He shrugged. ‘They’re there, so they might as well be used.’
‘The best use for these is in the firebox. Give me a new one to photograph, then I’m eBaying the lot.’
Rory swallowed and Zoe looked at him. Her heart was stuttering wildly, pounding up into her throat. She had to find an outlet for her energy so channelled it into indignation. ‘You’ve got a problem with that? Finding it hard to stop using the swan-feather quill? Still got a stream of peasants wanting to donate their blood for ink?’
‘N-no,’ he stuttered. ‘It’s just going to be a lot of changes, that’s all.’
Zoe’s jaw dropped open. She lifted the chair and brought it to his side of the table, placing it beside him. ‘I think you’d better sit.’ She guided him to the chair, any excuse to touch him. He sat down heavily and it collapsed, sending him sprawling on the floor and Basil running for cover.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! That was my last one!’
Rory got to his feet, the remains of the chair in his enormous hands, his cheeks flushed. Zoe tipped her head back and slumped her shoulders. ‘Put what you can in the firebox and take the rest away. I’ll drive out to the storage unit where my furniture is this afternoon. If I leave now, I’ll be back by tonight.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He put the pieces of wood in the Rayburn.
‘It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m just glad you did it, not me. There’s a limit to how many chairs I can destroy without getting a complex. Now lean against the Rayburn for support and if you feel dizzy, breathe out slowly through your mouth, I’m out of paper bags right now.’
She saw a glint of amusement flash across his face, and his lips twitch. Her tummy sparkled. She moved away from him.
‘Okay, listen up, Stone Age Sam. I’ve checked out the castle’s “website” and it’s edged in front of that god-awful leaflet in the running for the ‘thing most likely to put people off visiting Kinloch castle’ award. All copies of the leaflet need to be chucked, and you only get another one designed when you’ve got more cash. Anyway, most information is online now. People have the attention span of a gnat so will never pick up, let alone read, a leaflet. Everything is on their phone. If you want people to come to the castle and spend money, you need to have a functioning website, and be on all the social channels. You need to create a brand, an identity, a hook, tell people why they have to schlep all the way out here for a few dark rooms and a leaking roof. Call to something in their soul, make them feel special they came. Then fleece them in the tea room and the gift shop. That’s where you’ll really make your money.’
Rory seemed lost, as if she’d told him he had a couple of months to learn Mandarin and become a world-class chess player. Zoe brought out her phone. ‘You know Instagram, right?’ Rory shrugged non-committedly. She walked over to him and showed him her screen, hyper aware of his body next to hers. ‘So, this is my Instagram account. I opened it a couple of weeks ago for my friends to see my life here.’
‘Is that the castle?’
‘Yes, I took some shots this morning.’
She scrolled down and he pointed at the selfie of her and Basil in the tree. ‘Was that when you were stuck?’
‘I was on a rat rescue mission that went awry. I was not stuck.’ With no connection, she couldn’t load more images. ‘Dammit! There’s no signal, I can’t show you any more.’
She went to close the phone, but Rory put his hand over hers. ‘Can I see them again?’ Zoe passed him the phone and stepped away. His touch was like fire.
She went back to the table, watching him holding the pink glittery phone. He was scrolling through every photo, his face inscrutable. He finally spoke.
‘These are incredible. They’re better than anything a professional could take. The castle looks amazing.’
Zoe blushed. ‘It’s not me, it’s the filters. I’ll show you.’ She extended her arm and he gave her the phone. She opened the camera. ‘Okay, I want you to take a picture of me and Basil. I’ll show you what I want the composition to be by taking a picture of you first. So, go stand by the window over there.’ Rory awkwardly complied. ‘Now, put your right hand up to your shoulder, as if you’re holding Basil. Good, now drop your chin a bit. Hang on.’ She moved forward and brushed a curl of hair away from his face. It didn’t need moving but she couldn’t resist. Rory flinched, and a little piece of her heart broke off. He really didn’t like her.
She moved back and took a few photos.
‘There. All done. Now see the composition.’ He stared at the photo, as if seeing himself for the first time. She passed him the phone and went to pick up Basil. ‘You have a go.’
She stood by the window, Basil on her shoulder. ‘Come on, you little monkey, it’s time to perform. You need to look cute for your fans.’ For a second he stayed still, then clambered onto the top of her head. ‘Basil!’ She lifted him back down, then turned to Rory. ‘Did you manage to get anything?’
He gave the phone back to her and she flicked through. He had taken photos the moment she’d put Basil on her shoulder and there were some amazing shots, far better than she had anticipated.
‘Oh, these are great!’
He seemed relieved.
Zoe selected one of her laughing at Basil and applied filters. When she’d finished, she showed him the difference between the original photo and the edited one. ‘You can see how much better this one is. I’ll drive out later and post it online.’
Rory looked between the two photos, then at her. A crackle of electricity passed between them and Zoe swallowed, moving away from him.
‘So, I need you to give me a tour of the castle, tell me what makes it special. And I’ll need to get photos of the earl to use as publicity.’
‘No,’ said Rory immediately.
‘Why not?’
Rory turned away and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it. ‘He won’t want anything to do with this.’
Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘Typical toff.’
He didn’t meet her gaze, just walked to the door and put his boots on. ‘I’ll let you know when you can look around. Don’t drive all afternoon to get your chairs, I’ll bring some from the castle no one will miss. I’ll see you later.’
He walked out without a second glance.
13
Zoe let out a huff of frustration. He was more hot and cold than an erratic Icelandic volcano. She wanted to sit and think, but there were no chairs left, so she crawled into her tent and lay down.
Her heart was still thumping. She couldn’t be around him. But then she couldn’t not be around him. If she couldn’t have him then she wanted to photograph him, so she could always have a piece of him with her. A wave of tiredness rolled through her and she yawned. She’d have a quick nap, then she’d get up and have something to eat.
Three hours later, she was woken by the smell of brewing tea. She grunted in confusion and saw Rory, standing a few feet away, holding out a mug.
‘How long have you been standing there?’ she asked, her speech still thick with sleep.
‘Only a couple of minutes. I’ve been back for nearly an hour but wanted to wake you gently before I brought in the scaffolding.’
‘The what?’ Zoe scrambled into a seated position and Rory passed her the mug of tea. It was strong and milky. ‘There’s milk!’ She looked up in surprise as if he had manifested a miracle.
‘Yes, I got a pint from the shop. It will last fine outside until tomorrow. Now, can I get back to work?’
Zoe saw a glint of humour in his eyes. ‘Yes, stop slacking and get on with it.’
Rory walked out and immediately returned with scaffolding poles, pushing the door open with his backside. Zoe stood up. What was going on? In the far corner of the cabin was a gigantic pile of fleeces, a stack of wooden battens next to them, and six scaffolding boards propped against the wall.
‘Did you bring all that in while I was sleeping?’
Rory nodded and went back out the door for more. Zoe watche
d him go, noticing four chairs next to the table. They were ornate and carved out of dark wood. One of them was like a throne on top of a wooden box. She went to inspect it. There was a hinge on the back of the seat. She lifted it up as Rory clanked back into the cabin.
‘Ahh, I see you’ve found the commode.’ He put the poles on the floor and came over to show her how it worked. ‘You’ve got a porcelain potty in the box underneath. When you need the loo, you lift the lid, and do what you need to do. Then, when you’re done, you pull down the front panel like this, and take out the pot.’
‘I am not using that!’
‘Would you prefer to get up in the middle of the night and traipse down to the outhouse for a wee or use this? Besides, I got it for me, not you.’
‘This is for you to use?’
‘I’m not going to piss in it. I mean I got it for you, so you didn’t need to knock me off a ladder every morning.’
‘Oh.’ She pointed to the scaffolding poles. ‘What are they for?’
Rory wasn’t someone who wasted time. He began connecting them together. ‘I need to make a moveable tower to put the wool under the roof. You can help me in a bit if you don’t mind.’
‘Can I eat something first? I’m starving.’
Rory smiled. ‘Carry on, I don’t need you yet.’
Zoe filled the firebox with wood and opened the Rayburn up. She wasn’t going to cook, but if she could warm Rory up then maybe some of his clothes would come off. She went outside to collect the leftovers from the porch and brought them in to eat straight from the boxes.
It was a luxury to sit on a chair at the table, a mug of tea in her hand, good food in her belly, and a view to die for in front of her eyes. Watching Rory work was like the beginning of a porn film from the seventies. A hunk doing manual labour before the action started.
As she tucked into her food, she got out her phone and surreptitiously took photos of him, feeling a little sordid, but not enough to make her stop.
‘Do you want anything to eat? It’s leftovers from Morag’s.’
‘Got any meat?’
‘None left I’m afraid, but I can offer you a traditional Scottish dessert of tiramisu apple crumble. It’s an unusual combination I admit, but very nice.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks, I’ll eat later when I get home. Let me know when you’re finished, I’m ready for you now.’
If he was ready for her then she was definitely finished. She gulped the dregs of her tea, snapped the lids back on the boxes, put them outside, and came back to stand by the half-completed tower. A thought came to her, too delicious not to share. ‘I like your erection,’ she said, lifting an eyebrow.
Rory stepped back in shock, his mouth open. Zoe couldn’t hold it together and spat out a laugh that didn’t stop. She doubled over, gasping for breath. ‘I’m sorry! But the look on your face. Priceless! Oh my god, that was our favourite joke from Design and Technology classes at school, I haven’t used it in years.’
‘Have you quite finished?’
Zoe tried to calm herself, but was in the middle of a tiramisu crumble sugar rush. She reached towards the pile of scaffolding on the floor. ‘I just need to get a good grip on your pole.’ With that double entendre she fell about again, howling with laughter.
Rory stepped off the tower, grabbed a pole and climbed back up. Zoe was trying and failing to get herself under control. She was hysterical after the last few days. She’d moved house, got a pet rat, been strangled, got stuck up a tree, drank too much alcohol, thrown up, and been gifted a commode. And throughout all of this, she had fallen in lust with someone who thought she was at best repulsive, at worst a simpleton.
She wanted her friends, she wanted her parents. But most of all she wanted to stop laughing.
The thought of her parents helped calm her down. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘I apologise. I’ve had too little sleep and too much sugar. My comments were inappropriate and unprofessional. I want to assure you the only erection I am interested in is this,’ she slapped the side of the tower with her hand, ‘and I am now here to assist you.’
Rory didn’t say anything, just pointed at the scaffolding poles on the ground. Zoe picked one up and passed it to him, followed by a clamp. They continued to work in silence.
After a couple of minutes she decided there was nothing more erotic than the sight of a man doing physical labour. She needed both arms and all her strength to lift the poles up to him. In contrast, he reached down and casually grabbed them from her, lifting them with ease. Zoe could see the muscles working under the skin of his large forearms, but it appeared effortless. She usually felt tall around men, bigger than most of them. But around Rory, it was as if she could be lost within the expanse of his arms.
She had each pole and clamp ready before he asked for it and the tower was quickly finished. She passed up a few wooden battens and he attached them in rows to the underside of the roof with a nail gun. After he’d done a section, he asked for the first fleece and pushed handfuls under the battens.
He looked down from the scaffolding.
‘It’s not pretty but it should make a big difference.’
Zoe was entranced. ‘I think it’s beautiful. I’m going to climb up later and take loads of photos.’
‘Don’t get stuck. Again.’
Zoe passed him another couple of battens. ‘Oh, ha ha ha. Now crack on, I want a quarter of this done by the time we go to bed.’
By the time we go to bed… Zoe cringed inwardly at her inner thoughts becoming outer. Her comment was the last word spoken for the next hour as they both worked in silence until they had run out of wood. Nearly a third of the underside of the roof was now fluffy and warm. Rory swung himself from the top of the tower and landed, almost silently, on the floor. He didn’t look at Zoe, just tidied his tools.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow morning and keep going. I'll have it finished by the end of the day, then move on to the door. I think that’s a bigger priority than insulating under the floor.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No. This is grunt work. Any idiot can do it. I need you using your brain.’
‘Can I visit the castle tomorrow? I need to see it as soon as possible.’
Rory hesitated. ‘Yep, we can go tomorrow.’ He slung his tool bag over his shoulder. ‘What time will you be up? I’ll start on the roof as soon as you’re ready.’
‘Whenever you like, I’m always up early,’ Zoe lied, eager to have as much time with him as possible. Why wouldn’t he look at her?
He nodded and walked to the door, putting on his boots. ‘See you then.’
He put his hand on the flimsy door and shook his head as he pushed it open. Then he was gone.
Zoe didn’t move until she heard the truck drive off, then allowed herself a loud and frustrated yell. He wanted her brain? It was currently filled almost entirely with him, leaving only a tiny amount of room left for basic bodily functions, like walking. It was nearly nine but she needed someone to talk to. She grabbed Basil, her phone and keys and went out to drive up the road.
Her mum picked up after five rings. Zoe saw this as a good sign.
‘Darling! Is everything all right? Are you okay? ARNOLD! IT’S ZOE! SHE’S STILL ALIVE! Hang on love, let me put you on speaker.’
‘Yeah, I’m great. How are things with you?’
Zoe kept the conversation light. She nearly told them about Basil but then decided they weren’t quite ready for that, so told them more about Sunday lunch and Jamie’s music. She wanted to tell them about Rory, to unburden herself, but knew if she started, she wouldn’t stop. So instead, she reassured them everything was great and rang off.
On Instagram, she posted a few of the pictures Rory had taken of her and Basil, itching to post the one she had taken of him. God, he was gorgeous. She could look at him forever.
She stopped herself, but couldn’t resist sending it to Sam. She captioned it ‘my builder’. It took less than twenty seconds for her phone to r
ing. Zoe laughed till her cheeks hurt listening to Sam losing her mind.
‘WTAF! He’s your BUILDER? Can he come and shore up my retaining wall?’
Zoe told her about the ignoble rescue from the tree and pushing him off a ladder. Sam shrieked and made her promise to ‘act a bit more normal’ so she could ensnare him. Zoe informed her she was the last woman on the planet he was interested in, and that he was responsible for Basil and the cows. She didn’t mention the bothy. That would have completely freaked her out. She promised Sam she would take more photos of Rory for her, but didn’t tell her about the ones she’d surreptitiously snapped of him assembling the scaffolding tower. If she did that, she’d never get off the phone. So she promised she would see what she could do and rang off, her heart full of love for her amazing friend. She gave Basil a kiss.
‘Come on, darling, time for bed. Mummy’s got to be up early tomorrow.’
Zoe had formulated a cunning plan for the next morning. She would set her alarm for seven, get up, put on make-up, then make porridge and tea so when Rory arrived he would be greeted by a domestic goddess and fall instantly in love.
Instead, she woke at half eight and crawled out her tent door, hair defying gravity, eye mask still half on, to see a pair of stockinged feet standing in front of her. Rory crouched down and held out a mug of tea.
She pulled out her earplugs and pushed the mask to the top of her head but didn’t look up.
‘Good morning, Princess. How was your beauty sleep?’
Zoe ripped the mask off, took the tea and glowered at him. ‘What time is it?’
‘Half eight. I’ve just brought the second load in. I was about to move a few things so I can reposition the tower.’
‘I set my alarm for seven.’
‘I know, I could hear it from outside. When you didn’t shut it off, I got concerned you were stuck up something else so I poked my head around the door. Luckily, your snoring reassured me you were fine, so I unloaded the truck, then went back for more wood and some breakfast.’
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 12
