Lord and Master Trilogy

by Jagger, Kait

On screen Sean looked, well… he looked hot. Unshaven, with his hair streaming in the wind and his expression determined. The coat looked like it was made for him and the stormy setting combined perfectly with the atmospheric music.

  The next clip showed Britta walking across Malcolm’s field carrying a black lamb, prompting a chorus of ‘aaahhhs’ from the audience, which gave way to wolf whistles as she approached Sean, this time clad in the short version of the coat, jeans and wellies.

  Then a clip of Sean walking away from the camera, through an entire flock of frolicking lambs. ‘Watch out for sheep shit!’ shouted one of the farmers in back, to laughs from the rest of the room.

  The final clip started with a mirror image of the footage Mika had shot of Luna: a close up of Sean, eyes shut, on the grass bank atop the cliff. Luna didn’t know when Mika had found time to film this, but the weather in this scene was fine, and puffins were flying overhead. Sean had the Lundgren coat folded artistically under his head, and Dagmar’s silk bird scarf tied around his neck.

  Then the camera pulled out to reveal Britta lying beside him, hand resting on his chest.

  On screen Sean’s eyes opened and he slowly inclined his head toward Britta’s.

  ‘Gae on, my son!’ shouted Magnus Petersen as the screen faded to black and the room erupted in thunderous applause.

  Dagmar turned on the lights and several of his fellow trawlermen rushed up to shake Sean’s hand. The Lord Mayor, meanwhile, appeared to be professing his undying love to Britta, and the buyer from a major supermarket chain was deep in conversation with two farmers in the front row. All to the good, Luna thought to herself.

  After this, Dagmar came to the front and gave a brief presentation on the outerwear range, showing slides Luna had prepared featuring photos of the designers working on it, and Sören himself approving samples. The presentation closed with a candid photo of the prime minister of Sweden wearing one of five ‘ultra limited edition’ prototypes the previous winter – a gift from Sören, who was on friendly terms with him.

  And last, a presentation by Malcolm, who made a strong case for the prospect of attracting visitors to the island post-lambing season ‘to see the wee black lammies’, as he termed it, putting on his most twee accent. Speaking more seriously, he said he thought a whole new farm stay holiday industry could spring up around the black sheep of Shetland, and that the tourist season could be extended by as much as a month in the spring.

  It couldn’t have gone much better, Luna reflected a few minutes later, standing near the bar.

  Drink was flowing, the various lamb offerings were going down a storm, the good and great of Scotland and beyond were mixing happily with local folk, and she could see Magnus and a couple of other crofters working away on some of their uncommitted brethren in a corner. Magnus, Luna reflected with an inward smile; who’d have thought he’d become her most effective salesman?

  But really, Luna’s own work for the evening was finished. And, partly because she was tired and didn’t have the strength – not tonight – to pretend to be someone more outgoing, but mostly because she was missing Stefan and feeling bad about their falling out, Luna wished she could just escape. Go get in the car, drive home to the cottage, walk straight up to her bedroom and climb in bed.

  ‘Hello, my wonderful PA,’ came Dagmar’s voice from behind her.

  Luna turned to find her boss with a large glass of red wine in hand. Like Luna, Dagmar was wearing all black: a rather attractive fitted waistcoat and wool trousers that suited her lean, athletic build. No make-up, as usual, but with her angular features and shock of blond-red hair, Dagmar didn’t really need it.

  ‘How did you think it went?’ Luna asked, smiling a little wanly.

  Ignoring her question, Dagmar said, ‘You aren’t drinking. What can I get you to drink?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Luna said, reaching behind her to grab her soda and lime. ‘I’ve got one.’

  ‘I don’t thank you enough,’ Dagmar continued, apropos of nothing.

  ‘You do,’ Luna disagreed. ‘You thank me all the time.’

  ‘No, no, you think I don’t know how much you do for me, but I do.’ Good heavens, Luna thought to herself as Dagmar went on to enumerate her many accomplishments. Where was this gushing paean to her administrative skills coming from? Truth be told, she couldn’t even focus on what Dagmar was saying and found her attention wandering across the room, to where Liv was talking animatedly with Mika, wearing a frankly astounding red minidress. Crikey, was she rubbing Mika’s arm? Malcolm really was going to have to watch her.

  ‘You know when this assignment is done, you can come to me for anything…’ Dagmar was saying.

  Bad timing. That was what Luna thought later. For at that moment, as the party got into full swing around them, her father’s song came on the pub stereo. It had been getting a fair bit of airplay since Rafe’s ad first aired; Luna had heard it a few times on the radio whilst driving around Shetland. So it shouldn’t have taken her by surprise. But it did, all the same, and she felt an unwonted wave of sadness rise up above her.

  ‘Luna? You are okay?’

  Luna blinked at Dagmar and tried to think of something to say.

  A movement caught the corner of her eye and she looked to see Mika, grinning widely at her and pointing to one of the stereo speakers on the wall. He… he knew. He knew this was her father singing. He started walking toward her, abandoning Liv, and at the same time Luna moved toward him.

  ‘Your dad!’ Mika shouted to her over the music, which someone behind the bar had just turned up. ‘This is your dad!’ It was just coming to the chorus and a group of farmers’ wives standing behind Mika were singing along with her father. To her horror, Luna felt her eyes filling.

  Mika’s expression, usually so blank, turned to one of abject apology. ‘I’m sorry, Luna. It hurts you, to speak of him?’

  ‘No, no,’ Luna shook her head, lifting the sides of her fingers to her eyes and dabbing them. ‘It’s just…’ She pulled her shoulders together and glanced quickly around at all the oblivious people surrounding them, and Mika quickly understood. No one here knew, except for the two of them.

  Leaning down next to her ear, he said, ‘I used to listen to your father all the time when I was young. I swear, I wore this CD out, I listened to it so many times. He was a great musician. You should be proud.’

  ‘I am proud,’ Luna said, smiling at him, feeling all of a sudden better than she had in days. Lighter, somehow.

  ‘You aren’t drinking?’ Mika said, echoing Dagmar’s words of a few minutes earlier. But this time Luna acquiesced when he ordered a pair of vodka shots, which the two of them quickly downed.

  ‘This is my favourite song on the album,’ Mika said, holding up two fingers to the bartender.

  ‘Mine too,’ Luna agreed.

  The bartender handed them two more shots and Mika instructed, ‘In one.’

  They continued chatting, Mika talking more than she’d ever heard him talk before about her father, and music in general, and about Rafe Davies, who it was now clear was a close friend of his. ‘You’ve heard about the Clio nomination, yes?’ he asked.

  ‘I have. It’s very exciting,’ Luna said, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a message from Malcolm that read simply: Buyer wants to do deal! :-) :-) :-)

  Ear-splitting grin spreading over her face, Luna held the phone up for Mika to see.

  ‘Result!’ Mika cried, throwing his arms open. And it seemed like the most normal thing on earth for Luna to throw her arms around his neck in return, and to kiss him on the cheek as he lifted her off the ground in celebration. He, who understood more than anyone in this room what this night meant to her.

  She was scanning the room for Malcolm, poised to go hug him as well, when Mika stiffened, his arms still around her. She pulled back from him quizzically and saw that, although he was still smiling, his eyes were fixed on the entrance to the pub.

  Following his line of si
ght, Luna turned her head to see Stefan standing in the doorway, the foggy Shetland sky behind him.

  Laughing in amazement, she lifted her hand and waved to him as he made his way over. He was wearing his work clothes: dress slacks and a crisp, blue cotton shirt, though he’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He was smiling too, but as he got closer she realised it wasn’t directed at her.

  ‘Mika!’ he said, drawing the other man into an embrace and clapping him on the back. ‘My old friend.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Luna asked delightedly.

  ‘I thought I would surprise you,’ Stefan said, bending down to kiss her. His eyes, however, were still locked with Mika’s. Mika, whose face was now a study in Finnish blankness.

  ‘Good to see you, Stefan,’ he said, deftly handing Luna her third shot of the evening and lifting his in salute. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ He downed his shot and ran the back of his hand along his mouth and for a brief moment Luna became a mind-reader, hearing quite clearly the thought he was sending Stefan’s way: Thirsty work, this.

  The smile faded from her lips as she looked first at Mika, then at Stefan. Suddenly, the real purpose of Stefan’s visit was becoming clearer to her. Eyes blazing, she shoved her shot into his hand and said, ‘Here. Have mine.’ Then turned on her heel, walking away from them both.

  At first, Luna flew blind, wading through the thrall of people around the bar, a hot current of anger propelling her forward. But then she passed Liv coming the other way and the Norwegian woman hissed something at her – ‘Toss,’ it sounded like – and flounced off toward the ladies loo.

  Luna ground to a halt. She didn’t need a Norwegian–English dictionary to guess at what ‘toss’ meant. Turning on her heel for the second time in as many minutes, she stalked in Liv’s wake, entering the loo and locking the door behind her.

  Liv was standing in front of a small mirror over the only sink, reapplying her red lipstick. Her eyes met Luna’s in the mirror and she whirled around in surprise.

  ‘You have something to say to me?’ Luna asked quietly.

  Liv flushed, then replied coolly, ‘No.’

  ‘I think you do,’ Luna said, leaning back against the bathroom door as if to say, I have all night.

  Liv turned back to the sink, flicking on the tap and running her hands under it. Playing for time.

  There was a knock on the door and Luna shouted, ‘Use the gents. We’re going to be a while,’ to the sound of muffled grumbles outside. Liv looked at her in the mirror, realised she wasn’t getting out of this, and turned off the tap, reaching for a hand towel in the basket under the sink.

  ‘It isn’t enough for you English girls,’ she said, drying her hands, ‘that you have one man. You have to have all the men. Every man you see, you have to have them all.’

  Her upper lip curled at these last words and Luna experienced a sensation she hadn’t felt in a long time, like a tuning fork being struck next to her ear. ‘Ah, I see,’ she nodded, a thin layer of frost forming over her eyes, ‘You want me to share. You should have said…’

  Exactly one minute and twelve seconds later, Luna emerged from the loo. Nodding genially to the queue of women waiting, she said, ‘She’s finished now,’ and went off to search for Dagmar.

  She found her boss sitting alone at a table in the corner of the bar, nursing another glass of red wine. Luna sat opposite her and got straight to the point: ‘What’s the deal between Stefan and Mika?’

  She realised then just how drunk Dagmar was by her laughable attempt to cast her features into an expression of innocent incomprehension. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Dagmar said, entirely unconvincingly.

  ‘Uh huh,’ Luna said, rolling her hand in a get-on-with-it motion. ‘You brought Mika here for a reason, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yesh,’ Dagmar slurred. ‘He ish talented man.’

  ‘Yes, and…?’

  ‘And he ish friend of mine.’

  ‘And of Stefan’s too, right?’ Luna said. ‘Only, it looks to me like they have a bit of a strange friendship.’

  ‘They are a little… competitive,’ Dagmar allowed. She took a gulp of her red wine and Luna briefly contemplated confiscating her glass. Instead, she gave the Swedish woman a hard look and Dagmar added reluctantly, ‘With shport, with career… with women…’

  ‘A little competitive,’ Luna repeated.

  ‘There was a friend of ours, Ashtrid. She dated Mika, then Shtefan shtole her away from him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that Astrid gets around,’ Luna remarked incredulously, shaking her head. ‘So, the two of them compete for women, is that what you’re saying?’

  Dagmar looked up at the ceiling, clearly wishing she was someplace else.

  ‘And you brought Mika here.’ Luna shook her head again, this time slowly, with a measure of distaste. Placing her hands on the table, she rose and stared down at Dagmar, who was by now looking thoroughly miserable.

  Stefan was standing at the bar talking to Magnus as Luna made her way back to the function room to collect her laptop and jumper. Mika, meanwhile, was sitting at a table with Britta perched on his knee, his assignment as mischief-maker-in-chief clearly having reached a successful conclusion.

  Luna was just getting ready to turn out the lights in the function room when Stefan entered, pint in hand.

  ‘I’m going home,’ she said.

  Stefan made a show of looking at his watch and Luna saw red, walking up to him and jabbing her finger in his chest.

  ‘You aren’t here to surprise me,’ she said furiously. ‘You’re here to check up on me, aren’t you?’

  Stefan gave not an inch, enquiring smoothly, ‘Why do you ask? Do you think I need to check up on you?’

  She had to stop herself from screaming at him in frustration. Waving her hand toward the bar, she fumed, ‘Dagmar’s been telling me about the little “friendly competition” between you and Mika.’

  ‘Only,’ Stefan continued, casually ignoring her, ‘I’ve just walked into a bar to find my girlfriend in another man’s arms.’

  ‘Oh, you bloody— don’t you dare. Don’t you dare accuse me of—’ Luna said, at which point she was interrupted by the sound of Magnus clearing his throat in the doorway.

  ‘Jus t’ought du should know,’ he said cheerily. ‘Dat Swedish wumman is spewin out front.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Stefan was driving his rental car slowly through the thick fog while Luna sat in the back seat with a prostrate Dagmar. Their argument continued unabated.

  ‘You couldn’t have just told me what Mika was like, could you?’ Luna was saying. ‘Oh no, it was all, “You will like him, Luna,” and, “He’s just Finnish, Luna.”’

  ‘You wanted a warning?’ Stefan laughed sarcastically, bending over the steering wheel, peering out into the fog. ‘I’d like to hear how that conversation would have gone. “Just so you know, Luna, Mika might try to get you into bed. He’s an attractive fellow, so, you know, watch out for yourself.”’

  At this, Dagmar, who was slumped against the car door, began to make gagging noises and Stefan said ominously, ‘I swear to God, if she’s sick in this car…’

  Pulling swiftly to the side of the road, he glared at Luna in the rear-view mirror as she hurriedly exited the car and ran around to Dagmar’s side, dragging her into the nearby grass. Kneeling next to Dagmar, rubbing her shoulders, Luna heard Stefan get out of the car and turned to see him leaning against the bonnet, half obscured by fog. He said something in Swedish she couldn’t quite catch, clearly directed at Dagmar.

  In response, Dagmar groaned and heaved, moaning, ‘Förlåt mig.’

  ‘Ah, now she wants forgiveness,’ Stefan said. ‘Maybe next time you try to seduce another man’s woman, you don’t hire Don Juan as your assistant, eh? Eh, Dagmar?’

  Luna had to practically carry Dagmar into the house, Stefan refusing point blank to help. She got her undressed and into bed, was on the receiving end of a few parting förlåt migs herself, then
walked to the kitchen, where Stefan was sitting at the table drinking Mika’s good whiskey.

  Luna placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘Anything to say for yourself?’

  To which Stefan lifted his glass and tilted it toward the top of the fridge, where Luna’s motorcycle helmet and Mika’s new red helmet were sitting side by side.

  ‘Have you,’ he asked quietly, ‘been taking Mika out on your bike?’

  He caught her off guard with that one. A brief, guilty image of Mika’s chest pressed against her back and his hand resting on her stomach flitted through her mind and Luna involuntarily bit her lip.

  Only to hear Dagmar, back out in the hall, moaning, ‘Luna…’ Saved by the drunk! She turned and walked back out into the hall to find her boss staggering, stark naked, in her direction. Luna was just about to guide her back to her room when Dagmar opened her mouth. And projectile vomited all over her.

  It took some time, with no help from either Stefan or Dagmar, to clean her up, get her back to bed, then mop and disinfect the hall. She was in no mood to talk to Stefan by the time she returned to the kitchen. Standing in front of the washing machine, she started peeling off her clothes, breathing through her mouth.

  ‘Really?’ came Stefan’s voice behind her as she lowered her skirt to the floor. ‘These are the knickers you wear for a business event, when your boyfriend is seven hundred miles away?’

  Gritting her teeth, Luna stripped off said knickers and threw them in with the rest of the wash, switching on the machine and walking out of the room without another word.

  She spent a half-hour in the shower, running it as hot as she dared, inundating the bathroom with steam. When she was finished, she wrapped a towel around herself and stomped up the stairs to her room.

  If Stefan thought she was going to come beg his forgiveness, well, he could Fuck. Right. Off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  An hour she lay in bed, waiting for him to come up. An hour of tossing and turning, running their argument through her head again and again, concluding each time that it was she who had been wronged, him whose behaviour was completely outrageous.