by Sally Graham
So it had come as a shock to arrive at Dundrannon and find no reliable internet connection, no mobile phone signal, and no sense of the world in which she lived and breathed with its urgent deadlines and staccato text messages.
Normally Carrie would have resented such setbacks. Yesterday afternoon had found her frustrated at not being in touch with the office. And yet, twenty-four hours later, she was finding it harder to relate to the content of some of the urgent emails she was working on. Against all her experience, London seemed a different terrain with unfamiliar contour lines.
She found herself daydreaming again, gazing out of the café window. Then she saw someone walking briskly on the pavement.
It was the shepherd, Blake.
It was clear that the cafe was her destination as she crossed the road; she was carrying a laptop under her arm and must be intending to do the same as Carrie.
Carrie turned back to her screen and hoped Blake wouldn’t see her. She heard the door bell jingle over the hubbub of conversation and Blake walked up to the counter and started to gossip with Bett.
Carrie watched out of the corner of her eye. She took in the slim legs, a woollen sweater that betrayed the soft lines of Blake’s small chest, the fair hair tied in a raggedy ponytail that still managed to look stylish, and heard her laughing with the girl as her tea was being poured.
She quickly turned away when Blake looked around for somewhere to sit, and her heart sank as she heard footsteps walking towards her.
The footsteps paused and Carrie sensed Blake was hesitating and guessed she must be looking around for a different table - anywhere than have to strike up a conversation with the woman who she had made so clear she disliked.
But the small cafe was now filling up with shoppers who had returned from Dumfries on the coach, and a moment later Carrie heard the chair opposite her being pulled back, and she had to look up.
Blake’s clear blue eyes looked down at her. “I thought it was you,” she said without any enthusiasm in her voice. “Apologies for interrupting but I need to get an email off. And check things,” she added.
“No apologies needed,” Carrie replied, trying not to be distracted by Blake’s cheekbones. “I was finishing up anyway. Needed to find out what was happening back at the office.”
Blake didn’t answer, but opened her laptop, the open screen just touching Carrie’s across the small table, her knee accidentally brushing against Carrie’s leg as she pulled up her chair.
Carrie looked down at her keyboard, finding it unexpectedly hard to concentrate on the briefing notes that Josie had sent her about the meeting in Berlin. She heard Blake’s fingers tapping quickly on her laptop; she could just see her full, dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration; on an impulse, she wanted to reach across and brush the strand of hair away that was falling into Blake’s eyes.
“How do you spell ‘Apologise’?” she heard Blake ask suddenly.
“Uh - I’m sorry?”
“With a ‘z’ or a ’s’ ? I can never remember.”
“I think both spellings are ok,” Carrie answered, surprised by the question. It depends if you’re in the US or here, I think.”
Blake closed her laptop slowly, and looked at Carrie. “I’m not really spelling the word,” she said, looking straight across the table. “I just want to apologise for the way I was with you. It was, well, brattish. I’m sorry. About the banker diatribe, and so on. And - I got your text.”
Carrie took a deep breath, making time before she answered. “Hey, well, I don’t take it too badly, you know. I’ve had worse conversations. When I have to handle press meetings after a takeover, for instance.” She smiled. “And, you know, I’m not immune to the image that bankers have these days. Ever since 2008 people are still pissed off that there haven’t been any real punishments handed out.” She paused. “Maybe we can call a truce? Over our cups of tea?”
Blake brushed the strand of hair away from her eyes, and then smiled awkwardly. “Why not?” she said. “I hadn’t expected to see you again. I thought you had left. Returned to the centre of the universe?”
Carrie was about to bristle, but then she caught the Blake’s eyes crinkling deliciously. “You’re teasing me,” she said, realising that she was enjoying the banter with this attractive woman, and wanted to prolong their chat. “But you’re right. I’ve got to get back to London. Usual hassles. To be honest, I really felt that this place was on the outer edges of the solar system, so to speak. I admit - it is so different to what I’m used to, I suppose. The pace of life, the rush, getting things done.” She looked through the window. “It’s so quiet here. It’s a bit scary!”
“But you said that was then,” Blake replied. “What’s changed?”
“Oh, nothing’s changed in a deep sense. I haven’t had a Damascus experience. I still wouldn’t want to live in the wilds like you.”
“Excuse me- ” Blake made apostrophe marks with her fingers in front of Carrie, “‘living in the wilds’? You haven’t even seen where I live.”
“But don’t you find it’s claustrophobic?” Carrie continued, determined not to be sidetracked by Carrie’s remark. “There’s no one around, nothing to do, nowhere to go - I couldn’t live here.”
Just then Bett arrived with Blake’s tea, and another cup.
“I thought I’d get you another cup as a peace offering,” Blake continued, pushing a white china mug with ‘Scotland Forever’ printed around it towards Carrie, who took it absentmindedly, stirring the tea without adding any sugar.
“When we were walking on the beach,” Carrie continued, as if speaking to herself, “You described this area - or Dundrannan - as a basket case. I think your words were, ‘economic basket case.’”
“Did I? I don’t think I was making a profound statement.”
“No, maybe not, but the phrase has been going around and around in my head.”
“So how has ‘economic basket case’ or whatever I said, made you change your mind about Dundrannan?”
“It hasn’t. Everything I’ve seen has been depressing. Except that ‘Economic basket cases’ can sometimes be what bankers call ‘Sleeping Beauties’.” She paused for a moment. “In other words, a company can look as though it is a dead loss, but given new management, or vision, or product, it can rise from the dead.”
“Hmmm - like sheep, perhaps.”
“Uh?”
“Ewe’s reject their lambs, and you have to fool another sheep into thinking that the rejected lamb is theirs. If you don’t do it quickly, the lamb dies.” Blake finished her mug of tea. “I’ll make a shepherd of you yet, Carrie!”
Carrie noticed that it was the first time that Blake had used her first name. “I think I’ll leave that to you,” she smiled. “But if I come back, I’d like to see more of what you do?”
“Be my guest,” Blake answered, uncomfortably aware that she might enjoy seeing the banker again. “If I’m not around, just follow the road that leads from the main gates, and keep going. You’ll come to the bothy.”
“I hope the sat nav will get me there. But in the meantime, I’d better get back to London.” She looked at Blake. “I’m not leaving early tomorrow; my flight isn’t until late afternoon, I might come and see you in the morning?”
“I’d like that,” Blake smiled. “I’ll come and find you. I’m ahead of schedule. I’ll take you off-track so you can see more of the area.”
Carrie looked at her curiously. “Are you sure? I mean, you weren’t too keen on seeing me again this morning.”
“Dundrannan deserves more than a couple of hours of your time,” Blake answered matter-of-factly. She pushed her chair back. “I’ll collect you in the morning.”
She turned after walking a few steps. “We could even fit in a short hike if you’ve got time?”
Chapter 10
Carrie spent the rest of the day checking the presentation for her meeting in San Francisco, reviewing the proposal for Berlin, and trying not to get riled by Marc Dela
ney’s increasingly frantic emails.
It was a relief to have an early supper with two glasses of wine and fall into bed, wondering how her time with Blake would pan out.
She slept well, and had time for a short run, shower and breakfast. It was just after nine when reception called and said that she had a visitor. Carrie went downstairs.
“Good to go?” Blake asked.
“I’m all yours,” Carrie joked, secretly wishing that she was, and followed Blake’s tantalising figure out of the hotel. When they got outside she looked around.
“Where’s the jeep?”
“Back at home,” Blake answered, before pointing across the street. “ We’ll use the quad bike - it’s easier.”
Carrie swallowed as she looked at the low-slung bike with its four thick tread wheels. It was spattered with mud, and and Romy’s pannier seemed to be tied on with orange baling twine.“Is it safe?” she asked anxiously. “I mean, I’ve got to face a crowd of bankers in San Francisco in a couple of day’s time.”
“Here - you can wear this helmet,” Blake answered. “Four wheels, independent suspension and a low centre of balance means it’s probably safer than your Porsche. And we won’t be speeding, either.”
She whistled to Romy who jumped up into the wooden crate fixed to the back of the bike. “She loves it,” Blake said, climbing onto the bike. “Here, let me fix the chin strap.” She turned around and Carrie felt her fingers reach for the two straps and clip them in place. Then Blake checked under her chin. “Just checking it isn’t loose,” Carrie heard. “Waste of time otherwise.”
Carrie climbed behind Blake; the seat was unexpectedly comfy, and her feet rested on the footrests automatically. “What do I hold onto?” she asked.
There was a moment’s pause. “Me, if you need to. But there are handles just there,” and she pointed to small grab bars beside Carrie’s seat. “Don’t worry - we’re not going off-piste! Ready?”
Carrie nodded her head, but forgot she was wearing her helmet, and bumped into the back of Blake as she started the bike. “Sorry” she yelled, hoping she’d be heard above the heavy throb of the engine as they moved off.
“Just relax,” Blake shouted back, half turning. “If you’re tense, you’re more likely to fall off.”
Which was not what Carrie wanted to hear as they moved down the street. But Blake was right, she realised. After a minute she noticed that her shoulders relaxed and she wasn’t crouched or holding the side handles so tightly. Leaning forward to look over Blake’s shoulder, she was inches away from the nape of her neck, and her ponytail hair, tucked under her dark green helmett, seemed as though each and every strand had a beauty of its own. The bike’s roar lessened, and they slowed down. “We’re going to go up the glen a little way,” Blake shouted.
“I thought we weren’t leaving the road?”
“We’re not - but it’s a bit rougher.” There was a fork ahead and Carrie turned onto a rough track. There was an immediate change in the way the bike handled, and Carried suddenly felt unsafe. “I’m not sure about this,” she yelled.”
“It’s ok, I promise. Just enjoy the view - and hold on to me, if you want.”
A jolt made up Carrie’s mind, and she reached around Blake’s waist, holding her loosely, her face pressed against her shoulder. Blake had been right - she did feel safer. But her thighs were spread wide, gripping the bike, and she couldn’t deny the excitement that was thrumming between her legs. She could feel the faint warmth of Blake’s body and she found herself shifting position as they drove over the uneven track, and slid closer, until she was holding Blake tight.
Blake drove more slowly than usual; she had been surprised when the banker accepted her offer of a hike, and wondered if there might be more to the woman than she thought. When they turned off the main road on to the track that led up the glen, she was caught unawares when Carrie’s arms reached around her waist. It was a physical contact that she hadn’t felt since - since she had ridden a scooter in Christchurch with Beatrix behind her. Beatrix, who she had loved so much. Beatrix, who turned out not to love her for who she was.
The wind buffeted Carrie’s face, and she smelled damp heather and wet grass as Blake drove up the track towards the larch tree plantation. As they got to the fence, she slowed down, and then stopped to get off the bike and open the gate.
“How you doing?” she asked, as Carrie leaned back.
“I’m glad I had something to hold on to,” Carrie answered.
“I’ll be honest - I hate being a passenger,” Blake answered, smiling. “I’d never do it! Too scary - I don’t feel safe!”
“Now you tell me!” Carrie answered in mock outrage. “Where are we going anyway?” She couldn’t admit that she wanted an excuse to put her arms around Blake’s waist again, so she shrugged and went on, “I’ll go where you take me. Just get me back in one piece!”
They crossed into the woods; the air was cooler, the surroundings were darker, and Carrie breathed a different scent scent of larch and pine. You don’t get this when you’re inside a car, she felt. In fact, the quad bike trip as proving exhilarating - her arms around the hips of a woman who she fancied, who gave off ambiguous signals that suggested hostility but then softened and indicated that, maybe, there could be a spark of interest.
The ground was softer and the going smoother as they drove under alternate shady branches and shafts of sunlight. Suddenly the bike swerved to a halt and Carrie was flung against Blake’s back.
“What the - ?”
“Shhh - look!”
At first Carrie couldn’t see anything, but then there was a movement to her right in front of them. Cautiously, her black nose raised, alert to any sign or scent of danger, a deer edged to the side of the track.
Carrie didn’t dare breathe as the animal lifted up one leg, then the other, delicate as a ballet dancer, and moved daintily across the track. She looked back, and a moment later a small fawn, unsteady on its legs, its large ears quivering, followed its mother. But just then, a buzzard screeched above them, seeking other prey, and the animals bucked and kicked, and were lost in the undergrowth on the other side of the track.
“Wow, that was amazing,” Carrie breathed, squeezing Blake. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”
Blake grinned, suddenly enjoying the unexpected hug. “It’s the first time I’ve seen them up close like that too,” she said. “I just caught a glimpse of them. They’re used to the sound of the quad, and the wind was against us so they didn’t catch our scent.” She turned around and started the quad. “We’ll park a mile or so further up the track.” In a few minutes Blake turned off the narrow road and let Romy out of the back, who ran enthusiastically around the car to jump up at Carrie.
“She’s keen,” Carrie laughed. She turned to see Blake shouldering her rucksack. “What can I take?”
“It’s not much. Food for lunch - we can get water from a burn to make coffee.” She looked up at the sky. “It’s going to be a good day for hiking - not too hot, and enough of a wind to keep it fresh.” She hitched the rucksack firmly across her shoulders. “Shall we make a start?”
The first mile or so was along the road with its ribbon of grass running along the shoulder and white passing posts on alternate sides. Rickety fencing strewn with wisps of sheep’s wool filled the gaps in the drystone walls that marked small fields. When they reached a ruined farm building Blake pointed the way to a rough path trodden up the hillside.”This is where we start a slow climb to the summit,” she said. “Don’t worry - the going is is good. And on the way I’ll show you somewhere special,” she added mysteriously.
Carrie grinned. She was already feeling the benefits of the fresh air: the scent of damp turf, heather and peat was invigorating, and she felt revitalised even after the short distance they had walked.
“Why doesn’t Romy go after the sheep around here?” she asked, as Blake whistled after the black and white blur that was fast disappearing in front of them.
> “She wouldn’t dare,” Blake answered. “She’s well trained not to work sheep when I haven’t ordered her to. Besides - she can tell we’re having a day off. It’s not our normal area of the glen.”
The ground was rising more steeply, and Carrie was glad she wasn’t carrying a rucksack. The gym workouts hadn’t given her muscles the endurance needed for the easy stride that she noticed Blake seemed to manage effortlessly.
As if mindful of her thoughts, Blake stopped sat down on a grey weathered outcrop. “Let’s take five,” she said, rummaging in her pocket and handing Carrie a piece of chocolate. “It’s too easy to keep walking and not stop and look at the views.”
Carrie was grateful for the respite and sat down beside Carrie. “You’re right,” she said, surprised at how high they had climbed already, and looked down the valley. “The firth seems miles away.” She turned to Blake. “You like it here, don’t you?”
“Bits of the land remind me of New Zealand,” Blake answered. “The landscape here is softer, and the hills not so high - I mean, there’s no comparison - but there is the same wildness and grandeur.”
Her voice sounded affectionate. “Do you really want to go back?” Carrie asked, finishing her chocolate. The other woman paused.
“It’ll be hard, to be honest. I’ve come to feel this is my home.”
Carrie turned and looked at her in surprise, but Blake’s face gave nothing away, and she grabbed her bag and stood up. “Let’s get going,” she said abruptly, ending the conversation.
She walked on; it was easier for Carrie to walk behind, rather than alongside, Blake, along the narrow track made by the sheep. and her thoughts were dominated by the swing of Blake’s arms, her slim figure, the loose folds of her working jacket and the relaxed strides that belied a wiry toughness.
The skyline seemed to be approaching - “Are we near the top?” Carrie asked.
“Afraid not. It’s what’s called a ‘false summit’ - you think you're near the top but when you get there you find there’s still another climb ahead of you. But it’ll be a good place to have another break.”
