Highland Dew

by Jeanne Magill

  Reggie froze. “Probably just busy. I can’t wait to hear what you and Ian talked about.”

  “You’re probably right. Well, see you later.” Click.

  She flopped back on the bed. “What the hell do I do now? Do I have time to get over there to apologize and would she even talk to me?” Her pulse was racing and her palms were damp. She didn’t get Fiona’s phone number. Not that it would do any good. That bridge was burned.

  “Ballard’s aren’t quitters.” She jumped up and slipped her shoes on. She tucked her sketch pad under her arm along with the pencil case. “Plan B.”

  Downstairs, she found a small table near the window where she set her materials.

  “Could I have some Macallan, neat? Wait, make that a double.”

  Billy nodded. “Rough day?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” She smiled.

  He set down a glass and poured, generously. “That should help.”

  “Thanks.” She returned to the table and flipped open her sketch pad. She knew Leo appreciated her initiative in other areas, particularly visual concepts. If Bryce wanted to fast-track the Highland Dew, it might be good to have some marketing and branding ideas ready. If Leo approved…Bryce would need to play nice.

  The whisky helped move her into the present, and in the next hour she sketched out some new logo ideas and a label. Since she’d seen the outside of the MacDougall distillery, she could sketch the building framed by blooming apple trees. Nice. She turned the page and tried a few sales slogans.

  ****

  The Cairngorm mountains loomed on the horizon, still capped with some snow and only a few scattered clouds. This area felt more and more familiar to her. She checked her phone. Still no response to her three messages. There certainly wasn’t any solid reason to be concerned, but…she really wanted to talk to Fiona.

  Truth was she might explode from the excitement about the new deal. Reggie would understand what a big deal this was for the company. They’d never done anything like this.

  Throughout the long drive, Bryce mentally compiled a list of pros and cons on how this might impact her own life. It was a huge undertaking. At thirty-eight, she had accumulated an impressive amount and variety of business expertise. It was time to put it to use. What was the cliché? Time to fish or cut bait.

  The roundabout ahead veered off to Grantown-on-Spey, Knockando, and the turnoff for the farm. She steered round to the exit and the nerves set in. How would she explain the plan? It was nearly four. It might be too late in the day. Maybe she could just check and set up a time for tomorrow.

  A light rain began as she entered the town. The buildings were tidy and the streets orderly. A broad boulevard ran through a large town square with parallel front streets. The rain released the scent of wet stone and grass.

  Bryce relaxed and embraced the slower speed of the two-lane road and the rhythm of life in a small community. It had taken a couple of weeks to partially undo the American hustle she normally lived by. The hillsides sloped up with forest and farmland until it narrowed to a path-like ribbon through the woods. Rain and sun skittered between overhanging branches.

  Below and on the right, she could hear the riffles of the river over the rocks. She flashed on a vision of Fiona when she first appeared to Bryce coming out of the house. The image reminded Bryce of this environment—fresh, enchanting, and redolent with life. Truly a remarkable woman. She radiated confidence.

  The fluttery sensation grew in her chest. It had been so long since she’d felt anything…anything pleasurable, certainly. Fiona MacDougall was a breath of fresh air. Sitting across from her in the kitchen or watching as she prepared their food. Now she knew that the indescribable feeling of that moment was contentment, which had been missing from her busy life.

  Bryce turned the wipers on high as she focused on the fields and fences, searching for the dangling white sign. It was easy to miss, and she slowed. There. The drive slicked with mud, she cautiously steered to the blurred outline of the farmhouse. Her senses sharpened and her pulse pounded.

  The car and the old truck were parked in back, so she pulled close to the back door and shut off the engine. As she opened the door, she saw Fiona standing at the office door in the rain.

  Bryce smiled and got out. “Fiona, I’m glad to see you—”

  “I can’t believe you’d have the gall to show up here!” Fiona’s face darkened and her voice sounded tight and threatening.

  “What? I wanted to tell you the good news.”

  “I got the message. I trusted you, and you used me.”

  Her head spun uncontrollably in this bizarre universe that was nothing like the one she left when she exited the car. “I don’t understand. There must be an explanation…I really have good news for you and your dad.”

  “Get out!” Fiona shouted. “I don’t want anything from you.” She stormed past the car and into the house.

  Bryce stood in shock. Rain coursed down her face. She couldn’t move. She stared at the back door as if it would magically open and the real Fiona would come out and welcome her.

  It didn’t. Soaked to the skin, she got back in the car. Torrents of rain blurred the windshield, obscuring everything including her own tears.

  Chapter Twenty

  Reggie heard the thunder and watched as sheets of rain splashed the front windows. It had driven several hillwalkers indoors to dry off and enjoy a drink. The flute and fiddle music got louder as the voices around her increased. Warming spirits created happy spirits. One couple began to dance as others clapped along.

  She checked her watch. Bryce should have been back by now. Maybe the weather had slowed her down. She shook the ice in her glass. After her double whisky, she’d switched to cola and kept sketching, but now she was hungry.

  “Hey.”

  Reggie looked up at a drenched woman with a few familiar features. “Bryce?”

  “Yeah. Order me a drink while I change into dry clothes.” She turned and squished toward the door.

  Reggie hardly recognized her. Something must have happened. I hope it wasn’t an accident. She waved at the waitress. “Would you bring two of the Macallan?”

  “Would you like water for both?”

  “Yes, please, and could we get one of the cheese and biscuit plates?”

  Reggie could barely remember when Bryce Andrews had looked so…what? Out of sorts? Dazed? It seemed out of character for the rock-steady, controlled manager she was used to. Even though it worried her, Reggie looked over her sketches and hoped they might cheer her friend a little.

  “Shall I set these here?” The waitress held a plate with the sliced cheese, biscuits, and jam.

  “Oh, yes.” Reggie moved her sketch pad over.

  As she set down the two drinks and water, Bryce reappeared—somewhat more composed, but her hair was still wet. The jeans and long-sleeved shirt suggested she might still be cold.

  “That looks good. Thanks.” Bryce sat across from her.

  Reggie signed the check. “You look better. Is everything okay?”

  Bryce took a large swallow of her drink and held it for a minute. “No, actually. Something has gone terribly wrong.” She swallowed another mouthful and set the glass down. “I did stop at the farm. Fiona ripped me a new one. I’ve never seen a woman that pissed. She wouldn’t even let me tell her about the deal. Do you have any idea what the hell is going on?” She growled in a low, ominous whisper.

  Reggie felt her stomach drop. Oh shit. This is not going to be good. A thousand ideas vied for attention. “Did she say what she was mad about?” She swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice even.

  “She said she got the message. Then said, ‘I trusted you and you used me.’ What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’m not really sure. But, after I got your message about striking a deal with Ian...well, I thought it would be wise to be…proactive so we wouldn’t lose the sale.”

  Bryce put her glass down and her eyes narrowed. “Reggie, what did you do?” />
  “Nothing really. I just suggested she might need some help from us and I offered her a Request for Representation—”

  “You what?” Bryce leaned forward.

  Reggie’s throat tightened and she felt cornered. “It wasn’t a big deal. I thought you had already discussed it after you discovered the whisky. I think she was just upset because she didn’t really know me.”

  “Did you actually go over there? Without calling or asking me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “How the hell did you know where they lived?”

  Reggie shoved her glass forward. “Bryce, you’re shouting. Here, drink this.”

  In a low, measured voice, Bryce whispered, “How in the hell did you find the farm?”

  “I had some notes. Then I had a drink with Malcolm, and he mentioned something about a distillery near Tamdhu, and I just asked if he’d ever heard of MacDougall, so I just took a chance I could find it.”

  Bryce clenched her fists and put them in her lap. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  Reggie had never—ever—seen Bryce this angry, and didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry if you think I overstepped. I’ll certainly apologize.”

  “No. Don’t do anything. I need to think about this. We’ll talk in the morning. I repeat, do not do anything.” She shoved back her chair and hurried out of the bar.

  Reggie watched her leave and looked around to see if anyone had heard the exchange. The music and conversation continued in the crowded bar. Her hands trembled and she reached over for the drink she’d offered.

  She leaned back and sipped the whisky. Well, that sure didn’t go as well as it should have. In all likelihood, Bryce would be her old self in the morning. It was probably a rough day and Fiona just set her off. She took another swallow. I hope.

  The cheese tasted good, and now she wanted to eat. When the waitress walked by, Reggie asked for another drink.

  Might as well enjoy myself since Bryce doesn’t seem interested in the sketches. Maybe I’ll just send them to Leo. She opened the sketch book and tried to focus on the blurred logos. The room moved slightly and the music sounded distorted.

  ****

  The rain had let up, and Bryce opened her patio door. A crescent moon was rising over the trees along the river. She felt drained. Two more phone messages to Fiona were left unanswered, and the waste basket was half filled with tissues.

  Traffic diminished as it got darker, so she could hear the river as she sat with her feet propped on the balcony rail. Her brain felt muddled by the whole Fiona-Reggie ordeal. She desperately wanted to talk to Leo or Ian—someone to advise her. And Fiona. God, she was angry. Her eyes teared up again when she thought about not ever seeing her again. “Why did this have to happen?” she cried out to no one.

  The sound of a car horn jarred her. She glanced at her watch: ten fifteen. Wow, must’ve fallen asleep. No wonder my feet are numb.

  But that time had allowed her some clarity. She went in and switched on the lamp. Her phone sat on the nightstand charging, and she grabbed it and texted:

  Bryce: Fiona. I got the story from Reggie. She was wrong. I’m coming over in the morning to explain. Please don’t let her mistake affect our relationship.

  She dialed Leo’s phone, no answer. “Leo. It’s Bryce, and we have a little problem I want to run past you. It’s after ten here, so I’ll call again tomorrow. Hope you’re feeling better.” She sat on the bed and debated whether or not to call Reggie. Her room was directly above and quiet. Probably asleep.

  “Okay, tomorrow then.” She hung up her clothes, brushed her teeth, and slipped between the sheets. The moon shone on the balcony railing and she watched the tree shadows until her eyelids began to droop. Her last thought was Fiona and apple blossoms.

  Morning seemed to come too soon, but Bryce had slept hard and felt a bit more rested. “Yes, good morning. Could I have some tea and scones for two? Andrews, room four.” She hung up and texted Reggie.

  Bryce: I’ve ordered something to eat. Would you come on down when you’re up?

  With the envelope from Ian, she sat in the rocker and waited. Sleep had provided some much-needed clarity, and the shower had solidified it. Now was time to try and familiarize herself with the detailed plans for MacDougall & Son. And have the talk with Reggie.

  She was re-reading the loan document when there was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

  A tall red-headed young man carried the tray over to the table. “Your order ma’am.” He set down the tray and uncovered the scones.

  Bryce handed him a tip. “Thank you.”

  As he walked out, Reggie walked in. She looked rode-hard, as she often described it.

  “Hey, Bryce. I guess I didn’t know how late it was.” She pulled out a chair from the small café table.

  Bryce smiled. “Yeah, I was up much earlier, but decided to let you sleep in.” She poured tea for both and sat down.

  Reggie cleared her throat. “You know, I didn’t mean to muck things up, I just wanted to help.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’ve known you for a lot of years and thought we were friends—”

  “But, we—”

  Bryce put up her hand. “Just let me finish. This is hard enough without interruptions. This trip has been strained and uncomfortable for a long time. I don’t know what’s going on, but I figured it was personal or you would have told me.” She fidgeted with her napkin.

  “This assignment is important for both of us. Leo sent us to see how well we would manage on our own. And while I appreciate the work you did and the contacts you made, you’ve been unpredictable and…you may have screwed up a really important project.”

  “I told you I was sorry. Mistakes happen. I know I can fix it,” Reggie said.

  Bryce shook her head and sighed. This was not easy. “Reg, I don’t have time to argue. What I’d like is for you to pack and go home.”

  Reggie nearly dropped the cup she was holding. “What? You must be kidding.”

  “No. I’m not. Take your reports to Ian and have him arrange a flight for you.”

  Reggie spoke up. “You can’t just dismiss me like that. Leo sent us both.”

  “Listen to me. Leo had a stroke and isn’t back at work yet. He left instructions with Margaret that I’m in charge of the project until he’s back.”

  Reggie laughed. “No, you aren’t. We both are.”

  Bryce rubbed her forehead and stifled a remark. “You can check with Margaret or Ian, I don’t care. But, when I get back from trying to make peace with Fiona, I want you gone. Understand?”

  Reggie jumped up, shaking with rage. “You can’t do this to me. You’ll find out, missy, you messed with the wrong person.” She stormed out the door and slammed it.

  Bryce could hear her upstairs, stomping around cursing. This was not the friend she’d known for ten years. What the hell had happened?

  She picked up her phone, hesitated, and dialed Ian Smith.

  “Good morning, Ms. Andrews. A pleasure as always.”

  “Not this time, I’m afraid. We’ve hit a rather large bump in the road with the MacDougalls.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. You had such a good rapport set up and such an innovative idea—”

  “It’s a long story, but I need to go over there and try to reason with them. The problem is Reggie took it upon herself to draft a Request for Representation and to take it over and ask Fiona to sign it. Of course, Fiona had no idea who she was or what she was talking about, and assumed it was me manipulating her into something shady.”

  Ian groaned. “Oh dear, this is not good. What are you going to do?”

  “Go over there and try to explain this mess. But I wanted you to know because I told Reggie to take her stuff to you and ask you to get her a flight home. She’s probably going to be nasty, because she doesn’t believe I can do that.”

  “Naturally. I think I can handle it. Don’t worry.” Ian sounded calm. “I’ll put in
a call to Chicago. You go fix this deal.”

  “Thanks. I hope it’s not too late or I’ll be on the way home, too.” She gripped the phone. “Thanks, Ian.”

  If she wanted to get to the farm, she’d better get moving. It was almost nine.

  ****

  “Who is it?” Gavin called when the doorbell rang.

  “It’s okay, Dad, it’s just David.” Fiona dried her hands on the way to the front door.

  “Who’s that?”

  “David Bascomb. The accountant.” She whispered and opened the door. “Hi, come on in. You remember my dad.”

  “Indeed. Good to see you, sir.” He walked over and shook hands. “It’s been awhile, aye?”

  “It has. Good to see you, lad. You’re dressed up fine. Working at a bank, are you?” He leaned back in the recliner and took a draw on his pipe. The fragrant smoke circled around him.

  David laughed. “No, not a bank. I’ve some accounts in town, you know. I need to look presentable.”

  “Dad, David is helping me sort through the bills.” Fiona steered David toward the kitchen. “I’ll bring some tea in a bit.”

  David took a seat at the kitchen table where some ledgers sat. He opened a leather case, and took out some forms and a calculator. “You sounded so frantic on the phone, I was a bit worried.”

  “I appreciate you coming over on short notice. I need some guidance and Murray has been AWOL—or not listening.” She hung up the dish towel. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. I’m fine. Why don’t you tell me what you need?” David folded his hands and waited.

  Fiona released the breath she’d been holding since yesterday morning when that woman showed up with the papers. She sat across from him. “When you were here the last time, we’d discovered a large cache of unrecorded whisky. My dad remembered it had been set aside for a Distiller’s Edition.”

  “Yes, that was a great find. Were you able to sell it?” David smiled and looked so hopeful.

  “That’s why I called. I met a representative from an international distribution company, quite by accident. We got on quite well, and she offered to help if I wanted.”