‘Mmm. I don’t know about you, but as soon as I mention the word “diet”,’ Morag looked down at her slim horsewoman’s hips and completely flat stomach, ‘I find myself with my nose in the biscuit tin.’
‘Point taken,’ laughed Kate. ‘Maybe I’ll just swear off accidental kisses with people at parties.’
‘Ooh, no.’ Morag shook a finger, jokingly. ‘I want to hear of lots of accidental kisses in secret corners. You’re young, and you need to be having fun.’
‘I promise.’ Watching her expression, Kate sensed that Morag could see straight through her false conviction.
‘You need to go have some fun, Kate. Don’t worry yourself pining after Roderick, if he’s not here. There’s been enough pining over Maxwell men, if you ask me.’
Suddenly feeling the effects of a late night, Kate yawned. Morag stood up, gathering dogs, and saw her home.
7
On a Mission
Oh God, my idea of hell is a dinner party. Kate put down her mobile and let out a wail. Willow, who was gnawing companionably on a seaside spade, jumped up into her lap.
She was trying desperately to pin up her hair, but it was slipping, too clean, out of the clips. She rammed in another five, wincing as she jabbed herself in the scalp. That would have to do. Picking up a bottle of dark nail varnish, she painted her nails, hiding the crescents of paint from her DIY efforts.
Sitting on the bed waiting for the varnish to dry, her thoughts turned to Roderick. In the three weeks since he left the island, Kate had spoken to him only a handful of times. He was preoccupied, dealing with the effects of the flood, and their conversations had been brief. Between them, Kate and Jean had organized Billy and his companions, until the cottages were ahead of schedule.
‘It’s a right mess down there,’ Jean had explained. ‘I spoke to him yesterday evening – they can’t do anything without permission from the relevant authorities, because Oak House is a listed building.’
‘Will he be gone much longer?’ Kate had tried to sound casual.
‘A good while, I think,’ Jean had glanced up sharply, hearing the tone of Kate’s voice.
Plenty of time to forget about a slightly tipsy kiss. That’s if he even remembered it in the first place, Kate suddenly realized with relief.
Unsure of what to wear tonight, she’d received a flurry of texts from Emma, full of helpful links to websites selling farmers’ overalls and green wellies. In the end Kate had taken her first trip off the island, venturing into Glasgow. The noise of the traffic, the lights, the people everywhere – she’d only been gone a couple of months and already life on the mainland seemed chaotic, noisy and over-rated. Sitting in a packed cafe, drinking a disgusting latte that bore no relation to Bruno’s coffee, Kate had realized she was desperate to get back.
Back at the cottage, nails now dry, she pulled on the dress. It was beautiful: dark-grey lace, with a deep V-neckline. Kate tugged at the hem, convinced it had been longer in the shop. She wiggled her toes, admiring the sheen of her legs, encased for once not in jeans or leggings, but sheer black tights. She picked up her very high, very expensive and completely impractical black suede shoes, giving herself one last look in the mirror.
‘Not bad. Shame there’s nobody to notice it,’ she remarked to Willow. The puppy paused from her chewing and thumped her tail appreciatively.
‘Right, let’s get you downstairs.’
Stopping to grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, Kate didn’t notice that she’d left her shoes lying on the kitchen floor. Settling Willow in her basket with a rawhide chew bone, she grabbed her handbag, stuffing in the box of chocolates and bottle of wine she’d chosen, and slipped her feet into wellington boots to walk up to Morag’s house.
Thor was hanging out of his stable longingly. Kate blew him a kiss.
‘Good look!’ laughed Tom, opening the door to Stable Cottage. Just inside the hall, taking off his Barbour jacket, was a tall, burly, strangely familiar man. Kate wondered if there was something in the water on the island that made them all so bloody good-looking.
‘I’m not keeping the wellies on. Give me a second to change my – oh God, my shoes!’ Kate started to laugh. ‘I’ve left them at the cottage. I can’t spend the evening in stockinged feet.’
‘Did someone mention stockings?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Finn, we can’t take you anywhere.’ Tom turned to the man behind him, punching him on the arm. ‘Kate, this is Finn. Finn – Kate.’
The burly stranger stepped forward, leaning down and kissing her, his fair stubbled cheek smelling of bonfires and cold winter air. He was wearing a faded blue shirt, which, Kate noticed, matched his eyes.
‘He’s jealous because I’ve got all the lines, and now that he’s an old married man he’s lost his touch.’
‘Bugger off,’ laughed Tom. ‘Make yourself useful, Finn. Nip down to Kate’s house – she’s in Bruar Cottage – and get her shoes while I pour her a drink.’
Finn turned to Kate, holding out his hand. ‘Of course I will. Do you have the keys?’
Kate pulled them out of her bag and then paused for a second, her hand in mid-air.
‘Earth to Kate?’ Finn looked at her, quizzically.
‘I’ll go.’ In the split second it had taken to retrieve the keys, a vision of her bedroom had flashed in front of Kate’s eyes. The chair was covered in a mountain of clothes, the bed was unmade, hairdryer and straightenter wires snarled in a tangle, and the contents of her make-up bag were strewn across the floor.
‘You’re not walking down there in the dark on your own.’
‘I just walked up on my own,’ she pointed out reasonably, but Finn had already shrugged on his coat. He held out her waterproof jacket. Fastening it, she caught him looking down. It hung as low as the hem of her dress. She looked like a deranged bucolic flasher. In tights.
‘Tom was right. It is a good look.’ Holding open the door, Finn flashed her a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Hold my arm, I’ll keep you safe.’
There was no moon, but Finn clearly knew the road well. Kate had stumbled several times on the way up, even with the aid of her torch.
‘You’re settling in then?’ She definitely recognized him from somewhere, but couldn’t place him. His accent was beautiful, and it seemed to resonate somewhere just below her navel.
‘I am. It’s beautiful here – oops!’ Kate lurched sideways, almost falling into another pothole, but Finn had caught her. His arms were solid with muscle. Not, thought Kate, that she was noticing. And she was definitely ignoring the fact that he’d now slipped a casual arm around her waist. He seemed remarkably comfortable in his own skin.
‘I didn’t get a chance to say hello at the bonfire. I had my hands full.’
Ah, that was why he was familiar. He was the piper who had played at the fireworks, and then afterwards spent the evening behind the decks of the disco, with a crowd of girls gathered around him. Not surprisingly, she thought, because not only was he ridiculously handsome, but his turn at the disco had shown him to have a nice line in self-deprecating humour.
‘Here we are,’ he broke into her musings. He took her hand, gently untangling the keys from her icy fingers. ‘Your hands are freezing.’
‘Stay here in the hall,’ said Kate, kicking a pile of non-specific stuff under the chair with a practised foot. She opened the kitchen door. ‘Shit!’
‘What’s happened?’ Finn was at her side in a second. He looked down and roared with laughter.
Willow was lying upside down, fast asleep, one expensive suede shoe in her bed and the gnawed remains of the other strewn across the floor.
‘Stockings it is then,’ said Finn innocently, turning to her with a wink.
God, he was gorgeous. If she’d been Susan, she would probably have reached up, snogged him and dragged him into the sitting room, but that wasn’t exactly Kate’s style. Oh no, she thought, much better to be picked up by her employer, snogged in a moment of passion, then di
scarded and forgotten about. She narrowed her eyes, thinking of Roderick. He was clearly determined to pretend that nothing had happened. Perhaps she should take a leaf out of his book. She retrieved what was left of the shoes, put them into the bin and rescued her flat silver pumps from the cupboard in the hall.
Finn was remarkably easy company. They walked back up to the cottage together, chatting about his part-time job at the Duntarvie estate wood-yard and how it funded his true love, which was sculpture.
‘So the wooden carvings in the big house – they’re yours?’
‘They are. When I finished art school I came back here. Roddy’s dad bought my first few works, and did a lot off the island to publicize my work. He was a good man, James.’
They opened the door into the hall.
‘We don’t know if anything went on between her and Roddy.’ Tom’s voice carried through from the open door of the kitchen. Kate felt herself blushing in horror. ‘And even if it did, he’s not here, and Kate looks to me like she could do with a—’
‘Lovely walk in the fresh air with her local artist?’ Finn called through from the hall, giving her a wink. Kate shuffled off her wellington boots and slipped on her silver pumps. Finn took her coat and hung it with his own on a peg in the hall, before guiding her, a warm hand on her hip, into the room.
‘That,’ said Ted, pouring them both a glass of wine, ‘is precisely what we were about to say.’
Leaving Morag, large glass of white in hand, chatting to Susan and stirring some risotto in the kitchen, Ted rounded up the dinner guests and sent them into the dining room. Four people were already sitting down, chatting comfortably.
‘Kate, you know Helen and George from the end cottage.’
Kate had bumped into the gentle, quiet Helen a few times, when out walking Willow. She was a florist with her own little shop in town, and had a beautiful cottage garden, which somehow managed to look immaculate, even in depressingly brown November. She stood up, kissing Kate warmly on the cheek.
‘Lovely to have a chance to talk without your mad puppy dashing off.’
‘I know – she’s worse than wee Jamie. She’s like an unguided missile.’
George, Helen’s husband, ran the fishery, and was Bruno’s football-loving partner in crime. Kate had met him several times in the cafe; he jumped up, kissing her on the cheek. He gave Finn a knowing nod.
‘You’ve got yourself a date for tonight then, Finn?’
‘I can but hope, George.’ His tone was self-deprecating but humorous. He gave her a wink. ‘You’re blushing, Kate.’
‘I’m not,’ she lied.
Finn moved in, his mouth close to her ear. ‘I’ll have to try a bit harder then.’
That voice. In a split second she could hear Emma saying, ‘Go on then, do it.’ She hid her smirk behind her hand. Finn’s straightforward flirting seemed to be contagious.
‘And this is Michael,’ continued Ted, bringing her back to earth. ‘He lives in Kilmannan and owns the IT company up on the hill. This is his wife Georgia: she’s English as well.’
‘We can compare notes,’ said Georgia, ‘on island time, and the weird sense of humour, and learning to love whisky, and living in a place where the supermarket runs out of bags because the boat can’t get over because of the storms.’
A smile of complicity passed between them. Georgia reminded her of friends back home, and it put Kate at her ease.
‘And not having a cinema, and the pub opening whenever it wants, and everyone knowing what you’re up to, all the time,’ added Kate. ‘And people assuming you’ll have loads in common with someone, just because they’re English, too.’ The words tumbled out with a sense of relief. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d been holding her breath, watching her step, especially since the night of the fireworks. Much as she was growing to love the island, it was lovely to feel that someone understood just where she was coming from. Coffee and cake with Georgia once in a while might help keep her feet on the ground.
Ted gave her a gentle poke in the ribs. ‘Come on, you, it’s not that bad. We did our stint living down south, remember.’
‘Oh, I know.’ Kate felt a sudden pang for Cambridge, the familiar cobbled streets and the shops, and the heaps of bicycles stacked against every railing. She sipped her wine, musing. ‘It’s just: everything here is so different.’
Georgia rolled her eyes. ‘It’s that fish-out-of-water thing, isn’t it? You’re always slightly on your guard, never quite getting a handle on the island customs. Depends on how long you’re staying, but it does get easier.’
Half-listening to Ted, Kate sat, deep in thought. She’d vowed she’d stay at least six months. With Roderick gone, that seemed feasible. But he was so changeable, and she had no idea what the atmosphere would be like when – or if – he returned. He might decide to stay down there.
‘It’s worse for me, Kate.’ She shook herself out of her reverie, hearing her name. Georgia was leaning over, topping up her wine glass. ‘I’m the head teacher of the secondary school, so I’m always on my best behaviour. The only chance I have to misbehave is when I’m out here in the sticks.’
‘Well, here’s to being naughty when nobody’s looking,’ said Kate, clinking her glass against Georgia’s.
Finn raised his eyebrows at the two women, but said nothing.
‘Oh yes? This night’s getting interesting already.’ Ted pulled out a chair at the huge mahogany table. It was set beautifully with old silver tableware mixed with bone china, and with a huge, low floral centrepiece, created by Helen.
It was amazing, Kate thought later, as she ricocheted gently against the doorframe on the way to the loo, how easy everyone was to talk to after some wine. Maybe it was having a bit of English moral support in Georgia, or being in a smaller gathering, but she felt this time she wasn’t sitting on the sidelines, but was a real member of the group. The contrast between this and her memory of sitting awkwardly at the table on the night of the fireworks was huge. The only awkward part was the fact that every time she looked at Finn she was overwhelmed by an urge to rip off all his clothes in a most un-Katelike manner.
Texting from the loo . . . Have had wine, and am thinking I might be a Bad Girl tonight. Just, you know, as a sort of scientific experiment?
They’d made their way through to the sitting room, where a fire was lit and two huge white sofas faced each other. Ted had already collapsed into one and was snoring gently.
‘Every bloody time,’ sighed Morag, tucking a crocheted blanket around him and pulling off his shoes. ‘That’ll be him for the night. I apologize in advance for the snores.’
The door slammed. Susan and Tom had sloped off home to take advantage of a child-free evening. Helen was curled up on the sofa next to Finn, chatting to Georgia about funding for the arts on the island. The other men had disappeared outside to look at a new greenhouse.
Kate sat down on the only remaining patch of sofa, which was unexpectedly low. She landed perilously close to Finn, her thigh touching his.
‘Hello.’
Oh, he could read the ingredients on a cereal packet and make it sound filthy.
‘D’you want a bit more wine?’ he asked, stretching forward for the bottle, shirt riding up to reveal a smooth, tanned back.
‘Actually, no.’ She was tempted to reach up inside the shirt. ‘I think maybe I should go. I need to let Willow out.’ She started to haul herself out of the depths of the sofa.
He stood up. ‘I’ll take you home.’
Kate climbed out of the couch and tugged at the hem of her dress, which had ridden up to show rather too much thigh.
‘Thanks, Morag.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘I’ll leave the door unlocked then.’
Kate looked at him, eyebrows raised.
‘I’m staying with Morag tonight – there’s no way I’ll get a taxi at this time. They never come out here to the estate, if they can help it.’
As they stepped out into t
he cold, he reached for her hand.
‘I don’t want you falling over, now.’
His fingers laced in between hers, and she felt the edge of his thumb gently rubbing her palm. But he said nothing. They walked in silence.
They arrived at the cottage. Kate untangled her fingers, turned to face him and stood, hand on the door.
‘Would you like some coffee?’
She sounded ridiculous. She wasn’t very good at this.
‘I thought a sophisticated town girl like you would have better lines than that,’ said Finn, his mouth curling into a smile.
‘I’m not in the habit of this sort of thing,’ replied Kate. ‘But I keep telling myself: you only live once. And I’m not looking for anything serious, because I’m not interested in a relationship.’
‘Just as well.’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay.’ Kate gave a small smile, looking up at him. He was awfully like a young Ewan McGregor, and the wine had given her courage and . . .
He reached across, moving a strand of hair from her lips, tucking it behind her ear with a practised gesture. ‘Are you flirting with me?’
‘I don’t know. Am I?’
‘I’d say so.’ Finn took the keys from her hand and opened the door.
She let Willow out, watching silently from the front door as the puppy galloped around the garden, barking with excitement.
‘I’ll put the kettle on then, shall I?’ Finn called from the kitchen. ‘For coffee?’
Willow bounded back up, holding a rubber chew. She hurtled into the kitchen. Kate closed the door and stood in the darkened hall, heart pounding, wondering what she was doing. Being human, she decided. Doing what everyone else had been doing while she was slowly dying of boredom for the last five years.
Finn emerged from the sitting room. ‘I’ve lit the fire. And your coffee is waiting.’ He walked forward into the dark hall. ‘I can leave, if you want,’ he said gently.
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