by Jenny Colgan
“God, I love it here,” Colton said suddenly. He was sitting very close to Fintan. “No phone calls, no stupid meetings, no lawyers . . . present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course,” said Flora.
Colton blinked.
“Why did you ever leave?” he said, looking out across the bay.
“Why do you?” said Flora.
“Because I didn’t even discover it until I was forty, by which time I was a multinational conglomerate with offices and employees on four continents. Also, I asked first.”
Flora shrugged, and threw her oyster shells into the sea. They made a satisfying plouf noise.
“Because I wanted to work,” she said. “I wanted a job that wasn’t just tourism.”
“There’s plenty of jobs,” said Fintan.
“Yes, if you want to work in the Harbor’s Rest.”
“Your teacher friend Lorna does all right.”
“My teacher friend Lorna lies awake at night because there aren’t enough babies being born to make up the roll and the school might get shut down.”
“Because people like you go away and don’t have any babies.”
“You want to talk about not having babies?”
“All right, stop squabbling,” said Colton. “But don’t you want to come back now? Now that you’re here?”
Flora smiled.
“I like working for you. But my home is elsewhere.”
She glanced behind her. A clutch of men—and boys, the students back from the mainland once more—were working on the hotel, getting it ready for the night’s festivities. It was, hopefully, going to be a big hit.
“Hmm,” she said. Then she stood up. “I have to get back. Make sure everyone’s coming tonight. Get the girls on the ovens. Is the bar ready?”
“Sure is,” said Colton. “Even for Scottish people. And we have a band, pipers, dancers . . .”
“Kitchen sink,” said Flora.
“Covering all the bases,” said Colton. “Just like your boss said.”
“Is he coming?” Flora asked, too quickly.
“Oh. Wouldn’t have thought so,” said Colton. “The vote isn’t for another month.”
“No. No, I realize that.”
Flora tried not to betray how deflated she felt. She’d been sending Joel reports, but hadn’t heard from his office at all. Kai said that if she didn’t hear, that meant everything was fine, but it wasn’t exactly reassuring.
“Fintan, can you stay here and oversee?” she said.
Colton looked at him, a smile playing on his lips.
“Sure,” said Fintan.
Flora watched the Rock retreat in the rearview mirror, smiling to herself as she saw Fintan’s and Colton’s heads together. Well well well. She wondered if Innes had suspected. He must have. Should she mention it, or not under any circumstances? It was a tricky one.
Stepping off the boat, she nearly stumbled into a small elderly form, standing straight and completely ignoring her own walking stick.
“Mrs. Kennedy!” gasped Flora. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“You didn’t pay me much mind at the time either,” said Mrs. Kennedy, without smiling. Flora attempted to smile for her, but it went unheeded.
“Well,” said Flora, straightening up.
“So off you went,” carried on Mrs. Kennedy, “leaving us completely wide open, with nobody there for cover.”
“Mrs. Kennedy! I’d told you I was moving.”
“Right at the start of the Highland Games season!”
“I had to do my internship and find a flat.”
It was ridiculous, Flora reflected, how everyone on this entire island conspired to make her feel fourteen years old.
“Well, I’m back now,” she said, remembering that Mrs. Kennedy was on the council. “If there’s any way I can make it up to you . . .”
Mrs. Kennedy looked up at her with those beady, shrewd eyes.
“There might be, actually,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-one
Margo blinked.
“But there’s the Yousoff case that needs your attention . . . I mean, you don’t really have to go back there, do you? I thought it was all in hand.”
“Colton Rogers could be a massive part of our business. I want to make sure he’s happy.”
“Up in that godforsaken place? Amazing. And you should be prepping for New York.”
Joel glanced at his calendar.
“I can do that on the plane. I just feel I should be there. He called today.”
Rogers had been very keen for him to be there, it was true. But there was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on. Something about the island . . . He didn’t know what it was, but since he’d gotten back, the rush and frenzy of work hadn’t appealed to him quite so much. Another massive heatwave had hit London and everything felt soggy and damp and slow, and he had put it down to lethargy. But when he thought back to that big white beach that went on forever, and the freshness of the air, and the sheer lack of people, the great emptiness, it felt almost like a dream. But an energizing one.
“Rogers was very insistent.”
Margo blinked once more.
“I’ll get it booked.”
“Also, I need an outdoors store.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somewhere you buy outdoors stuff. I don’t know.”
The only personal thing Margo usually spent time on for her boss was rudely deflecting calls from breathy-sounding girls. This was new.
“What kind of outdoors stuff?”
“I don’t know! That’s fine! Off you go! Close the door!”
Margo always knew when to beat a hasty retreat, which was why she’d lasted so long with Joel, who got through staff at the speed of light, generally unable to avoid sleeping with the pretty ones, who then got upset, and taking no interest in the older ones, who then got upset. Margo was both gay and unflappable, which made her more or less perfect for the job, and every time he was rude to her, she put in for another pay raise, which he would always approve without comment. She picked up the phone to the airline.
“Well, it’s settled then,” Mrs. Kennedy was saying.
“Oh, Mrs. Kennedy. Honestly. Anything but that. I haven’t danced in years.”
“What’s settled?”
Charlie had seen her from the other end of the street, and hurried up to say hello.
“Would you still fit in the costume?” said Mrs. Kennedy.
Flora rolled her eyes.
“Yes!” she said crossly.
“Well then, it’s settled,” repeated Mrs. Kennedy.
“I don’t think it’s settled!” said Flora.
“What’s settled?” said Charlie again. “Flora, I need your leftovers.”
“There are none today. Everything’s going to the party.”
“Oh yes.”
“Flora’s going to dance at the party,” said Mrs. Kennedy.
“Are you?” said Charlie.
“No,” said Flora. “I’m out of practice.”
“Can you still get a bun out of that hair?” said Mrs. Kennedy.
“No,” said Flora, who had bad memories of the tightly scraped-back hair she’d always had to have to show off her neck. “So you’ll have to disqualify me.”
“We’ll be doing Ghillie Callum and Seann Triubhas.”
“To a band?” said Charlie.
“Aye.”
“This will be great.”
“Teàrlach, you’re not helping.”
Charlie smiled to himself.
“What?” said Flora.
“Ach, you won’t remember . . . I think I’ve seen you dance before.”
Flora narrowed her eyes at him.
“I don’t think so.”
“We came over from Bute. While back. There was an inter-islands mod.”
Flora blinked. The mod was the Highlands and Islands celebration of traditional music. And also a great opportunity for teen
agers to get away from their parents and misbehave.
“I knew I recognized you from somewhere,” he said, his smile crinkling his blue eyes.
“What? Which one were you?” said Flora.
“Oh, just one of the pipers.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down.”
“No, I know.”
“I don’t want to see the pictures,” said Flora suddenly. “I had a bit of a rough hand with the blush.”
“I had quite a lot more hair then,” said Charlie.
He fell quiet for a moment.
“You were a good dancer,” he said.
“She wasn’t that good,” said Mrs. Kennedy.
“I do remember you,” said Charlie. “Your hair came loose.”
“It always did.”
“It was the palest color I’d ever seen.”
“Imagine you remembering that.”
“I’ll see you at six,” said Mrs. Kennedy.
Flora glanced anxiously at her watch.
“What? But I’ve got to instruct the girls!”
“They’re dancing too,” said Mrs. Kennedy smugly. “Just make sure they know what they’re doing . . .”
“Oh for God’s sake!”
“. . . if you want me to come to Mr. Rogers’s party. And think well of him.”
“I’ll be there,” said Charlie, smiling.
“This is blackmail,” said Flora, looking at Mrs. Kennedy’s stooped back walking away.
Charlie glanced around. Jan was striding purposefully up the street toward them.
“Okay. Duty calls,” he said, and lifted his hand and walked away. Jan immediately started bending his ear about something.
“See you later,” said Flora.
Chapter Thirty-two
The rest of the day was a crazed frenzy. Everyone baked and baked until the windows of the Café by the Sea were completely fogged up. The entire village dropped by because they knew Flora was somehow behind all this and they wanted to know what to wear and who else was going and whether they’d feel strange. There was barely a household that hadn’t received an invitation.
Fintan kept calling, beside himself with nerves as professional caterers and drinks suppliers turned up, but as far as Flora could tell, he seemed to be dealing with it admirably.
Meanwhile, the Café by the Sea carried on, pie after pie, great piles of oatcakes, Innes driving vanloads of food over to the Rock. They were all pink in the face and quite sweaty, but it looked like they’d be done in time. Raspberries, piles of them; frozen batches of last summer’s brambles; plus, mostly, the glorious cloudberries that grew at the very tip of Mure, their sharp, burstingly fresh flavor scenting the kitchen and making Agot, whom Innes had dropped off after she kept being a pain in the neck in the van, and who was now being an utter menace in the kitchen, run round and round in circles and point-blank refuse to take her afternoon nap, which boded very badly indeed for the evening ahead. Even the offer of a hunk of grilled cheese didn’t settle her; she eyed it and declared that she actually needed pie instead.
Flora decorated the top of each pie as carefully as possible, with cutout berries, and leaves, and even a little Mure flag. The radio started playing a Karine Polwart song—“Harder to Walk These Days Than Run”—which they all knew. Flora and Agot sang along very loudly to the fast bits and even did a bit of dancing, and they were both giggling and covered in flour when suddenly, completely out of the blue, Joel walked in carrying an overnight bag.
Flora dropped the sieve right away.
“Ah,” she said, as he stood there framed in the doorway.
With him there, all the excitement of the last few weeks seemed somehow inappropriate; she wasn’t sure if this was the kind of thing he really wanted her to be doing, whatever Colton said.
And God, with the light behind him, he looked . . . he looked so handsome. She’d thought she’d started to forget about him. She was wrong. Out of place, of course, in his smart city suit and his phone clutched in his hand, as if it would magically conjure up a signal on its own.
She realized she had flour on her nose, and moved to brush it off. Joel still didn’t say anything. Was he angry? Should she be doing more paperwork? But her brief was to get the island onside, wasn’t it? And that was what she was trying to do.
Joel was taken aback, suddenly, by the startling nature of seeing them there. It was the oddest thing. He’d never known anything quite like this; he had never thought about families, not in this way. But if he had . . . It was so strange. The laughing girl with the pale hair; the tiny child who looked like a miniature witch, who even now was running up to him, that strange white hair cascading out behind her, shouting, “YOEL!” with a huge grin on her face; the music; the turning, laughing women; the soft scent in the air; the warmth of the lights.
It was like walking into something he was already nostalgic for, without it ever being his, without it even having passed him by. It was a very strange feeling. From when he was very young, Joel had learned that if ever he wanted something, he should just take it, because so few people seemed to care what he did or how he did it. But this; this didn’t belong to him. He couldn’t even see how it ever could. You couldn’t buy what they had.
He blinked.
“Sorry,” said Flora, moving forward, concerned at his stern face. Agot meanwhile had grabbed on to his leg and didn’t seem to be in the mood to let go. There was flour everywhere, as well as the salt spray from the harbor. “I’m not sure you’re dressed for Mure.”
Joel didn’t mention the bag full of brand-new outdoors clothes Margo had picked up for him. He’d looked at them and felt it would be unutterably ridiculous to put them on, to pose as something he so obviously was not.
“No,” he said. “I’m not sure I know any other way to dress.”
Suits, Flora thought, were his armor. Why, she didn’t know.
He stepped into the room. They’d kept it feeling like somebody’s house, and the little tables had cloths on them. Every surface was taken over with baking for that night.
“It smells good.”
“Is there something else I should be doing?” Flora asked, a little shakily.
Joel smiled.
“No. I’m not sure these aren’t some of the more useful billable hours we’ve ever done. Can I have a slice?”
“HAVE PIE!” said Agot loudly, offering him a grubby piece of pastry from her little paw.
“Oh,” said Joel. “Actually, you know, I’ve changed my mind.”
Both Agot and Flora looked at him with a comically similar expression.
“Ah. Thank you.”
Bramble got up sleepily to examine him, and added some dog hairs to the mix on his trousers.
“So are you dressing for tonight?” said Flora cheerily, wishing she wasn’t quite so red in the face and sweaty and had washed her hair.
“I’ve got a suit,” said Joel.
Flora looked at him, raising her eyebrows.
“Not a kilt?”
“Oh no,” he said. “No. Definitely not.”
“Well, it’s kind of a tradition.”
“Yes, well, so’s taking heroin and I’m not doing that either.”
“Joel!” said Flora crossly.
“WHA’S HERON?” said Agot.
“Sorry,” said Joel. “Honestly, I’d . . . I’d feel strange.”
“The first time,” said Flora.
Joel shook his head.
“It’s just not me. Is Colton dressing up?”
“It’s not dressing up!” said Flora. “It’s just what you wear. And yes, of course he is. In fact, he’s going a bit too far.”
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, seriously. I want to please the client.”
“Well, you’d better find yourself a kilt, then.”
Joel sighed.
“And how will I do that?”
“One of the boys will have one.”
�
��Really? A spare?”
“Well, Fintan will be in the kitchen all night. I don’t think he’s wearing his.”
“So he gets to wear trousers like a normal person.”
“Oh no, he’ll have his kilt on. Just his regular one, not his formals.”
“Oh God,” said Joel. “I don’t think so, Flora.”
“Okay.”
“So, is everything . . .? What’s our strategy for tonight?”
Flora looked down at the pies.
“Well, this is mine, more or less.”
“Yes, but apart from that?”
“Just be charming, and mention moving the wind farm farther out if the subject comes up. I’ll point out the councilors to you. Go charm Mrs. Buchanan if you can—she’s tough as old boots. You could talk to my dad. Oh. And Reverend Anderssen. He’s from a proper old Viking family; don’t let the chummy hail-fellow-well-met routine put you off.”
“And being related to the invading power is a good thing, is it?”
“Seemed to work in America,” observed Flora, taking out a batch from the oven and putting another one in.
Joel smiled.
“So if he’s Scandinavian, he won’t mind if I don’t wear a kilt?”
Flora gave him a look.
“Yes, well, try it and see how you get on.”
“Oh God,” sighed Joel, starting to regret his impetuous decision to come.
“It could be worse,” said Flora. “Wait till you see what I have to wear.”
“Well, I’ll think about it.”
He looked as if he were about to tarry a little, but instead he turned back toward the door.
“Right, I’d better check in with Colton.”
“Don’t say I mentioned his outfit,” said Flora. He’d shown her what he was about to wear, and she’d attempted to be complimentary. But Joel just nodded briskly, and was gone.
“HE SAD,” said Agot sagely.
Flora looked at her curiously.
“What does sad mean?” she asked.
“DOAN NO,” said Agot, losing interest. “MORE PIE!”
