To begin with it was very large and very pretentious, and with its pepper-box towers and high walls looked like a copy of an old French chateau. Which, in point of fact, was exactly what it was, for the late Montagu Jackson, after a visit with his wife to the South of France, had had it built on the site of a really old building which he had ruthlessly pulled down, and in the full broad light of day, with the Scottish mountains rising behind it, moorland on two sides of it, and a deep glen on the other, it looked a little astonishing.But when Karen arrived it was very nearly dark, and the thing that impressed her most about it was its size, and the blaze of light that seemed to be pouring from every window.Inside, she was met with an almost overpowering warmth from central heating, vast areas of rich, thick, crimson carpet, suits of armor that looked a little incongruous standing at the bottom of a fan-shaped staircase, and many massive portraits hanging on panelled walls. Her room, when she reached it had the impersonal luxury of a hotel bedroom—that is to say, of a five-star hotel.
