The Christmas Secret

by Karen Swan

  She stared out of the window as they rolled through the undulating moors, the pinprick lights of far-off dwellings like fallen stars from the night sky as they wound their way back to the barley fields and the coruscating shimmer of the sleeping sea.

  When they got to the farmhouse, he jumped out before she could stop him and took her arm up the garden path – ‘in case of ice’ again. She could feel the muscles in his arms through his coat, she could smell the subtle musk of his scent in the breeze. She felt as though she was waking up from a deep sleep.

  ‘Thank you for dinner,’ she smiled, standing in the porch. ‘I actually had a good time.’

  ‘Well, unlike you, I knew I would.’

  She smiled and she felt her stomach give a flip as he bent towards her fractionally, then paused.

  ‘Just checking whether there’s a right hook incoming,’ he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.

  She laughed and he swooped in, kissing her softly on the cheek. The laugh died in her throat as their eyes met. ‘Would you be horrified at the prospect of dinner with me again? Sometime next week?’ he asked, his eyes on her eyes, lashes, lips, hair . . .

  She shook her head. ‘Surprisingly, no.’

  He grinned, chuckling softly. ‘You must learn to say what you really think, Alex Hyde,’ he murmured, pulling back and straightening up with an amused shake of his head. He turned and walked up the path, glancing back one more time before he slid into the car. It was a cold night, the snow crystallizing the island’s hush, but she stayed where she was and watched until his red tail lights had disappeared over the last hill, looking just like any other woman on a date, wanting to be kissed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Islay, Friday 15 December 2017

  He had beaten her to it. The kettle was still steaming and the coffee in the red Nescafé mug still untouched but he was at his desk, his head down when she opened the office door, Rona sleeping at his feet.

  ‘Oh!’ Alex exclaimed. ‘You’re here.’

  His eyes switched up but his head didn’t move. ‘It is my office.’

  She stepped in, trying to gauge his mood. His colour was better than yesterday’s and his eyes looked brighter. ‘Bear with a sore head’ seemed to sum it up best. ‘How are you feeling today? You look a lot better.’

  ‘Funny, that, I thought you were going to look a lot worse.’

  ‘Thank you, I shall take that as a compliment,’ Alex said in a sunny tone, refusing to be riled by his insistence on revisiting over and over the scene of her humiliation. She was perfectly capable of drinking whisky without getting hammered.

  Her tactic worked and he watched sullenly as she wandered over to the kettle and made herself a cup of coffee. ‘Oh, by all means, make yourself at home,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Come in. Have a coffee.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she smiled, even sunnier.

  ‘So how was your date?’ he sneered after a long silence, as she busied herself with washing a cup and sniffing the milk.

  ‘It wasn’t a date,’ she said, not bothering to turn back.

  ‘It looked like a date.’

  She shrugged, stirring with the spoon and taking her time before walking over to the hopsack chair. She noticed that his suit was hanging on the hook behind the door again. ‘Tell me about your night,’ she smiled, warming her hands around the mug and peering over the rim at him. ‘Everything you hoped for?’

  There was a drawn-out pause, before he threw down his pen and swivelled in the chair. He sat back in it, his hands clasped behind his head – taking up space, assuming his role. He stared at her with an inscrutable expression, as though debating whether to trust her with the verdict. ‘. . . Sublime.’ The word sounded almost treacherous as it escaped him and she could tell it was almost a physical effort for him to throw off his bad mood to admit to something good.

  She gasped, her eyes wide with delight. ‘Really?’

  ‘Single best moment of my life.’ He grinned suddenly and it was as though he’d been lit from within – his edges softened, his eyes gleamed and that invisible carapace, that was like a force field around him, simply dropped away. ‘Shame you missed it. That was a slice of Scottish history last night, right there.’ He closed his eyes, remembering. ‘God, it was better than any of us could have hoped for – it’s got such incredible body and richness, with orange and peach notes, and hints of toffee,’ he said. ‘I thought Bruce might die on the spot; it’s never going to get any better than that. Not for any of us.’

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ she said, watching this new anima. He was like an entirely different person, one she’d never met before – this passion, enthusiasm. If she could just harness that positivity. ‘Well, what an incredible turnaround. Who would have thought, when we saw those flames in the sky on Monday night that the week could be ending on such a high? It’s like a phoenix rising from the ashes.’

  She smiled and he smiled back and just for a moment, things felt easy between them. Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it.

  Would it be wrong to admit I dreamt about you last night?

  Her mouth parted in surprise but she couldn’t keep from smiling. As much as anything, she wanted to know how he’d got her mobile number. His father?

  She put the phone away and looked back up but Lochlan had already turned away and was hunched over the desk again, reading a document. She watched him as she sipped her drink. ‘And how’s it going with the new maltings floor? Can you press ahead with it?’

  ‘It’s all in swing,’ he murmured as he picked up the pen and signed something. ‘The team are flat out getting everything cleaned and ventilated and I’ve got some of the guys constructing some new steeps and couches. I’m pretty hopeful we can start operations again as soon as we come back in the New Year.’

  ‘You sound on top of things.’

  ‘You sound impressed.’

  ‘You do impress me, Lochlan,’ she said, tipping her head to the side. ‘Why? Did you think you didn’t?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea what you think,’ he said flatly.

  His tone suggested he didn’t care either. She watched him as he worked, seeing the tension in his face.

  ‘You know, now that you’re able to tolerate my presence for more than five-minute intervals, perhaps you could think about actually working with me? There’s only so long I can continue drinking coffee in the canteen and cleaning your office.’ She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and a beseeching smile on her face. ‘What do you say? The sooner we work, the sooner you’re rid of me. Short-term pain, long-term gain.’

  It was actually the most compelling argument she had to make and there was a long silence – she knew he was only pretending to read the spreadsheet he had picked up.

  ‘What exactly does it involve?’

  ‘Talking to me,’ she said, to his profile.

  He said nothing.

  ‘Come on,’ she cajoled. ‘If nothing else, it’ll get Sholto off your back. Refusing to play ball with me is only playing into his hands; you’re confirming his worst fears. I know I can help you. You keep telling me there’s a million reasons why things between you won’t work, but you only actually ever need one reason why it will.’

  He looked at her, unresponsive.

  ‘Think of it this way: the sooner you cooperate, the sooner I’m out of your hair. Imagine –’ she smiled, holding her arms up in the air, conjuring an image – ‘coming into this office and I’m not here. How great would that be? It’s something to aim for, isn’t it?’

  He cleared his throat, reaching for the tall glass of water on his desk; his throat was still bothering him. ‘Fine.’

  It was enough to make her almost fall off her chair. He’d actually agreed to it? Finally agreed to work with her? ‘Great!’ Instinctively, she got up and turned on the spot, not quite sure what to do or where to go; it was nought to sixty in three seconds. ‘Well, then, I’d better get prepared. Umm . . . meet me at . . .’ She didn’t know where to meet him. ‘Agh, I need
space. And chairs.’

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘Chairs?’

  ‘Yes, lots of them.’

  He groaned. ‘Oh dear God, what am I signing myself up for?’

  She smiled as an idea came to her. ‘Any chance you can have the canteen closed for us for a few hours?’ She put her hands up placatingly at his expression. ‘I know, I know. But just . . . trust me, please?’

  He blinked, looking at her as though she was mad. ‘Fine, three o’clock,’ he sighed. ‘For one hour.’

  ‘Two,’ she said, quick as a flash.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘One and a half.’

  ‘Deal,’ she beamed, practically dancing her way to the door.

  She stopped as she got to it, turning back to face him, her hand on the doorknob. ‘You know, I think you’re going to surprise yourself and end up liking it.’

  He looked up at her. ‘No.’

  She shook her finger. ‘I think you will, in the way that you like disliking me; it’s a new hobby for you. A distraction.’

  He sighed and picked up his pen. ‘It’s true you are very distracting,’ he muttered, looking back at his paperwork as she stepped out into the snow.

  He was early, curiosity getting the better of him. ‘What’s all this?’ he asked in a suspicious tone. She had pushed the canteen tables to the walls so that there was a space in the middle of the floor and she was sitting on a chair – one of several – on the periphery.

  ‘This,’ she said proudly, ‘is called a constellation.’

  His expression darkened. ‘If you even think about talking to me about horoscopes . . .’

  ‘Relax,’ she smiled, beckoning him in. ‘It’s nothing to do with horoscopes. This is a tried and tested technique and it’s widely used, not just in a business context.’

  ‘Widely used for what?’ he asked, moving slowly from the door.

  ‘Identifying tensions and resolving conflict.’

  ‘Is the UN aware of this? There’s a little conflict that needs to be resolved in the Middle East. I’m sure they could do with a constellation.’

  Alex smiled, almost enjoying his sarcasm. ‘Come over here.’

  He came over, weaving through the tables and chairs like a child told to sit on the naughty step. He sat on the chair beside her.

  ‘So far so good,’ she said, noticing how he was fidgeting his feet – a sure sign of nervousness, his body telling him quite literally to flee. ‘So, all I want us to do today is talk through what you consider to be the problems you’re facing in your role and how you think we might go about resolving them.’

  ‘That’s simple. The problem is Sholto and the resolution is to get a new chairman.’

  She tipped her head to the side. Let him bait. ‘And why is Sholto the problem? Was he the one who made you throw the computer through the window?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Was he even there at the time?’

  ‘No, he was in Edinburgh, where he always bloody is.’

  ‘Was he there when you called the Indonesian trade minister – and I quote – “a fucking idiot”?’

  ‘Well, no, but—’

  ‘But you think Sholto’s the source of your anger?’

  Lochlan blinked at her. ‘I think he’s a dangerous fool.’

  It was a deliberate echo back to their first ever conversation, a pointed reminder that nothing had changed in the almost two weeks that she had been here.

  She straightened in her chair, her hands clasped on her knees. ‘Lochlan, you know the phrase “no man is an island”?’

  ‘Please don’t trot out clichés to me.’

  ‘It’s a cliché because it’s true. We all move and operate within multiple relationship systems – business, personal, cultural and family circles. Each one has its own loyalties and different ways of how they make us feel about our place in the world. But they also all intersect.

  ‘Now, the needs of each system push us towards “balance” – we often call it the work–life balance: we want our days to be productive, but we also want to see our friends or our families, or have time to ourselves, right? Getting that balance right makes us feel whole, or fulfilled, but when we lose just one aspect of it, everything else suffers. And that’s because within each of these relationship systems, there are three elements at work: the Me, the We and the It. Try to think of them as three overlapping circles. If one of those elements of a system is out of balance, it creates blockage or dissent or resistance and the system fails. For example, say I worked here: I (the Me) cannot perform to the highest of my abilities for you (the We) if I’m depressed, or being passed over for promotion or my husband’s cheating on me – and that means the company (the It) suffers.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, I am not going to be an agony aunt for the staff.’

  ‘And no one’s asking you to. But right now, this session is about you. Who do you go to when you lose the balance?’

  He stared at her as though the question was a stupid one. ‘I don’t. I go for a run.’

  She nodded, watching him closely. ‘Okay, good. We’ll come back to that. Let’s return to Sholto. Do you think your problems with him are from the business sphere, or family?’

  ‘Business.’ He hadn’t hesitated.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘I said so, didn’t I?’

  ‘Do you think you would feel such anger towards him if he wasn’t a relative?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t think that intimate relationship – whether consciously or not – allows you to express a negativity that you couldn’t if he was merely a colleague?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you feel it towards Torquil?’

  He snorted. ‘Well, I didn’t.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He sighed, the shutters coming down. ‘Nothing.’

  She watched him, blinking slowly as she remembered that it was Torquil he had punched at the family assembly. She made a mental note to also come back to his problems with his CFO. ‘How about Callum?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t feel any negativity to him whatsoever?’

  Lochie shrugged.

  ‘He said you used to be close—’

  Lochlan’s eyes flashed. ‘Tell you that on your date, did he? What else did he tell you about me?’

  ‘Nothing. We weren’t talking about you specifically,’ she lied. ‘It just came up in conversation. He said he misses how close you used to be together.’

  Lochlan looked away. ‘Yeah, well, people change.’

  ‘That’s kind of what he said, although his exact words were, “Pain changes people.” Are you in pain, Lochlan?

  Lochlan glanced at her, putting his hands on his knees with a sigh of impatience. ‘Look, what exactly is the point of this? I’m flat-out frantic. We’ve just had a freaking fire, production is stalled, we’ve got the biggest discovery the company’s ever had needing to be managed and you’ve got me sitting here in a bunch of chairs talking about your date with my layabout cousin. I don’t have time for—’

  ‘You do have the time and shall I tell you why? Because this company cannot run effectively with its two figureheads at war. It doesn’t matter what you do: you can get production going again or commission fancy new bottles for the hidden malt or locate a new maltings, but none of it will count for anything if there are problems at the top. The “It” will fail if you don’t sort out the “We” between you and Sholto. You cannot keep clashing antlers. I saw the two of you together yesterday – you don’t even hear what the other’s saying, you just spout your own agendas. You hear only what reinforces the story you’ve told yourself to be true, locking you in a pattern that is destined to repeat until—’

  ‘Until?’

  ‘Until one of you loses.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be me.’

  ‘Almost the entire board and family assembly is against you, Lochlan.’

  He said nothing in reply and after a moment she ad
ded, ‘Would it make you feel better if I told you this kind of dynamic is actually quite common in family-run businesses?’

  ‘Not especially.’

  ‘How about if I told you we can actually break the deadlock between you both?’

  ‘I’d find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to show you right now.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’re going to make a living map,’ she said, reaching down for a pile of papers and a pen on the floor.

  He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. ‘I should have known. You’re basically a shrink.’

  ‘No. I’m not interested in hearing you talk about your childhood; I’m better than that. I can give you solutions. Don’t you want that – for the good of the company?’

  ‘Don’t play that card on me. I am the only one who cares about that. The rest of them are just about profit,’ he snapped.

  ‘But Kentallen is a business, not a family.’

  ‘Wrong. It’s both. They don’t see it and neither do you.’

  ‘Look, I’ve been here less than a fortnight and it’s clear to me what this company means to you. No one runs into a blazing building for anything other than love. This company has been your entire world, your identity, I get that. It’s both your future and your parents’ legacy. You grew up knowing you’d one day take over from your father—’

  ‘Do not start on him,’ Lochlan said in a warning voice. ‘If you think I’m going to listen to you put the blame at my parents’ door, I’ll take you down to the ferry right now.’

  She looked at him, wondering as to his overreaction. She had scarcely mentioned his parents. ‘Okay. Tell me, in the most basic of terms, why you think Sholto has brought me in here?’ she asked, changing course to calm him down again. ‘What’s the root cause of the problem?’

  He sat back in the chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t conscious of doing it, but he was physically blocking himself off from her. ‘Supposedly my anger?’