely and very emotional; Barbara was overwhelmed with excitement and happiness; having her two grandchildren as flower girls to celebrate the special day was everything she could have wished for and more. Kate, a beautiful child, was eight, gentle and loving. Mandy, her sister was six with a warm and generous nature full of fun. Barbara’s daughter Victoria did not attend the wedding; she disapproved of her mother’s marriage, saying it was too soon after the car accident that took her father’s life. Who could have known that tragedy would strike them and that Edward would leave them, without warning? It was a brutal reminder of how ephemeral life was; Barbara was well aware of the fragility of our mortality. She never expected to get married again, but with Marcus, she felt so blessed.

Victoria had changed; she had two young children and a full-time career. There were many days that she saw for herself that the children needed guidance.

Looking back, she recalled vividly the past Christmases, the endearing mementos of Victoria’s childhood. On Christmas Eve, there would be wild excitement as she hung up her stocking and prepared the traditional snack for Father Christmas: mince pie and hot chocolate, which was put into a small flask to keep warm. Victoria would watch her mother closely as she placed the food on the small table, caught up in the excitement of it all; despite Victoria’s intention to stay awake on Christmas Eve, she was usually asleep in twenty minutes.

The door of Victoria’s room was ajar as Barbara tiptoed in and looked down upon the sleeping child, snuggled up to her teddy. A night light secure in a saucer on the dressing table sent shadows across the room, and there on the floor were her six dolls. Every night before she went to bed, Victoria would sit them in a row; on her bedside table was an antique music box, which had belonged to old Mr Wickfield.

When walking home from Albert Road School, they would stop and look in Mr Wickfield’s window; one hot summer day, they decided to go into the cool of the shop. He was dusting an old music box. Victoria asked, Does it play?

He nodded, glancing briefly at her, and said, Oh yes, it works. If you have a moment to spare, I will wind it up for you and you can hear it play.

The music box opened up to reveal a scene of the three kings, and it played the Christmas carol We Three Kings of Orient Are. While it played, the owner stood there listening with a duster in one hand and the key in the other. He said, It makes you think of the holy child cradled in a stable.

The cherished Christmas carol filled the dark dusty interior of the shop with joy. He chatted happily, taking great pleasure in pointing out the doll’s house and the rocking horse. These, the old man said, were made when the late Queen Victoria was only a little girl, just like you.

She looked up at him with those lovely green eyes all soft and warm, and Barbara could see that the old man was glad to have company. I was just admiring these old dolls, she said. You have a wonderful collection, and some are quite beautiful.

Mostly reproductions, he said, looking at her with grey eyes that looked straight at you, with an air of being in charge. His voice was deep yet gentle and Barbara decided that she liked this old man; there was an air of integrity and confidence about him. She gave him her warmest smile. He held out his hand and said, I’m Samuel Wickfield.

Barbara March, she replied, shaking his hand, and this is my daughter.

The little girl put her small hand out in greeting and said, I’m Victoria.

I’ve always liked the name Victoria, he said. It sounds regal.

She smiled, and Barbara could see he was very impressed. There is no doubt, she thought, that good manners can never be taught too early. She was clearly proud of her daughter.

Mummy! Victoria exclaimed. Do you think if I save up my pocket money, if I’m ever rich enough, I could buy this music box? That is, if you haven’t sold it by the time I’m grown up, Mr Wickfield. I’m seven now, so it could be quite a long time. Her voice trailed away, her green eyes looking into his, almost pleading.

I dare say not, he said. This one is very old but it plays as well as ever, don’t you think?

As the child nodded, her Panama hat tipped forward over her nose, and with a sigh she removed it. Like my teddy bear, she sighed. He’s old and his fur is worn; he belonged to Mummy when she was a little girl. I love Teddy and will keep him always.

I’m sure you will, he said gently, and then he added, My hands are too clumsy to put the furniture and the figures into the doll’s house; perhaps, with your little hands, you could manage to put them in the right place.

She nodded eagerly, and he watched the delight fill her face as she put the toys in their rightful place.

That’s good, he said. What would I have done without you?

And so began a friendship that lasted many years; whenever she went to Mr Wickfield’s shop,