Five Days in Skye: A Novel

by Laureano, Carla

  She opened the door before he could reach it and stepped into the warm, crowded interior.

  Polished wooden booths with padded backrests lined the inside walls, and smaller tables with cane-backed chairs clustered in the center of the room. A gleaming mahogany bar with brass accents stretched the length of the opposite wall. The hearty aroma of pub food mingled with the earthy, hoppy fragrance of beer. It was well past lunchtime, but patrons still packed almost every available seat, and voices hummed together beneath the low ceiling.

  “Some of the best food in the Highlands,” James said in her ear, his hand resting briefly on her back. “Let’s snag that table in the corner before someone beats us to it.”

  They slid into a small booth and took menus from the rack on the wall. Andrea scanned hers quickly, and then snapped it closed. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. It’s your tour of the Highlands. I’ll leave myself in your capable hands.”

  He grinned a little too broadly, and she suppressed the childish urge to kick him beneath the table. The waitress approached just in time to save him a knot on his shin.

  “A flight of the local ales on tap,” James said immediately. “Steak pie for the lady, bangers and mash for me.”

  “I’ve had steak and Guinness pie.” She’d expected something less ordinary, given James’s enthusiasm about the place.

  “Not like this you haven’t. It’s the love child of bœuf bourguignon and a Cornish pasty. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  She settled back in the seat and looked around the pub. It was more traditional than James’s, now that she had something to compare it to: more clubby, less sophisticated. Maybe she hadn’t given the Hart and the Hound a fair shake after all. He’d managed to achieve the feel of the traditional corner pub while making it upscale enough for the trendy Notting Hill location.

  “You never stop, do you?” James said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Working. Don’t try to deny it. You get this look on your face when you’re analyzing your surroundings. Like you’re trying to sum it all up in a neat paragraph.”

  It was exactly what she had been doing. He really did read her too easily. “I was just thinking I owed you an apology for calling your pub middle of the road.”

  “I’m not easily insulted,” he said. “I’m just wondering how I might get you to relax for an hour.”

  “I know how to relax. This is still a business trip, remember?”

  “Even you are allowed a lunch break now and then. Look, here comes your ale.”

  Andrea stared doubtfully at the tray the waitress sat before them, six small glasses set in a little wooden rack. “I’m not going to drink all those.”

  “Of course not. It’s just meant to let you sample the different ones from the region.” He removed the lightest-colored ale first and held it up. “It’s a bit like tasting wine. This one is what’s known as a Light 60. First consider what it smells like. Some have notes of chocolate, others citrus or coffee. And then taste.” He slid the glass across the table to her.

  Doubtfully, she sniffed the ale. “I smell … honey?” He nodded encouragingly. She took a sip, then made a face. “Burnt honey. This one is all yours.”

  He smiled, took the glass back, and then passed her another. “Next.”

  She sampled the rest of the glasses as James prompted her with questions. His eyes sparkled as he watched her, his arms folded on the tabletop.

  “You take this all very seriously, don’t you?”

  “Ale is to British food as wine is to French,” he said. “The concept of ale pairing is just as sophisticated. The flavor of one enhances the other.”

  Andrea leaned back in the booth, warmed by his enthusiasm. No wonder he was so successful on camera. He loved sharing his knowledge and his skills. People could spot a phony, but she was beginning to believe James MacDonald was the real deal. What a shock to discover it wasn’t just marketing after all. Had she become so jaded she could no longer take someone at face value?

  “That’s a serious look. What are you thinking?”

  She realized she had been staring at him. She struggled for something plausible to say—anything but the truth—then exhaled in relief when the server approached. “Look, here’s our food.”

  “Now who’s changing the subject?” he teased, but he didn’t press as the woman set their plates before them.

  Andrea’s first bite of the steak pie was everything he had promised. “This is absolutely phenomenal. Even better than your pasta, if such a thing were possible.”

  “Try this.” He pushed his plate toward her. “The bangers are made fresh on site. This is venison, I believe.”

  She delicately cut off a small piece of the sausage and tasted it. “It’s good. But the pie is truly died-and-gone-to-heaven perfection.” She devoured the rest of the pie, aware of James’s amusement at her enthusiasm, but she didn’t care. Ladylike went out the window with food this good.

  “Do you want to meet the owner?” he asked, signaling the waitress when they were finished. “She’s a friend of mine.”

  “Sure. I’d love to tell her how wonderful this was.”

  The waitress approached, and James asked, “Is Erica in today? We’d like to give her our compliments.”

  The server disappeared through a door behind the bar. A few minutes later, a petite blonde emerged, dressed in a black chef’s jacket, hair pulled back into a French braid. Her face lit up when she saw them.

  “James! I don’t believe it! What are you doing here?”

  James slid out of the booth, and the woman threw her arms around his neck. He squeezed her warmly and released her. “I’m showing a friend around Fort William today. Erica, this is Andrea Sullivan. Andrea, my colleague, Erica Baird.”

  Erica held out her hand, and Andrea shook it firmly. “Welcome to the Blooming Fuchsia,” she said in a precise English accent. “How are you finding Fort William so far?”

  “Charming,” Andrea said. “Is this your place?”

  Erica swept the room with a proud gaze. “It is. I hope you enjoyed the food.”

  “Absolutely. The steak pie is amazing.”

  “It figures. You didn’t tell her, James?” Erica laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “It’s his recipe. He gave it to me as a gift when I opened the place.”

  “Only the filling recipe is mine. You’ve done something special with the crust.” James said to Andrea, “If it weren’t for Erica, I wouldn’t have made it through the pastry segment of my advanced certificate. I’m complete rubbish at baking. I owed her one.”

  “You went to culinary school together then?” The pang she felt at the revelation surprised her. Surely it wasn’t jealousy. She didn’t have any right to feel that. Still, the easy familiarity between them hinted at a long and close acquaintance. She just couldn’t tell how close.

  “In London, yes. James was the one who told me this place was up for sale a few years ago. I said he was daft for suggesting I move to Scotland. But here I am. The place tends to get under your skin, whether you want it to or not.”

  “I’m beginning to notice that.”

  Erica gave an emphatic nod. “Well, then, I won’t hold you from your plans. Thanks for stopping by, James. Andrea, it was lovely to meet you. Enjoy your trip.”

  “She seems nice,” Andrea said when the chef had retreated to the kitchen. “Old friend?”

  James raised his eyebrows. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?”

  Andrea gave him a supercilious look and took a drink from the nearest glass to save herself a reply. Unfortunately, it was the burnt-honey ale she’d rejected earlier, and she narrowly kept a look of disgust off her face. “Your past is your business.”

  James didn’t seem to believe her. His eyes traveled
to the glass, and his lips twitched. “In any case, we never dated. She’s like a sister to me. She’s done a great job with the place.”

  “Yes, she has.” Andrea tried not to feel pleased with the fact he felt compelled to reassure her. She had no right to feel possessive. It wasn’t as if this were a date.

  As they left the restaurant, though, and James again tucked her hand between his arm and his body, that was exactly what it felt like.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They stepped outside into a bright spill of sunshine through the gap in the clouds. Patches of blue winked through the gray ceiling, even though it merely gave the illusion of warmth. The damp, cold air immediately chilled Andrea through the quilted fabric of her new coat.

  “Where to now?” James asked.

  “I think you promised me a view of the loch.”

  “Then to the loch we go.” He turned her down an intersecting street, and the wind that had been blocked by the buildings hit them full force. She shivered as the cold air funneled down the neck of her coat.

  They stepped onto the wood pier, and their feet thudded dully against the decking. Only a few pedestrians ventured here on a Wednesday afternoon, either going to the seafood restaurant that dominated the pier or heading for the passenger ferry. James picked a spot at the railing that overlooked the loch and gave a sweeping view of the city behind.

  “The ferry goes across to Camusnagaul,” he explained. “You’d get a better view from the tour boats, but if we watch closely, we still might get a glimpse of the porpoises and otters that live in the loch.”

  Andrea closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, breathing in the loch’s briny scent. The sunshine barely staved off the chill. “The pace is so much slower here.”

  “I found it maddening when I first came back from London,” he admitted. “Especially the sheep.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned sheep.”

  “They’re a menace on Skye. All over Scotland, actually. Sometimes a flock of them just decides to wander across the road and you have no choice but to wait for them to pass. Forget hurrying them along either. They just stare at you.” He narrowed his eyes. “They lay in wait for motorists and then fling themselves into the road.”

  Andrea laughed at the picture he painted, imagining the animals huddled together in a field, plotting their revenge on passing motorists. “I never thought sheep could move fast enough to fling themselves anywhere.” A gust of wind caught her full in the face, and a shiver shook her whole body. “Is April always like this?”

  “No. Sometimes it’s actually cold.”

  “Tahiti definitely wins this round.” She rubbed her arms for warmth and scrunched down deeper into the collar of her coat.

  “This might help.” James reached down into one of her bags and withdrew a bundle swathed in tissue paper. He tore off the wrapping to reveal a woolen scarf, gray and lilac tartan shot through with silver threads. He folded it in half, then draped it gently around her neck and tugged the ends through the loop.

  Andrea’s heart thumped against her ribs, the feeling curiously similar to panic. “You shouldn’t have. I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Shh. You’ve been freezing all day. Consider it a souvenir of Scotland, and just say thank you.” He tugged down the zipper of her coat, tucked the scarf’s fringed ends inside, then zipped her back up. Somehow, he managed to make the gesture both casual and intimate. She struggled to respond, but the words stuck in her dry mouth.

  “You don’t like it? I thought since you said your favorite color was purple, and you were wearing a gray suit …”

  He’d actually put some thought into the gift, and that made it even more unsettling. She looked up and saw the uncertainty on his face. It may have been the first time she’d ever seen him in less-than-complete control of a situation.

  “It’s lovely,” she said finally. “And very thoughtful. Thank you.”

  He met her eyes and smiled. Even now, it managed to dissolve her composure. “Your hair is caught. Here, let me.”

  He slid his fingers beneath the edge of the scarf and freed her hair. His hand against her skin made her thoughts surface sluggishly, muddling all the reasons she should back away. When he bent his head toward hers, she stopped thinking and succumbed to the force that pulled them together, as strong and irresistible as gravity.

  Their lips met, just the lightest touch, but it was enough to send a zing of electricity across every nerve ending. Her hand rose to rest lightly on his chest as she moved into him, but before the kiss could go any further, a shrill ring penetrated her hazy thoughts.

  Andrea jerked back a step and scrambled in her purse for her cell, then stared at it dumbly when she realized it wasn’t ringing. James held up his own phone.

  “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” He gave her an apologetic smile and moved away a few paces. “James.”

  Andrea let out a long, shaky breath. What had she been thinking? How could she have possibly allowed him to kiss her? No, she had been a willing participant. She had taken complete leave of her senses if she was actually contemplating getting involved with a client.

  It wasn’t exactly involvement if she was leaving on Saturday, though.

  And that just made it worse. After the situation in London, her behavior would be under intense scrutiny. Getting involved with James on a personal level would make the incident with her last client look like a lovers’ quarrel, not a legitimate case of sexual harassment. If there were any question about her behavior, she would become a liability to Morrison instead of an asset. It could end her career. At the very least, it could end her bid for the vice president position.

  Yet the mere recollection of that brief touch turned her limbs to jelly and made her breath catch in her chest. It wasn’t a promising sign for the state of her self-control.

  James’s alarmed tone startled her from her own thoughts.

  “Are they all right?” He swore softly beneath his breath and then shot her another apologetic look. “Okay. Put his mum and sister up somewhere under a false name and call in Jonathan to consult. He’ll have some ideas on what to do. In the meantime, I’ll ring Ian and see if he has any contacts who might help.”

  James ended the call and raked his free hand through his hair.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  He met her eyes, the worry plain on his face. “One of my students was shot.”

  “What?” Andrea gasped.

  “I have a cooking program for at-risk youth. Kyle’s one of my most promising students. Good lad, but his older brother got him involved in a gang years ago. Now the brother’s in prison, and Kyle’s out of the life, but they’ve been threatening him. I guess they finally made good on it.”

  Andrea just stared, processing. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s in intensive care with three gunshot wounds to the chest. It’s a miracle he’s even alive.”

  “And they called you?”

  “Who else is going to help them?” James asked with a twinge of bitterness. “I’ve tried to get involved before, but Kyle wouldn’t hear of it. He was afraid they would retaliate against his family. We’re beyond that now, I think.”

  “Who’s Jonathan then?”

  “Security.”

  “As in, your bodyguard?”

  A smile played at the corners of James’s mouth at her shocked tone, even though his eyes remained worried. “Private security consultant. He’s a good bloke, useful to have around. I use him when I travel to Asia and India.”

  Andrea gulped. It was an aspect of James’s life she’d never considered, though she should have. She knew a few executives who carried kidnap and ransom insurance, and her brief glimpse of the Secret Service years ago had alerted her to the kind of threats people in the public eye faced. Still, it was an uneasy reminde
r of how abnormal his life actually was.

  But that wasn’t the topic at hand. “How does Ian fit in?”

  “He has some contacts at the Met.” At her blank look, he explained, “Metropolitan Police. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  James pulled his phone back out and dialed. She listened as he explained the situation and asked Ian to make a call. Apparently his brother had a contact who was fairly highly placed in the police department. She shook her head. She’d never get over how they managed to work together despite their animosity.

  James hung up and returned the phone to his coat. “Sorry about that. Shall we go?”

  He offered his elbow. After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm again. She’d hardly expected him to take such a personal interest in his students. When she read about his program, she’d assumed he had set up the funding for it, not that he was involved in the lives of the kids themselves.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I think it’s nice you want to help.”

  “They’re good lads, all of them.” He shrugged. “I can’t help thinking if I hadn’t grown up with money and parents who took an interest, I might have ended up like them. I had a second chance. And a third and a fourth. Some of them have never had a single one.”

  Andrea mulled the statement over while they walked back to the car. For once, he didn’t try to talk or joke, and she could feel the tension in his arm beneath her hand. His mind was clearly on the situation with his young student.

  “If you need to go back to London, don’t let me stop you. That’s more important.”

  “What?” He seemed startled by the suggestion. “No. It’s better I stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not exactly low profile.”

  “Obviously you care about the boy. You don’t think he’d want to see you? Or are you worried about how it would reflect on your program?”

  He fixed her with a reproving look. “If Ian and I aren’t around to answer questions about his involvement in the program, it will blow over in the news. It’s better if Kyle and his family disappear for a while. Jonathan’s good at that sort of thing.”