Ian met Andrea’s eyes over the girl’s head. “Andrea, then. Don’t worry. We’ll get down to work tomorrow.”
“Will you be joining us for the walk-through in the morning, then?”
“No. I have plans. I thought we might discuss your observations over lunch tomorrow. I’m staying in Broadford.”
Andrea studied him for a moment. If it had been James speaking, she would think there was a hidden agenda behind the invitation, but Ian just stared back at her, his expression placid, unreadable. That was the biggest difference between the brothers, she decided. With James, she always had a pretty good idea what he was thinking, and it generally wasn’t business. Ian, on the other hand, was a complete blank.
“I’ll let you work the schedule out with James,” she said finally. “But it’s fine with me.”
He nodded and turned his attention to his niece. “So, Em, I hear you’ve been taking piano lessons. Want to demonstrate?”
Her face lit up, and she jumped to her feet, scattering seashells over the coffee table. Andrea leaped forward to scoop them up before they rolled off the table. Emmy skidded by on her way to the piano and shoved the fall board carelessly back from the keys with a thud. Andrea winced.
“Come watch me, Andrea!”
Serena held out her hands for the newly corralled seashells. Andrea stood and skirted the coffee table, smoothing the wrinkles from her slacks as she went. Emmy placed her hands awkwardly on the keys and began a halting rendition of “Ode to Joy,” her feet swinging beneath the piano bench as she played.
When she finished, Ian and Serena clapped lightly. “Very nice,” Andrea said with a nod. “What else can you play?”
“That’s it except for scales.” Emmy wrinkled her nose. “They’re boring.”
Andrea smiled down at her. She remembered how she felt at Emmy’s age, plodding away at simple sheet music. “I agree. But the more you learn, the more skills you have to make it interesting.”
“Do you play, Andrea?” Serena asked.
Her pulse sped up at the question. She could lie, of course, but after the woman had been so honest with her, it hardly seemed right. “Some.”
“Play something, Andrea!” Emmy hopped off the bench to make room for her.
She glanced between Serena and Ian. He lifted a shoulder. “You might as well. She’s not going to stop asking until you do.”
Stupid, stupid, the voice in her head whispered. She didn’t play in public anymore. But “Ode to Joy” hardly qualified as playing, and the pleading look Emmy shot her made it hard to refuse.
“All right.” Andrea pulled the bench farther back and settled herself so her feet comfortably touched the pedals. Then she placed her hands on the keys and began to play a very calm, respectable version of the choral piece.
She glanced at the little girl, who wore an unimpressed expression. Apparently this sedate arrangement wasn’t enough to convince her that piano could be fun. Andrea bit her lip. Why not?
She started into her own interpretation of the piece, upping the tempo, throwing in triplets and changing chords to arpeggios, playing with the notes around the central motif until it only barely resembled the original. A smile spread across her face, and she had to stifle a laugh. If this didn’t convince the little girl music could be fun, there wasn’t much else she could do.
Suddenly she realized the room had gone still and every eye was fixed on her. Ian stood to one side of the piano, Emmy backed up against him, her eyes wide and sparkling. Andrea broke off abruptly, and her smile faded.
“Very impressive.”
James’s voice drew Andrea’s eye to the doorway where he leaned, a towel in hand. His expression made her heart skip.
She had to swallow before she could manage an answer. “I don’t play much anymore.”
“You should,” Ian said quietly. “You’re very talented.”
The brothers exchanged a glance above her head she didn’t understand. Whatever was behind the look, though, she knew she didn’t like being the object of it.
Chapter Eight
James called the family to dinner while he set out the food on the small oak dining table, though he gave it only half a mind. Just when he thought Andrea couldn’t surprise him, she did something completely unexpected.
Where had she learned to play piano like that? It wasn’t the playing of someone who merely remembered her childhood music lessons. The variations she had spun off Emmy’s simple melody had felt completely improvisational, and her smile hinted at pure, unabashed delight. It reminded him of how he felt when he had nothing to do but experiment in the kitchen, testing new recipes and trying out unusual flavors.
Muriel had arranged everyone around the table when he returned with the first of the dinner plates. He was pleased to see she’d left him a seat beside Andrea, though that was dulled slightly by the fact that Ian sat directly across from her. He set the first plates before Muriel and Andrea.
“Fresh fettuccine with a traditional tomato and basil sauce,” he said, as if he were reading from one of his menus. “Caprese salad, of course. And Serena’s legendary garlic knots.”
“Hardly legendary.” Serena rolled her eyes.
“You should have been a baker, Sis.” Serena had a touch with breads and cakes he envied. He had never been able to get his baked goods to come out right, but then again, unless he was writing a cookbook, he rarely measured ingredients. Baking was far too precise for his taste.
Once he brought the rest of the plates to the table, Muriel looked to his brother. “Ian, will you bless the meal?”
James stole a glance at Andrea from the corner of his eye, wondering what she thought of the gesture. She just bowed her head and folded her hands, but whether out of respect for their traditions or her own reverence, he couldn’t tell.
Ian prayed simply and quickly. “Almighty Father, thank You for Your blessings of health, family, and fellowship. Amen.”
The rest of them echoed Ian’s closing, including Andrea. James waited for her reaction while she took her first bite.
Her eyebrows flew up. “Are you sure Italian isn’t your specialty? This is amazing.”
He looked across the table at Muriel. “Auntie loves Italian food. I always make it when I come to Skye.”
“You two have always been close?”
“Aunt Muriel raised us,” Serena said, bouncing Max on her knee. “When our parents divorced, Mum moved back to London, and Auntie came to stay with Dad. She just forgot to leave.”
Muriel chuckled. “What did I have to go back to? Besides, heaven only knows what Jamie would have gotten up to without supervision.” She leaned toward Andrea with a conspiratorial expression. “Ian was always the responsible one. Serena, the quiet one. Jamie, on the other hand, good Lord help us, is responsible for every bit of gray hair you see now.”
“That’s not fair,” James protested. “Ian and Serena got up to their fair share of trouble. They just always blamed it on me.”
“We did not!” Serena laughed and reflexively moved a milk glass out of the way of Emmy’s elbow. “You didn’t need any help from us. Do you remember the time you wrapped the parish minister’s car in cling film?”
“You didn’t!” Andrea said.
James rubbed his forehead ruefully. He’d forgotten about that one. “To my everlasting shame, I did. Now, to be truthful, it was a dare, and I never could resist a dare. I’m fairly certain Reverend Stewart told me I was going straight to hell for my wickedness. He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
“No,” Serena said. “He hasn’t forgiven you for spiking the communion chalice with hot sauce.”
James smiled sheepishly. That one he remembered clearly. Not his proudest moment. It really was a miracle he’d not grown up to be a delinquent after all. “Another dare. Let’s say I had an uneasy relationship with organized religion as a boy. Auntie thinks I’m a heathen.”
“Nonsense.” Muriel caught Andrea’s eye. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a good Christian man, no
matter what he says. He and the parish church just clashed a bit over his high-spiritedness when he was a child.”
“As he did with every headmaster he ever had,” Serena said, snickering.
Ian glanced at Andrea, then quickly lowered his gaze back to his plate.
What was that all about? James wondered. Trying to judge her reaction to his youthful indiscretions? Or trying to convey his disapproval over the fact Muriel still made excuses for him?
Andrea delicately lowered her fork to her plate. “What about you, Ian? Serena says you attended school in London. And James mentioned you were a lawyer?”
“Yes. I practiced as a solicitor for several years before I took the job with Jamie.”
“What kind of law?”
“Corporate, mostly contract law.”
Serena rolled her eyes. “Ian earned first honors at Cambridge, quite an accomplishment considering he spent most of his time on the river, rowing. Not that he’d ever mention it.”
Ian didn’t need to. Their mother liked to spread the news of her favored son far and wide. Not a single one of their family members or acquaintances had lacked the details of Ian’s academic and athletic accomplishments.
“You row?” Andrea’s gaze swept over Ian, as if she were trying to reconcile the information with what she saw before her. Or maybe she was just admiring him. It wouldn’t be the first time. It wasn’t as if his brother needed any help with women, when he chose to pay them attention.
“I do,” he said with a shrug. “Or I did. I retired almost ten years ago.”
“Ian was on the GB team for eleven years,” Serena said. “He won, what, four gold medals in the world championships?”
Ian didn’t look up. “Five.”
“Wow,” Andrea said. “That’s . . . very impressive.”
James pushed down a twinge of something that, this time, he couldn’t pass off as anything but jealousy. Amazing how being in the same room with Ian could make him feel fifteen again, afraid to bring a girl home to meet his family in case she decided she fancied his accomplished, athletic older brother instead. It had happened, though admittedly not in recent years.
The silence stretched, but before it could become any more uncomfortable, Muriel asked, “And you, Andrea? Where are you from?”
“A very small town in Ohio.”
“With a cinema and no signal lights.” James glanced at her and was rewarded with a tiny smile before she answered his aunt.
“But I did my undergrad work at NYU and then my MBA at Cornell. I’ve lived in some part of New York ever since. Right now I live in Manhattan.”
“Are you married?” Muriel asked bluntly. “Engaged? Seeing someone?”
Andrea made a choked sound and brought her napkin to her lips. James patted her on the back, and she took a swift drink from her water glass. Finally she said, “I’m single.”
“Why is that? You’re a lovely woman. What, twenty-nine?”
“Thirty-one.”
“It’s long past time for you to settle down, don’t you think?”
Andrea shot a wide-eyed look at James, obviously pleading with him to intervene. She was looking to the wrong quarter for help in this area. “Yes, Andrea, why is it you haven’t settled down?”
She looked at Ian, who didn’t seem inclined to intervene either. She met James’s eyes again, a dangerous glint in her own. “Well, I travel so much for work, the only men I meet are clients. And most of them are self-serving egomaniacs, so you can imagine it puts a cramp in my social life.”
A laugh burst out of him and quickly turned to a cough. He reached for his own water glass. That was the second time she’d surprised him tonight. Not that it should have. He’d already gotten a glimpse of her wickedly sharp tongue in the pub.
Muriel nodded, her expression satisfied. “I like a woman who speaks her piece. Mind yourself with this one, Jamie. She’s not one to be trifled with.”
“Yes, I’m beginning to see that.” James shot her a sideways glance, and she just smiled sweetly. Touché. If she thought she’d put him off, though, she was sorely mistaken. She might try to deny she had any interest in him, but she couldn’t hide the fact she held her breath whenever he got within a foot of her. He couldn’t help but take the words as an open challenge.
At the end of the meal, Andrea brushed off Aunt Muriel’s protests and collected the dishes to take to the kitchen. Ian rose to assist, but James gave him a terse shake of his head and gathered the empty wineglasses. For once, his brother actually obeyed and lowered himself back to his chair.
When James entered, Andrea was rinsing the dishes and stacking them neatly in the sink.
“Do I need to apologize for my family yet?”
Andrea threw a glance at him over her shoulder. “They’re great.”
“Are we speaking about the same family?” He laughed at her reproving look. “No, they are. I always forget how much I miss them until I come home.” Most of them, at least.
He leaned past her to place the wineglasses in the sink, purposely brushing her arm. She shifted away from him and scrubbed the dish with renewed vigor.
No. Definitely not immune to him.
When she finished washing the last plate, she shut off the water and turned to him. “Can I help with anything else?”
James poured hot water from the electric kettle into the cafetière, which he’d already filled with ground coffee. “You can take this and the cups to the table. I’ll be out with dessert in a moment.”
He took out the containers of gelato from the freezer and began scooping it into glass dishes while Andrea took the cafetière to the dining room. When she returned for the coffee cups, the stack tilted precariously, and he automatically reached out to steady them. She froze when his hands closed over hers.
“Got them now?” He let his fingers brush over the back of her hands before he released them. She swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. He smiled.
A flush instantly spread up her neck to her cheeks, and she turned quickly with a rattle of china. His grin widened. She might be determined to put him in his place, but he was definitely going to get the last laugh.
When he brought their dessert out a few minutes later—perfect globes of gelato, garnished with lacy, anise-flavored cookies and sprigs of mint—Andrea was talking to his sister about Emmy’s piano lessons. She barely acknowledged his presence, her body turned slightly toward Serena so she didn’t have to look at him when he reclaimed his seat beside her.
After dessert, Aunt Muriel waved off Andrea’s second attempt to clear the table. “Serena and I can manage these. It was lovely meeting you, dear.” The older woman kissed her on the cheek. “You’ll be joining us for breakfast, won’t you?”
Andrea shot a questioning glance at James. When he nodded, she said, “I’d love to.”
Emmy popped out of her chair and gave Andrea a quick hug around the waist. A startled expression, then something deeper, more painful, surfaced on her face.
“Will you teach me to play something new tomorrow, Andrea?”
“Emmy, she doesn’t want to spend all her time at the piano,” James said.
Emmy’s lip quivered. Andrea gently disentangled herself. “Of course I will. Let me think about what to teach you, all right?”
Serena smiled over Emmy’s head, jiggling Max on her hip. “Thank you, Andrea. It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
James retrieved Andrea’s coat and held it for her while she slipped it on.
“I’ve asked Andrea to have lunch with me tomorrow to discuss her proposal,” Ian said. “Will you be done by one o’clock?”
James tensed, but he nodded. “I’ll drive her. Broadford Hotel?”
Ian looked like he wanted to argue, but he just reached into the pocket of his trousers. He extended a business card to Andrea with two fingers. “My mobile number is at the bottom if you need to reach me tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you then.” Sh
e gave him a slight smile and then extended it to the rest of the family. “Good night, everyone.”
James ushered her out the door and down the gravel path to the car. Already, the temperature had dropped, and their breath puffed out in white clouds around them. He breathed the damp air deeply, welcoming the freedom from the tension inside. He opened the car door for her, waited for her to settle herself into the seat, and then shut it firmly behind her.
“Dinner was wonderful,” she said when he climbed into the driver’s seat. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal so much.”
“Thank you.” He studied her face, cast alternately in shadow and light, trying to decide if she meant it or was merely being polite. Her vague smile gave away nothing. He put the car in reverse and backed down the drive.
They didn’t talk on the short ride back to the hotel, but at least now it was a comfortable silence. She’d apparently decided to forgive him for his earlier teasing, and as much as he liked to see that spark of annoyance, he was glad to be on level terms again.
He delivered her to the door of her cottage and unlocked it, then leaned past her to flip on the light switch inside. He slid a key off his key ring and pressed it into her hand. “Good night, Andrea. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.” She stepped inside, but she didn’t close the door immediately. He felt her eyes on him as he walked away. He didn’t turn. He just slipped his hands into his pockets and listened until he heard the soft click of the door close behind her.
He exhaled his held breath, then retrieved his suitcase from the back of the car and crossed the lot to his own cottage. He let himself in and flipped on the light switch. It was as sparsely decorated as Andrea’s, but a basket of fruit sat on the table, and a quick glance at the refrigerator showed it had been stocked with the basics: milk, bread, cold cuts. Bless Muriel. Even now, she was looking out for him.
He turned on the television while he unpacked his carry-on bag. Since the hotel was still under construction and he was the only one to occupy the space, he always left the essentials in the wardrobe: jeans, a heavy coat, casual shirts, workout wear. It saved him the trouble of checking baggage, especially when he flew up at the last minute.
Five Days in Skye Page 7
