Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books)

by henderson, janet elizabeth

  "Now." Caroline cleared her throat. "What about a name for your designer label? Or are you just going to call it Lingerie by Kirsty Campbell?"

  Kirsty shook her head. A new start needed a new name.

  "Okay." Caroline sat back down on her plastic bag. "What about Phoenix?" She looked pretty excited. "Underwear that rises from the ashes."

  "As in underwear so hot it burns your boobs? Or lingerie that stinks of smoke?"

  Kirsty looked out over the pale grey loch that blended into a pale grey sky. More snow coming.

  "What about Highland Hotties?" she said in triumph.

  Caroline shook her head.

  "It sounds like a range of pies."

  Kirsty was stumped. She wrapped an arm around her friend.

  "It's going to be okay," she told her.

  "I never thought otherwise," Caroline said.

  They stared out over snow-covered hills. All the colour had been bleached out of Invertary.

  "There's something else," Caroline said. "Because of everything that happened, we never finished the fashion show properly. Dougal and I have been talking and we think that it would make a good New Year's Eve event." She took a deep breath. "The dance school will perform the routine they never got to do and we'll announce the winner of the Battle of the Bras. We want you to be there for the announcement."

  "No way," Kirsty said. "What difference does it make who won? And I, for one, don't want to relive that night."

  "You won't be reliving it," Caroline said. "You'll be finishing it. Think of it as closure."

  "I already have closure. The shop is very much closed. I don't need any more closure." Kirsty glared at her friend. "Plus, no one cares who won."

  "Everyone cares," Caroline said. "People are asking Dougal all the time."

  "Fine, let him tell them." Kirsty turned back to the loch. "I don't see why I have to be there. Lake won't be there. I doubt he cares about who won the fashion show either."

  Caroline patted Kirsty's hand.

  "He'll come back for you," Caroline said. "I know it."

  "You are such a romantic, Caroline Paterson."

  Kirsty, on the other hand, had learnt the hard way to be realistic.

  "We need you there for the announcement or it won't make sense," Caroline said.

  Kirsty twisted on the log to look at her friend.

  "Let me get this right," she said. "After everything I've been through, you want me to go out on Hogmanay, sit in a crowd and listen while Dougal tells the world that I lost a fashion show?"

  Caroline's cheeks flushed rose.

  "What makes you think you lost?" she demanded.

  Little alarm bells went off in Kirsty's head. She stopped dead and stared at her friend. Caroline wouldn't look her in the eye.

  "What's going on really?" Kirsty said.

  "Nothing."

  Caroline had the same look on her face she'd had the few times Kirsty had talked her into skipping school to go shopping.

  "Nothing?" she said suspiciously.

  Caroline talked to her feet.

  "We just think that it's right that you're there for the announcement," she said.

  "Even though I could be humiliated?"

  "That won't happen. I promise."

  Caroline clamped her lips tight so that no other words would escape. Kirsty had seen this before. She was up to something and she was rubbish at hiding the truth. All Kirsty had to do was wait until her guilty conscience got the better of her, then she'd confess.

  "And this was Dougal's idea?" she said.

  "Well, it wasn't mine," Caroline told her.

  That answered the question. It wasn't Caroline's idea. And it obviously wasn't Dougal's, or Caroline would have said so. That left only one option.

  "You know what?" Kirsty smiled sweetly. "I think you're right. I think I do need closure."

  "So you'll be at the pub?"

  "Oh yes, I'll definitely be there."

  It looked like the war was still on after all, and that made Kirsty grin.

  "I shouldn't have let you talk me into this," Lake told Betty.

  "What are you whining about now? You look grand."

  "Yeah, right." He turned to Dougal. "Won't I get struck by lightning for wearing this thing?"

  "You're offending Scotland, son, not God."

  "Well, that's a relief," Lake said with a roll of his eyes. "I don't see why I have to dress up."

  Betty and Dougal shared a look.

  "We know," Betty said. "That's why you need us. This is a special occasion. You can't go out there in your birthday suit—as much as you like to flash it every chance you get."

  "What kind of tartan is this?" he said as he felt the fabric.

  "McCloud," Betty told him. "Welcome to the clan, son."

  Excellent, thought Lake. There would be no getting rid of her now.

  "How's Rainne?" Dougal said, interrupting his thoughts.

  "She's okay," was all Lake said.

  He'd found her sharing a flat with about a million other people in Glasgow's West End, while waitressing at one of the cafes on Byres Road. She was miserable, but stubbornly refused to return with him to Invertary or to go to their parents. He wasn't sure if he admired her for that or not. He'd wished that Rainne would stand on her own two feet, and now that she'd done it, he didn't like it one bit.

  "Alastair hasn't said a word to anyone since he came back," Dougal said, fishing for gossip.

  He wasn't going to get it from Lake. Alastair had enough to deal with in losing Rainne. The last thing he needed was the town poking its nose in. Glasgow had been ugly for Alastair. Rainne had refused to even talk to the boy. In the end, Lake practically had to manhandle him to get him home. It wasn't pretty.

  "Stop fidgeting," Betty said.

  "I can't help it. I don't feel comfortable."

  "Get a grip. You ran through Invertary half naked and strutted your stuff on a catwalk. This is nothing."

  "I'm wearing a skirt. It isn't nothing. Englishmen don't wear skirts. It's the reason we had an empire. It's the reason Scotland is part of the UK. Real men don't wear skirts."

  Dougal and Betty stared at him, open-mouthed.

  "If it wasn't for Kirsty, I'd walk away now," Dougal said in disgust. "You've been here months and you haven't learnt a thing. There's a right way to do things in Invertary. Something of this importance can't be handled over a quiet cup of tea. It needs flair. It needs drama. Kirsty is an Invertary girl. She wouldn't be happy with anything less. We're trying to make sure you don't make a fool of yourself."

  "By putting me in a skirt?"

  Betty whacked him in the stomach. Lake raised an eyebrow at her. Really? You think that will hurt? She narrowed her eyes and kicked him in the ankle. Now that did hurt. He rubbed the spot while glaring at her.

  "Grow up," she commanded.

  She tugged down her trademark tartan tent, patted her hairnet and checked to see if her teeth were still in place.

  "I feel like I'm in the remake of Highlander," Lake grumbled.

  "Terrible movie. Bad Scottish accents, and to have Sean Connery play a Spaniard was an abomination. Honestly, what were they thinking? The only decent accent in the whole movie and we're supposed to think he came from Spain? And don't even get me started on the guy who played the hero!"

  He was sorry he'd brought it up.

  "This is what's happening," Dougal said. "I'm going to make an announcement and you'll come on stage."

  Lake held up a hand.

  "I gave you the plan, remember? I'm the one in charge here."

  The two of them took a step towards him. For the first time, Lake began to think there was something behind the Romans' reasoning when they built Hadrian's Wall to keep the Scots out of England.

  Kirsty knew as soon as she entered the pub that it was some sort of setup. The place was packed like a sardine can and yet, miraculously, there was a free table beside the stage just for her. She followed Caroline, her mother and the women of
Knit or Die to the table, and they squeezed in around it. The women were all dolled up for the party. Each one of them trying to outdo the other with glitter, hairstyles and cleavage. Kirsty felt quite dowdy beside them. She was wearing a plain blue dress that her mother had made for her. It was gorgeous and she loved it, but it was hardly up to the standards of New Year's Eve in Invertary.

  "Don't you feel underdressed?" she asked Caroline.

  Caroline looked down at her pale green retro dress and back to Kirsty.

  "I thought I was dressed up," she said.

  Kirsty patted her hand. She was dressed up. For Caroline. In fact she looked gorgeous with her strawberry-blond bob and Doris Day dress.

  "You're gorgeous," Kirsty told her.

  Caroline beamed at her.

  "I still feel underdressed," Kirsty said. "You can count the number of people in here that aren't wearing tinsel on one hand."

  Caroline looked around.

  "I can nab you some if you like," she offered.

  Kirsty shook her head. From the corner of her eye she could see her mother empty her bag. Out came a Dundee cake, a tiny bottle of whisky and a piece of coal. She placed them all on the table in front of her.

  "For good luck," she announced.

  "Aren't you supposed to take that to someone's house when you first-foot?" Caroline said.

  "Better safe than sorry," her mother replied.

  Kirsty and Caroline shared a look, then shrugged. This was what Kirsty's life had come to. She was spending New Year's Eve in Invertary's only pub, wearing her only dress and partying with a woman who had coal in her handbag.

  People were jostling them and the noise grew louder the closer to midnight it became. On the TV in the corner of the room a generic magazine programme counted down the minutes to midnight. In front of her was a long, thin stage. Kirsty hadn't seen it before and assumed it'd been made for the evening. There were posters on the wall behind the stage advertising the local dance school. Suddenly Dougal appeared. He tapped his microphone. There was a squeal of feedback. People shouted. Dougal signalled to someone before tapping the microphone again.

  "Welcome to Invertary's famous Hogmanay get-together, here at The Scottie Dog," he boomed.

  There was a cheer.

  "This year we have a special treat. Please welcome the Invertary Dance School senior class. Remember to behave yourselves—some of these girls are up past their bedtimes."

  There was more cheering as Dougal disappeared. Lights flashed on. The music changed and eight kilted teenage girls started dancing the Highland Fling. As the girls performed the classic dance, Kirsty scanned the room. No sign of Lake yet, but she knew he was there somewhere.

  She narrowed her eyes and waited.

  Lake peered out through the small glass window in the door that led to The Scottie Dog's kitchens. The place was jumping. He was pretty sure that everyone in Invertary was in the room. There was a plethora of clashing tartans, sparkling sequins and gold lamé. It honestly hurt his eyes to look at them. The music had changed and the girls were now performing a modern number. The loudspeakers blared out '80s rock band Run Rig, who were singing in Gaelic. People cheered and raised glasses full of whisky or warm Scottish beer. Lake nabbed another sausage roll from the tray beside him and Betty followed suit. In a nod to the occasion, she'd finished off her look with a cheap plastic tiara and a length of pink tinsel around her neck.

  "That's your third sausage roll," she said. "Are you nervous?"

  "No, I love humiliating myself in public," Lake said drolly.

  "I figured as much. You do it a lot."

  He gave her a look that had very little effect on her.

  "There she is," Lake said, and felt his stomach lurch.

  Stupid. He'd done far scarier things than this in his life.

  "How's she looking?" Betty said. She wasn't tall enough to reach the window in the door.

  Breathtaking, he thought.

  "Good," he said.

  He saw Dougal pushing his way through the crowd, dressed in his usual assortment of ill-fitting tartan waistcoat and luminous shirt. This one was silver. Lake briefly wondered if the man made his own clothes.

  "Wasn't that fantastic?" he shouted over the sound system. "It's great to get together to farewell the old year and see in the new. It's been an interesting year in Invertary, and it's right that we're here together."

  There was a slightly tipsy roar of approval.

  "Now, before you're all too far gone to pay attention," Dougal told the room, "we have a few bits of business to attend to."

  There was a loud groan. Dougal blithely ignored everyone's complaint.

  "After the fashion show, we were a wee bit distracted." He looked down at Kirsty just as someone remembered there was a spotlight. It snapped on above Dougal. "We're all awful sorry about the fire, lass," he said. There were shouts of agreement, while Kirsty nodded her thanks. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. For a moment Lake wondered if she was on to him.

  "Anyway," Dougal continued. "As I was saying. After the fashion show we were all too busy to announce the winner of the Battle Of The Bras." He tugged at his waistcoat before carrying on. "It's very important that we deal with the issue of who won, because I hear that there was a bet involved."

  Kirsty sat bolt upright in her seat. Slowly, she looked around the room. Now Lake knew for certain she was on to him.

  "A bet," Dougal continued, "that was sealed on a handshake. And unlike the English—" Lake cleared his throat loudly and Dougal cast a nervous glance in his direction. "Unlike most of the English," he amended, "we take that sort of thing very seriously. In fact, I believe it still carries weight in the courts. Isn't that right, Officer Donaldson?"

  "Aye," shouted the police force.

  "You can see how important this is, then," Dougal said.

  "Get on with it," someone shouted. "It's nearly midnight."

  Dougal glared in the general direction of the voice.

  "I have in my hand the result of the vote from the fashion show." Dougal waved a gold envelope and waited.

  There was silence. Dougal frowned. There was fumbling and a drum roll played over the loud speaker. Slowly, Dougal ripped open the envelope. Lake watched Kirsty as she frowned at the unofficial town mayor. It was hard to tell what she was thinking.

  "And the winner is..." Dougal said, pausing for more drum roll. "The winner is," Dougal shouted again, "our very own Kirsty Campbell."

  Kirsty stilled. Slowly, she pursed her lips into a thin, suspicious smile.

  Kirsty smiled at Dougal as the crowd roared with applause and cheers of congratulations. She'd won the show? She'd won the bet? She didn't think so. She'd been right. Lake was back and he was up to something. This whole setup screamed his involvement. If there was a chance to be centre of attention he jumped at it. And, as usual, he'd roped her in too. Kirsty didn't care what he was up to; she had no intention of being a puppet in Lake's show. Although her betraying heart didn't agree. Her betraying heart did the happy dance inside her chest at the thought of seeing him again.

  "Kirsty," Dougal called to her. "Come on up here."

  Her mother nodded her encouragement and Caroline wouldn't look her in the eye. They were both in on it. Kirsty had no other option than to step on the stage and stand beside Dougal.

  "Congratulations. It was a close contest, but in the end, you won the Battle Of The Bras by three votes."

  Three votes was very close. It was possible she'd won after all. She saw the crinkles at the side of Douglas eyes and knew it was a scam. She gave him a cynical smile to let him know she was on to him.

  Dougal cleared his throat and looked away from her.

  "Now, to the matter of the bet," he said.

  Kirsty's stomach lurched. She remembered quite well what her part in the bet was, she just wasn't sure if Dougal knew and if he was going to broadcast it to the pub. She held her breath.

  "For that, we really need the other party," Dougal said. "Lak
e Benson, come on out here."

  The spotlight swung away from the stage and, after wobbling across the ceiling, wall and part of the bar, it steadied on the door to the kitchen. The door swung open and out walked Lake. The wind went out of Kirsty in one almighty whoosh. She had to remind herself to breathe. He was dressed in traditional Scottish garb, from his black waistcoat and tie, to his green tartan kilt, down to his kilt hose. He was stunning.

  Stunning. Cocky. Arrogant. And up to no good.

  He swaggered to the stage, waving at the crowd and behaving as though he paraded around in the limelight every day of the year. His eyes sought her out and his look burned. Kirsty's mouth went dry. Then her eyes narrowed. This little setup he had going wasn't over yet, and she didn't want to end up the brunt of Invertary jokes until next New Year's. She glared at him, which made him grin. Damn man.

  "Lake," Dougal said once the spotlight had found him again. "I'm sorry you lost the competition. Now you might like to sort out that bet."

  He handed the microphone to Lake.

  "Nice of you to come back," Kirsty said—aware that without a microphone, pretty much only he could hear her. "A phone call would have been nice too."

  "I'll explain later," he said, forgetting about the microphone. The crowd hushed, scared they would miss something.

  Lake looked at the packed pub and took a deep breath.

  "Kirsty Campbell," he said. "As per our bet. I have something to give you."

  There were wolf whistles. Dougal grabbed the mic for a minute.

  "Get your minds out of the gutter," he ordered the crowd, then signalled Lake to carry on.

  "I have here," Lake said as he reached into the pocket in his waistcoat and came out with a white envelope, "the deed to my shop. It's now yours."

  There was a moment's silence before the screams of approval deafened them. Lake held the envelope out to Kirsty. She wasn't daft enough not to take it. She snatched it from him. His lip did that thing where he tried not to smile.

  "You didn't keep it in your sporran?" she said.

  "This thing?" Lake pointed at the sporran with his mic. "I thought it was a penis warmer."