Our rescue mission ended abruptly at the double doors leading to the inner sanctum of this temple of gastronomy.
“Does madam have a reservation?”
The waiter’s hair was slicked down, the parting razor sharp. He wore a tailcoat, he smiled like a hired killer, and it was obvious that no one could make it into the dining room alive without his consent.
“I am looking for someone,” I replied with a friendly smile, stretching to peer over his shoulder.
“Of course, madam. Isn’t everyone?”
He pressed his lips together and used every inch of his tiny body to fill the door frame.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a single unoccupied table tonight.” He motioned to the reception desk, presided over by a woman in half-moon glasses and a saccharine smile. “You might make a reservation for next week.”
Aidan snorted behind me.
“What’s so funny?” I hissed, shooting him an angry look before turning back to the waiter. “Could you at least tell me if one of your guests is an elderly lady with a hat, sitting by herself, probably drinking?”
“I’m unfortunately not at liberty to discuss our guests, madam.”
“Now you listen to me!” I gasped for air, hearing the words come out of my mouth two octaves too high. “It is not only against the law but absolutely ridiculous for you to deny me access to your restaurant—as if William Wallace or Robert the Bruce, or some other Scottish grandee, was sitting in there. I have dined in far grander establishments than your one-star kitchen can pretend to be and—”
“Of course we have a reservation.”
Aidan squeezed my upper arm so hard I almost cried out. The host looked him up and down.
“Under what name?”
“If you can’t even remember that, Callum, I’ll have to let your wife know that you’ve been guzzling too much moonshine,” Aidan replied. “A cosy table for two will be perfect.”
“I can’t do it, Murray,” he said nervously, glancing at the reception desk. “I’ve got strict instructions only to seat people with reservations.”
Suddenly, he looked not impressive at all. He stuck out his lower lip like a schoolboy getting sent to detention. Aidan must have sensed that I was about to burst into undiplomatic laughter, so he dug his fingers even harder into my arm. I grimaced.
“You owe me, pal. Or have you forgotten?”
I peered at Aidan, then Callum. What was he referring to?
“It’s a matter of principle,” grumbled Callum, bobbing on his heels.
“And for me, it’s this wonderful young lady who matters. I’d like to impress her with a nice dinner.” He nudged me forward.
Callum scrutinised us silently, his gaze pausing on the arm Aidan had wrapped proprietarily around my waist. I tried not to squirm.
“You really want to dine here?”
I almost shook my head. The warmth of Aidan’s arm climbed up my spine and made the back of my neck tingle. I tried to picture Justus, but couldn’t bring him into focus, as if I couldn’t find the right camera setting. That was not good, not good at all.
Callum went to the reception desk and glared at the woman until she dropped her sugary smile and strutted away. He sulkily scribbled something in the reservation book, then slammed it shut.
“Mr. Murray and companion.” He glowered at Aidan. “Please follow me.”
“So you’re familiar with William Wallace and Robert the Bruce?” Aidan grinned, placing his elbows on the table.
I lifted the leather-bound menu a little higher to hide my embarrassment and tried to concentrate on my mission.
Our table was perfectly situated behind a marble column, only a few yards from Li and Monsieur Barneau. I was tremendously relieved, since Bri didn’t seem to be there. Not yet, anyway.
I peered over the edge of the menu. My aunt and her companion were deep in conversation. Li looked relaxed and cheerful—her pink, round cheeks shone in the candlelight. Antoine Barneau talked nonstop, made faces that made my aunt laugh, and picked up the napkin that had slid from her lap. Li tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear every now and then, an involuntary gesture that moved me deeply. When she was young, my aunt had had beautiful long hair.
“Is everything all right?” Aidan was watching me.
I nodded and scanned the large hall, its walls covered with tapestries depicting hunting scenes. A couple was holding hands at a window table while the food on their plates grew cold. Next to the fireplace, a waitress served a dessert decorated with colourful pennants to two prim little girls, who displayed a subdued delight that I knew only too well from my own childhood.
No sign of Bri. Thank god!
I caught a doubtful glance from our waiter.
“I guess we’ll have to order more than just appetisers,” I sighed. The entrée prices were astronomical.
“You should take advantage of the opportunity.”
There it was again, that silly tingling sensation between my shoulder blades.
“What opportunity?” I said stiffly, playing with my fork. I could hear Bri’s hoarse voice calling me dried-out dough that needed Aidan to butter up.
In reality, I’d had lots of sex, sufficient sex. Justus was actually a good lover, in my opinion. Affectionate. Very considerate. Okay, lately we’d been really busy with work and too tired to . . . But that was nothing we couldn’t change.
Aidan leaned back, stretching out his legs. His foot brushed my calf.
“Well, I’m hungry.” He pulled back his foot without apologising. “They cook well here and since I’m wearing a kilt, dinner’s my treat—old Scottish tradition. So make the most of it.”
“You really take this Scottish stuff seriously.” I took off my glasses and reached for the whisky Aidan had ordered for me, without asking.
“This Scottish ‘stuff’ is serious,” he replied. Then he picked up my glasses and handed them to me. “Indulge me. Put them back on.”
I didn’t get it.
“You look good with your glasses—I like it.”
Stunned, I did what he asked, blinking through the lenses that had earned me the nickname “Owl” in school. These glasses elicited a pained expression from Justus whenever I wore them outside the office or the car.
“Let’s take a real look at the menu. Take your time.”
Aidan looked at my hand, which suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own. Instead of staying on the table, engagement ring clearly visible, it slid to my lap and anxiously tugged on my napkin.
Traitor, I heard a voice whisper.
I hastily lifted the glass of whisky to my lips and drained it in one gulp. Aidan raised his eyebrows.
My eyes watered—I coughed and gasped for air.
“God, that was awful!”
Aidan looked aghast. “No, it was heartbreaking, as if you smoked—no, inhaled—fifty of the finest Cuban cigars in two minutes flat.”
Before I knew what was happening, he took my hands in his and gently wrapped them around his whisky tumbler—all the while looking at me with his green, speckled eyes.
“Smell it.”
Slowly, I stuck my nose into the glass while my heartbeat somehow . . . slowed down? Aidan’s hypnotic voice was now so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my ear.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
“I am breathing,” I hissed.
“Close your eyes. Uisge beatha—it’s Gaelic for ‘water of life.’ Imagine the taste as a series of pictures—deep and expressive like our lochs, sublime like the snow-covered mountain tops of the Cairngorms, damp and aromatic like the moors, smoky and warm like a peat fire, cool and invigorating like a brook in the glens. . .”
I slowly brought the glass to my lips and took a tiny sip, swishing it around in my mouth and letting it dissolve on my tongue like a bonbon.
A wave of almond and honey crashed over me. I could sense Aidan’s triumphant smile even behind my closed eyes.
“I just don’
t think we’ll be friends, Mr. Murray, this witches’ brew and I.”
I opened my eyes and, for a long moment, we just smiled at each other.
“Oh, we’ll see about that. It’s just like with this entire country. Once the spark is lit, it doesn’t take much to fan the flames.”
“Do you find that also applies to matters of the heart?”
Why the hell did I say that? I forced my hand with the engagement ring back onto the table, hoping the narrow silver band would lend me its usual feeling of security, but in vain. Aunt Li’s carefree laughter drifted over as I looked at the hand that seemed to belong to a stranger.
“Of course,” Aidan said, unfazed. I should have known that he would return the ball to my court.
“Are you on fire, Mrs. Stone?”
I almost choked on my second sip of whisky.
“You don’t seriously expect me to answer that, do you?”
“Because you don’t know? Or because you’re afraid what the answer would reveal about you—or him?”
I clenched my fist so hard that the ring cut into my skin.
“You deserve to be on fire, Josefine.”
The silence bit into my skin like ice water. I wanted to squirm, but I pressed my back against the backrest of my chair and my feet against the floor.
“By the way, I’m willing to reconsider the ‘Mrs. Stone’ matter.” He casually put a piece of bread into his mouth. “You aren’t really a stone. You’re too delicate for that. What’s the German word? Too highly strung—bespannt.”
I stared at him, at a complete loss.
Fortunately, I was saved by the waiter’s arrival. His expression did not bode well.
“Maybe you’re like a thistle,” Aidan said, chewing.
Callum tapped his foot impatiently.
“A very beautiful thistle, to be precise.”
“Ahem,” said Callum. “Madam, you asked me before about an elderly lady with a hat.” His eyelid was twitching.
“Is my aunt here?”
I shot a glance at happy Aunt Li, who was offering Antoine a taste of her soup, and then looked around the dining room like a panicky mouse. Callum came closer and whispered to me conspiratorially.
“I’m afraid there’s a slight problem.”
I thought Callum would lead me to the hotel bar or the billiard room, but instead he indicated that I should follow him to the kitchen.
It was strange to enter the noisy kitchen, smelling of roasting meat and frying oil, after the genteel hush of the dining room. The hotel kitchen was surprisingly small, but about ten people were rushing around, their faces flushed. I sucked in my stomach to make way for a sturdy woman carrying a salad bowl the size of a tyre. Chaotic chopping, sizzling, and shouting followed an order that only those working there understood.
I rushed after Callum past gas stoves with whirring extractor fans until we reached the dishwashing station. A young man with a ponytail stood awkwardly in front of an open broom cupboard.
And there she sat—on a plastic stool, knees pressed together, chin jutting out. Her white trilby hat sat so snugly on her head that it was in line with her ramrod-straight back.
“Bri! What are you doing here?”
The dishwasher, relieved from his unwanted babysitting duty, returned to a tub piled high with dirty plates.
My aunt made a pinched face as if the sight of me gave her a toothache.
“I could ask you the same thing, girlie.” She looked behind me with narrowed eyes and grinned. “Ah, yer Scotsman. I shoulda guessed.”
Aidan, who had followed us, was leaning against a sink.
“You’re drunk.” I eyed the empty glass that my aunt protected with arthritic fingers.
“Yippee ki-yay! Happens in the best of—hiccup—families.” She ogled Aidan’s legs and actually licked her lips. “Mm. Looks good on him, the little Scottish skirt.”
With a hint of a bow, Aidan didn’t miss a beat. “Thank you, ma’am. Your hat’s not half bad either.”
“Don’t pull my leg, laddie,” mumbled Bri, examining her glass. “Iss empty, so I can’t toasss the love birds.” She pointed to the dishwasher. “He wuz watching me . . . like I’m some kinda dangerous criminal.”
“We don’t usually treat intoxicated guests like this, but she stole an apron and snuck into the kitchen. The maître d’ caught her trying to pour something into the vinaigrette.” Callum sounded upset, but his shining eyes betrayed how much he enjoyed the scandalous commotion.
“Is that true, Aunt Bri?” I was horrified, already considering all of the legal implications of such an offence. Unfortunately, I was neither a criminal lawyer nor familiar with British law. Would they press charges?
Bri puckered her lips. “I didn’t sneak into anywhere, young man. I went through the door.”
“Just imagine if every Tom, Dick, and Harry waltzed in wherever he pleased! And you can explain to Officer Bell why you tried to poison our food. He’ll be here any second.” Callum stopped short. “Wait a second, were you sent by the Duke of Lachlan Hotel in Aviemore?”
“Poison?” Bri laughed out loud. “A lil touch of a laxative issn’t hurting anyone. You’ll see when you’re my age. I shoulda charged for it . . .” She was laughing so hard tears filled her eyes, but rather than sounding joyful it was more like listening to someone under too much pressure.
I squatted in front of Bri and carefully peeled her fingers from the glass she clung to as if it contained the remnants of her dignity.
“I’ll take another Scotch with lotsa ice. Stirred, not shaken!” She giggled, hiccupping again.
For the first time in my life, I won a staring contest with my aunt. Under normal circumstances, this would have made me feel triumphant, but I felt nothing of the sort.
“Why?” I asked.
Bri’s face fell. For quite a long time, she just sat there, hiccupping dolefully. I could feel all eyes in the room on my back.
“Could I have a few minutes alone with my aunt?”
But Callum just looked pointedly at his watch to remind me that the police officer’s arrival was imminent.
Once again, Aidan intervened before I could make a serious error. He put his arm around Callum’s shoulders and whispered to him until they were out of earshot. Bri squinted at the lightbulb on the ceiling as if it were an especially ugly work of art in a gallery.
“Outside hooey, inside phooey,” she murmured. When she saw that I didn’t get it, she added, “This restaurant seems all hoity-toity, but there’s spider webs all over back here!”
“Fine,” I said calmly. “So you don’t want to talk. But you’re going to listen, even if you don’t like what I have to say.” I leaned forward. “You have two choices, Aunt Bri—you either wait for the policeman, who not only will hit you with a substantial fine, but will also throw you in the drunk tank”—Bri’s pupils had shrunk to the size of pinheads—“or we discreetly sneak out the back door right now. Li has every right to enjoy herself. She doesn’t need a babysitter.”
“I did her a favour,” Bri declared grandly. Her left eye was twitching, but her speech had begun to regain its usual clarity.
“A favour.” I bit my lip. “By giving everyone diarrhoea?”
“As far as men are concerned, my sister is as clueless as Red Riding Hood. This French cad isn’t good for her—I can smell it straight through his cloud of cologne.”
Bri’s expression of defiance and guilt reminded me of Frau Ziegelow when she’d confessed to breaking into her husband’s salon and swapping around all the hair dye.
“Let’s leave your questionable motives aside for the time being and discuss the offence itself, which might result in a criminal record,” I said in my most professional voice.
“Spare me the lawyer routine, Josefine. It doesn’t impress me.” Her eyes were flashing. “How about we talk about your questionable motives for marrying a man who sees you merely as a cute little value-added asset.”
“My relationship with Jus
tus is not relevant here!” It was just like Bri to turn the tables and attack me.
“But it’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?” Bri looked around the broom cupboard, and briefly lost her balance on the little stool. “Give me a break—hasn’t anybody stashed a bottle of booze around here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t discuss this tiresome topic without alcohol.” She burped and rummaged through a box.
The mouldy odour of old dishrags wafted towards me. “You aren’t answering my question.”
“Aren’t you a lawyer? Maybe figure it out. Or simply listen to your own nether regions for a change instead of trying to please everyone. For crying out loud, nobody’s demanding you play the upright von Meeseberg woman, giving up your own life just to live up to the expectations of generations of frustrated wives.”
“Why are you trying to ruin everything?” I nearly shrieked, trying to make Bri’s words stop ringing in my ear.
Justus loved me. He said so.
I was living my own life.
And I was more than a damn value-added asset.
Bri stopped her fruitless search for liquor and folded her hands in her lap. “Josefine, I’ve known you since before you realised that legs are made for walking. Do you seriously believe I would cause you any harm?” Her expression softened. “Or that Li would?”
“No. But sometimes you don’t understand that there are boundaries, even when you love someone.”
Something deep and unsettling shimmered in Bri’s ice-queen eyes, something that ran deeper than a few glasses of Scotch. “True love isn’t a cow penned in a pasture, Josefine. It can’t be fenced in, much less controlled,” she said, sounding completely sober. “I hope the right man will show you that one day—even if he turns out to be wearing a kilt.”
She got to her feet and stumbled, looking surprised when I didn’t reach out to steady her. Instead, I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
Kissed by the Rain Page 13
