Hollow Earth Page 5

  TWELVE

  The sign on the impressive wrought-iron gates read ‘The Abbey’. Simon tapped a button on the car’s dashboard, and the gate slowly swung open. As they drove through on to a narrow lane shaded by a canopy of trees, they could see the water of Largs Bay on their left, but to their right there was only a wilderness of foliage and trees. Up ahead, the edges of a brick structure were visible behind a tall, stone wall with an arched gateway. When the Range Rover drove out from the cover of the trees, even Matt gasped.

  ‘Our grandfather owns this?’ asked Em.

  Simon smiled. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Wow,’ Matt managed. ‘It looks more like a castle than a church.’

  Simon nodded. ‘It’s built around one of the oldest fortified tower structures remaining in Scotland,’ he explained.

  The tower on the right was about fifty feet taller than the one on the left, a flagpole flying the St Andrew’s cross and another flag showing the Abbey’s crest – a majestic white stag with enormous wings. The central structure connecting the two towers was three storeys high and topped with a series of turrets that Em decided were part of the Abbey’s living space. She’d spotted the shadow of a figure darting away from one of the turret windows when they’d pulled into the courtyard. In the distance, perched on the promontory of Era Mina, was another Celtic tower that Matt thought had to be at least a hundred feet tall.

  ‘When the original parts of the Abbey were built in the thirteen hundreds,’ explained Simon, while Matt, Em and Sandie climbed out of the car, ‘the monks needed protection as much as they needed a place to worship. Auchinmurn was regularly under attack from Vikings and pirates and sometimes other Scottish nobles who wanted the island for their own, so the tower you can see was used as a lookout.’

  The twins couldn’t stop gawking at the amazing structure before them. Matt especially was fascinated with the carved detail on the tower’s cornices – gargoyles of teeth-baring, two-headed dogs.

  ‘Now, how about a quick tour of the grounds, to give your mum a chance to catch up with your grandfather?’ Simon prompted.

  ‘Sure,’ said Matt, still gazing at the building.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Em.

  ‘He’s in the library,’ Simon told Sandie in a low voice.

  Her heart fluttering, Sandie lifted the satchel and her bag out of the car, crossed the courtyard and went inside through two massive, oak doors set in an arched, medieval portal.

  ‘Now, you two,’ said Simon, turning back to the twins. ‘Let’s head down to the jetty first.’

  He led Matt and Em through the tower’s arched gate to the rear of the Abbey. They walked along a path that wound its way through vegetable gardens and flowerbeds, bordered by the same ancient stone wall.

  ‘Do you like to garden?’

  ‘We live … lived in a flat in London,’ answered Matt. ‘We grew some herbs once in a pot.’

  Simon laughed. ‘Our housekeeper, Jeannie, will be recruiting you both, I’m sure. These are her gardens, and she grows most of what she cooks for us.’

  ‘What if you want a burger?’ asked Em, not a vegetable lover.

  ‘That she negotiates with the local butcher.’

  They left the secluded garden path and walked out of the shade across a manicured lawn. On the far horizon, the islands their mum had pointed out to them loomed even larger, and in every direction on the water, there were boats of all sizes. The closer the three of them came to the water, the less perfect the lawn became, until it eventually rolled into a rocky shoreline and a pebbled beach. The jetty looked modern but well used, with two bench seats at the end. The linked boathouse was a heavy wooden structure, built to withstand the powerful winds and storms coming off the Atlantic.

  ‘Do either of you like to fish?’

  Matt and Em looked at each other. In unison, they shrugged.

  ‘Never done it,’ said Matt.

  ‘That’ll change, too.’

  Matt and Em were still a bit stunned by the sheer size of the Abbey, its grounds and its breathtaking vistas, but Matt in particular was in awe of the Celtic tower perched on the point of the smaller island across the water.

  ‘It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?’ Simon said, noting Matt’s interest.

  The three of them walked out to the end of the jetty.

  ‘I’ve read a lot of books about ruins and castles,’ said Matt. ‘But nothing compares to actually seeing it.’

  ‘He’s a dork about that kind of stuff,’ Em cut in.

  Matt ignored his sister’s taunt. He was far more interested in the history looming in front of him. ‘Why would monks have a watchtower built over there on the smaller island and not over here?’

  Simon hesitated for a beat. ‘I think the answer has something to do with the smaller island being the first line of defence during an invasion. The tower would have had a better view of the sea to the north, which was the direction most of the invaders, especially the Vikings, would have come from. But you’ll learn about all that when you start your lessons.’

  ‘Lessons? We’re going to go to school here?’ asked Em incredulously.

  ‘Yes, Em,’ said Simon, smiling at her reaction. ‘Your grandfather and I will be your teachers at the Abbey. Now, shall we continue our tour?’

  The twins were so stunned by this information that they simply nodded.

  Em and Simon walked back up the jetty to the shore, but Matt stayed behind, staring at the tower. It didn’t make any sense. When masons built these lookout towers, their primary function was to warn the castle’s inhabitants or the surrounding town of approaching invaders. Usually a lookout would ring the bell at the top of the tower and, if necessary, fire flaming arrows or catapult pots of boiling tar at the invaders to slow their advance. And sometimes, but not very often, the towers were used to protect people from the invaders. This tower was far too narrow to protect more than a few people. Not only that, but its position and its few arrow slits were all wrong for fending off invaders.

  ‘Matt, are you coming?’ called Simon.

  Matt ran along the jetty to catch up, deciding that this was a pretty cool place. The Abbey was as impressive at the back as at the front, but for different reasons. The front hinted at the medieval fortress it once was, but the rear suggested a very modern mansion. Expansive windows replaced sections of the stone walls in the main part of the building, the cloisters on the western side had been renovated to create studios for students and artists in residence at the Abbey. At the far edge of the studios, a grove of birch trees stretched back to the beach. About twenty steps into the first line of birches, a large mirror of coloured glass hung between two of the trees in a sort of hammock of silver chains. Identical pieces hung from the next four birch rows, creating an overlapping line of glass all the way to the water.

  Tearing her eyes away, Em looked back at the Abbey. There was something strange about the windows that she couldn’t quite work out. They walked across the lawn to the former stables and peeked inside. Two had been converted into garages, but it was the cloisters on this side that made Em smile the widest as they housed a full-on gym and a pool. Their grandfather was clearly loaded.

  ‘Do either of you like to swim?’ asked Simon, sliding open a heavy glass door to reveal the pool and gym equipment.

  ‘I love it!’ said Em excitedly.

  ‘So so,’ said Matt, not wanting to look overly impressed.

  Simon smiled to himself at the difference between the twins’ levels of enthusiasm. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Tour’s over.’

  He led them up to a flagstone terrace, furnished with two umbrella tables and groupings of chairs and loungers. French doors were open on to the terrace from a kitchen. Em stopped and stared. That’s what was niggling her about this place. All of the glass – on the windows, the doors, even the cloisters – was smoky and dark. From the outside, no one could see into any part of the Abbey.

  Pretty sure the monks didn’t put that in, she thought.


  ‘Ready to meet your grandfather?’ asked Simon, welcoming them into the biggest kitchen they’d ever seen.

  THIRTEEN

  Before Matt and Em had the opportunity to enjoy any of their favourite foods – and there were lots of them spread across a massive oak table – a cheery-faced, grey-haired woman in an old-fashioned apron came dashing across the room, scooped Matt and Em into her arms and pressed them against her ample bosom.

  ‘Will ye look at the two of you. Oh, my. Not bairns any more.’

  Eventually she released them from her squishy embrace, although to Matt it had felt like more of a stranglehold. Keeping them at arm’s length, she exclaimed, ‘Och, yer your dad’s doubles all right.’ She sighed, pulled a hanky from her apron pocket and dabbed her nose and eyes. ‘You must be starving – and parched too, I’ve nae doubt.’ Heading across to a refrigerator that looked bigger than their entire kitchen in London, she gave Simon a flick with a tea towel. ‘I ken Simon didn’t offer you anything to drink ’fore he gave you the grand tour, eh?’

  ‘Matt and Em, this is Jeannie,’ laughed Simon, ducking a second swipe from her tea towel. ‘They should meet their grandfather before they eat.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Jeannie poured three glasses of juice and set them at places already arranged on the table. ‘Zach’s ready for his lunch, and these weans have been on a train all night. If Mr R. wants to meet them, they’ll be in here when he’s ready.’

  Jeannie shifted out in front of the table and gestured in sign language to someone behind Matt and Em. Em turned to see a boy, maybe a year older than her and Matt. He was about Matt’s height, with cropped blond hair, dressed in a T-shirt, baggy cargo shorts, scuffed trainers and no socks, gesturing back at Jeannie. Zach. Simon’s son.

  ‘Is he deaf?’ Matt asked Jeannie curiously.

  Before Jeannie could reply, Zach grabbed the back of Matt’s stool and turned it so Matt was facing him. Em tensed. She wanted these people to like them both. She wanted to live here. She felt safe here. She didn’t need Matt picking a fight the first hour of their stay.

  Zach pointed to his lips.

  ‘You read lips,’ said Matt, obviously impressed. ‘Cool. I’m Matt.’ He shoved his hand into Zach’s and looked the boy directly in the eyes. ‘And this is my twin sister Em.’

  Zach smiled and then signed something, keeping his eyes on the twins as he did. Jeannie translated.

  ‘So who’s the eldest?’

  ‘I am,’ answered Matt, carefully watching Zach’s gestures.

  ‘But only by six minutes,’ interrupted Em. ‘We lived with our mum in London, but … some things happened there, and now we have to live here.’ She looked over at Jeannie. ‘At least, I think we do.’

  Jeannie smiled and nodded.

  ‘Well, I live here with my dad,’ signed Zach. ‘My mum died when I was born. I don’t remember her.’

  He stopped moving his hands, gulped down his juice, filled his plate with sandwiches, and before darting out the French doors with his lunch, turned and signed again to the twins.

  A voice with a deep, melodious, Scottish accent spoke from the other side of the kitchen. ‘Zach says he’ll catch up with you two later.’

  The twins swivelled on their stools as a tall man with thick, white hair stood before them.

  If asked, the twins would’ve said they’d expected their grandfather to look like an older version of their dad. Admittedly, they only had a vague idea of what their dad looked like, based on a few holiday pictures and a couple of snapshots taken days after they were born. But from those, he’d been tall but fairly scruffy, with shaggy, dark hair and a stud earring.

  The man standing before them in the kitchen was anything but scruffy. He wore lightly pressed jeans, a blue dress shirt rolled at the cuffs and a pair of polished tan hiking boots. There was a puckered scar on his right forearm that looked like some kind of bite mark.

  Renard smiled at the twins. Em thought he looked handsome and kind. Matt thought he looked intimidating.

  He doesn’t look anything like Dad.

  ‘So … I see you’re enjoying your lunch,’ Renard said. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

  The twins shook their heads, their mouths full.

  ‘Well, you were very young when you left. When you’re finished, meet me out in the garden. I want to see what you can do.’

  ‘I’m still not sure that’s such a good idea,’ said Sandie, coming over to Em and taking a few crisps from her plate.

  ‘If these children are going to be under my protection,’ said Renard, ‘and under my tutelage, then I want to see first-hand what they are capable of.’

  Matt and Em glanced at each other.

  ‘You heard what happened at the National Gallery,’ continued Sandie. ‘You know how this will change things with the Council. In fact, you knew all about the incident before I even called you. How was that possible?’

  ‘That would have been because of me,’ said a woman about the same age as their mum, stepping inside from the garden. ‘I was in Glasgow yesterday picking up supplies for next term. I had lunch with a friend of a Council member. It’s all he could talk about.’

  Dressed in a short, navy sundress and high, wedge sandals with rows of chunky silver bracelets lining her arms, the woman looked regal. Despite her silky, black hair held off her face with rubber safety goggles, her thin nose and wide hazel eyes reminded Em of a painting she’d seen once of a Native American princess. The woman was the opposite of softly freckled, fair-haired Sandie who, in paint-spattered jeans, scuffed cowboy boots and a shirt she’d slept in, looked as if she’d been mucking around on a horse ranch.

  ‘Mara! I didn’t know you were back at the Abbey,’ said Sandie in surprise. She hesitated for a beat before awkwardly embracing the newcomer.

  ‘Yes, I came back.’ Mara stepped away from Sandie’s cursory hug. ‘When Renard opened the Abbey as an art school a few years ago, I decided to join him and teach.’

  I don’t think Mum is glad she’s here, Matt.

  Oh, don’t be so dramatic.

  Quickly, Simon made the formal introductions. ‘Em and Matt, this is Mara Lin. She and your mum and I—’

  ‘—and Malcolm,’ interjected Mara, pulling the goggles from her hair.

  ‘And your dad,’ continued Simon, ‘were all at university together. Not only does Mara teach with your grandfather, but she’s also an amazing glassmaker.’

  ‘Did you make the installation on the trees out there?’ Em jumped off of her stool, rushing to the French doors. ‘I noticed it when we were taking our tour. It’s … it’s ridiculously gorgeous.’

  ‘I’m pleased you like it,’ said Mara, following Em to the window. ‘It’s a copy of a much larger piece I created for a hotel in the States.’

  Simon joined them. ‘What’s really cool about it is when you walk through the installation towards the water, the mirrors create this weird illusion that you’re walking into what you’ve just left behind.’

  ‘Could you teach me how to make glass, Mara?’ Em asked.

  ‘I’d love to.’ Mara put her hand on Em’s shoulder as they walked back to the table. Em noticed her fingers were dotted with thin cuts and pin-sized burns from her work.

  Matt was more interested in how deeply his mum was frowning at Em and Mara.

  Renard went over to a large desk and took a sketchpad and packet of chalk pastels out of one of the drawers. ‘Matt, Em,’ he said, ‘shall we go?’

  When Renard made up his mind, it was pointless arguing. Which was why, when they’d disagreed ten years ago over the twins’ futures, Sandie had packed up and left. But running was no longer an option, as Sandie was no longer in a position to protect the twins on her own. She had to let Renard do as he wished.

  The twins were staring at their mum, well aware that something complicated was going on among the adults in the room, including Jeannie, who was drying the same glass for the third time. Finally, their mother spoke.


  ‘Fine. Walk with your grandfather. Do what he asks.’

  FOURTEEN

  Em lagged behind as she and Matt followed their grandfather across the lawn, under another arch in the stone wall and past Mara’s mirrored installation swaying in the breeze, trailing him deep into the forest. They were climbing. At one point, through a break in the trees, they spotted the water far below them. Every few minutes, Em thought she caught a glimpse of someone following them, but she dismissed it as a trick of the branches shifting in the wind and her anxiety over why they were being taken so far from the Abbey. Matt was working hard to keep up with his grandfather, whose strides were long. Every few steps he skipped a little, to stay at his side.

  ‘What should we call you?’ Em said, sprinting a few yards to catch up.

  ‘What would you like to call me?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Mason Renard Calder, but everyone calls me Renard,’ their grandfather smiled. ‘Jeannie, of course, yells “Mr R.” far too much.’

  ‘Well, I think we’ll just call you Grandpa then,’ said Em breathlessly.

  The older man chuckled. ‘That sounds good to me. Now, I have something to ask of each of you. Tell me about your special drawing abilities.’

  Don’t tell him anything!

  Matt, don’t be stupid. It’s why Mum brought us here.

  Well, I don’t trust him, so don’t tell him everything.

  The trees had thinned. The three of them hiked out to a rocky clearing. The road to Seaport was far below, and behind them in the distance they could see the flags flying from the Abbey’s tower. Beyond that lay the far edges of the jetty and the tower on Era Mina. The peak of the hill before them looked as if someone had peeled back the grassy earth to reveal a rocky underbelly.