Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  Caitlin’s mouth rippled—it was the thing she did when she didn’t agree with you but accepted you meant what you said. “I’m twenty-one. And a stupid Instagram star. Who’s gonna care?”

  He loved her, really. Despite everything, Caitlin knew what she was and didn’t mistake herself for anything else.

  “I can’t write it,” she said. “I didn’t even graduate high school. And I don’t want any old dude doing it.”

  “Too right. You need someone who understands every fibre of your being, right?”

  She nodded slowly. “Do you know someone who can do it?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’ll pass on the contact details.”

  She fired up the engine. “Okay, if that’s the boring work stuff done with, let’s hit the beach. I’ll even buy you an ice-cream.”

  CHAPTER 14

  By the time she got back to the flat, Katya’s breath came in gasps. The caller had left a message, and she listened to it while letting herself into the flat, jaw dropping open as she battled overwhelming disappointment and stunned disbelief. Did she really want to call back?

  She played the message again.

  “Katya, Hiiiiiiiiiii! Hey, you don’t know me, but this is Caitlin Cartier here.”

  Cute, telling Katya she didn’t know the caller. Everyone in the world knew Caitlin Cartier. If they didn’t, they lived in a remote village in the Scottish Highlands and never ventured online. But then, everyone here knew Caitlin anyway, seeing as she’d turned up at their Highland Games and displayed far more flesh than was wise to do anywhere north of London.

  “My agent wants me to do my autobiography,” the message continued, “and Dexie said you’re the best writer in the world. He’s the greatest, isn’t he? So, anyway, can you call me back and we can talk about it? M’wah, m’wah!!!!!!”

  When she’d listened to the message the first time, the unexpected offer took all her attention. Now, she zoned in on what Caitlin said about Dexter. “He’s the greatest, isn’t he?” Greatest what? Recommender of people for jobs? Marketing manager a gal could have? Or, and this was the most likely, boyfriend? The thought made her hot and cold. She had to stand at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes taking deep breaths in and out to process it. What if Caitlin wittered on and on about him when Katya phoned? She might even—shudder—ask for advice.

  “Hey, you’re his ex, right? Can you pass me on any tips? I dunno what to get him for Christmas and I’ve only got $50,0000 to spend on him.”

  Any hopes that Mhari might stay behind in the pub were soon quashed. She hadn’t run back like Katya had, but she opened the front door seconds later and squeezed herself in beside Katya. The two of them stood facing each other across the tiny landing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Someone important, then?”

  “It’s not Dexter, if that’s what you’re asking,” Katya said flatly. “Um... I’ve got to make a work call? An important one?”

  Hint dropped and ignored, Mhari marched up the stairs ahead of her. “Go ahead. Don’t mind me.”

  So much for the ‘work call’ description putting her off. Anything that hinted at secrecy and confidentiality set Mhari’s finely tuned news radars flickering from side to side. Katya moved toward her bedroom.

  “The reception’s better in here,” Mhari called out as she headed for the living room, something they were both aware of.

  Oh well. Katya might as well make the call in front of her. It was that or have Mhari listening in outside her bedroom door.

  “Are you going to put the phone on speaker, then?”

  Katya sat down. “No, it’s a private conversation—or as private as you can have when your intrusive-as-hell flatmate refuses to leave the room.”

  Mhari pouted. “I’ll do the washing up for a week. And I’ll tidy this place up too.”

  That made the two of them take in their surroundings. Katya had drawn up a rota when they first moved in, the sheet pinned to the cork-board in the kitchen by now curled up and marked with unidentifiable stains. She was the tidier of the two, but neither of them had taken the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard yet.

  “You’d better. And you are not to make a single, solitary sound when I make this call, right?”

  Mhari mimed zipping her mouth shut, and Katya placed her phone on the table.

  “I’m going to be talking to Caitlin Cartier.”

  Wise to warn Mhari in advance—otherwise she might shriek too loudly when she heard the tiny one’s American drawl and ruin Katya’s reputation as a professional. Or as someone too cool for school who routinely took calls from celebrities.

  “Oh aye! D’ye think she wants tips on what Dexter likes in bed?”

  “No!” Katya gritted her teeth. Trust Mhari to repeat what she’d worried about earlier but make it a thousand times worse. “She wants to talk to me about doing some ghost-writing for her. Say nothing, nothing at all.”

  Her intrusive-as-hell flatmate mimed the mouth-zipping thing once more.

  “And turn your phone to silent. That wretched thing bleeps all the time.”

  Instructions obeyed by her flatmate, Katya rang the number, crossing her fingers Caitlin wouldn’t take up too much of her time. Her phone package wasn’t generous.

  “Caitlin? It’s Katya.”

  “Hiiiiiiiiiiii!!!! So excited you phoned me back!” Caitlin’s voice boomed out, that instantly recognisable Texan twang even more surreal as it came from a phone rather than the TV. She yelled at someone in the background and the thump of gangster rap cut out.

  “You want me to write your autobiography?”

  “Totes!” More conversation in the background. Caitlin must be another one of those multi-taskers. Phone conversations, in-real-life chats, dancing to rap music, muscling in on ex-boyfriends and—and going to the loo too, judging by the flushing sound.

  “My agent’s been badgering me for ages. Felicity Medina at Edmund Morris & Co?”

  Ah, it all began to make sense. That meeting in London weeks ago and the hint at the big name. It still astounded Katya that the agency had picked her—an unknown. She had Madeline to thank. And she and Katya were now exchanging regular messages. The woman took her mentoring responsibilities seriously. She passed on details of prospective clients all the time, suggesting approaches that might persuade them to take her on board. Katya had landed five new accounts thanks to her.

  Funnily enough, when Katya had tried to look Madeline up, she found very little about her. Her Gmail account featured a small head-and-shoulders pic—a smart, attractive woman in her 50s, Katya guessed, but there was little else online. Even the recruitment company she owned didn’t have details of its staff.

  “I’m old-fashioned, honey,” she emailed back when Katya asked. “And I get most of my business through word of mouth.”

  “I want someone I connect with, y’know?” Caitlin put in now. “It’s important to me that person understands every fibre of my being.”

  Katya swallowed, stifling a fit of giggles as Mhari curled her lip and mimed a rude gesture. How on earth had Caitlin hit on the idea that she and Katya had anything in common?

  “Dexie tells me you’re the best, most amazing writer in the world.”

  Was the hyperbole his or Caitlin’s? Katya liked it anyway. Or did until another thought popped up. Most amazing writer but not good enough girlfriend, Caity-waity...

  “And, y’know, people can be mean,” Caitlin continued. “I want to prove my haters wrong—a book that touches everyone. Shows I’m just an ordinary girl who put her head down and worked hard but who just wants to help people with her super-cool skincare and make-up.”

  Mhari pretended to vomit and Katya felt her mouth twitch again.

  “I have all these ideas you can write about—starting with my humble beginnings.”

  Humble beginnings? When the accident of birth put someone into an already wealthy family who then became wealthier thanks to the mother’s idea to beam their lives into everyone�
��s homes? Humble wasn’t the word Katya would choose.

  “And you can write stuff about my early life on television.”

  Caitlin had been a TV star for the last eight years. People knew when she’d started her periods, for heaven’s sake. Katya doubted she could add anything new there.

  “My struggles with fame.”

  Mhari mimed playing a violin and Katya coughed to choke off more laughter before it escaped.

  “And then when I created Blissful Beauty—why it’s so important to me that my company is cruelty-free, suitable for vegans, affordable and full of products I use. Every. Single. Day.”

  Not true. Dexter once admitted Caitlin never used her own stuff. She preferred creams that cost upwards of $500, Chanel make-up, injectable lip fillers, Vampire facials and Photo-shop stroke filters for every picture she or her team posted on Instagram.

  By this point, Mhari lay on the floor doing what looked like the dying fly act. The sooner this call ended the better. The giggles gathered in Katya’s stomach, threatening to make themselves known to the caller at any moment. And so far, thank goodness, no mention of Dexter the might-be boyfriend.

  Alas, the conversation that followed killed off the giggles and replaced them with ghastliness. She got through it grateful Mhari was there. At least her presence stopped Katya breaking down into a tearful tantrum. Before the giggles and the ghastliness combined and exploded, she leapt in with the practicalities.

  “And the money?”

  The conversation ground to an abrupt halt—someone incredibly rich battling with the unfamiliar idea that other people needed money.

  “Yeah, you met with Edmund Morris & Co, yeah?” Caitlin whispered something to someone. “They said what they’d give you as an advance?”

  When she’d taken her first ghost-writing job—the one that didn’t result a book but nevertheless got her this contract—a later examination of the contract revealed all the royalties went to the celebrity. She only got the advance. It didn’t matter as the book never surfaced, but Katya vowed never to make the same mistake. She pressed her phone to record the rest of the conversation so she would have evidence.

  “And a percentage of the royalties?” she said. Verbal agreements might not count but it was worth a try.

  Mhari nodded sagely and mouthed ‘10 percent’ at her—double what Katya had been going to suggest.

  “Ten percent.”

  “Yeah, fine. Ten percent.” Caitlin’s instant response made Katya and Mhari screw their faces up. They should have asked for twenty.

  She hung up, promising her agent/lawyer/perhaps even her mum would be in touch to sort out the ‘deets’.

  “Wow,” Mhari said. She held up her hand for a high five, and Katya smacked it back, adding her thanks for the negotiation help.

  “What are royalties anyway?”

  Churning emotions aside—the prospect of writing the autobiography of the person who appeared to be her ex’s new girlfriend—Katya loved how Mhari had upped the fees without knowing what she was talking about.

  “A percentage of the sales of each book. Every time one sells, I get 10 percent of it.”

  “I wouldnae buy it,” Mhari said, giving up on supportive mate mode. “But plenty o’ eejits will. Mebbe a million folks? And if it’s priced £10, say, that means...”

  Arithmetic, it turned out, didn’t figure in either of their skill sets. The minutes ticked by as they tried to work it out.

  “A lot,” Katya said finally. “Enough to buy a house outright, I’d say.”

  “Is that so?” Mhari’s face lit up. “And your first tenant will be me. Paying mates’ rates rent too, i.e. nothing. What do ye reckon?”

  CHAPTER 15

  Zac appeared at their door the following week. Mhari opened the door, her delighted cry of “Katya! Somebody at the door for ye!” a giveaway it wasn’t Gaby.

  “Thanks for the articles you wrote for me. They’re brilliant,” he said when she came to the door. He’d opted for tight jeans and a thick fleece, replacing the usual scruffy chinos and hoodie. The denim clung to his thighs and... bottom. Katya did her best not to focus there. I do not fall for someone just because they have a bottom I could take a bite out of.

  “Tonight’s the Hogmanay Ceilidh committee meeting, right?”

  Behind Katya, Mhari hovered. Not even a re-run of the Game of Thrones Season 8 finale could distract her from the possibility of real-life drama.

  “Can I come with you to the meeting?” Zac said, blue eyes doing their twinkly thing. “You’ve already got an in with the locals. People like you.”

  They did? Katya wasn’t so sure. People like her friend Gaby made friends quickly wherever they ended up—her openness and bright, bubbly personality attractive on so many levels. Katya was more of a slow burn.

  “If I come with you and outline the plans for my business, they’re more likely to listen and agree,” he added.

  Or they saw Katya as part of his plans. And didn’t like either of them.

  Mhari butted forward, squeezing beside Katya in the door frame. “Aye, aye? And what are your plans, Mr Flashy Car Posh English?”

  Katya couldn’t have put it better herself.

  “Astonishing things, Mhari.” It only took him a second to two to recover. His eyes met Katya’s, not conspiratorial, but pleading this time. He turned back to Mhari. “Why don’t you come along to the meeting too. Then you can find out for yourself what I’m going to do.”

  Mhari flung up her hands in horror. “No! I’m not a saddo. And anyway, I’ve got four Tinder chats on the go and Game of Thrones so I’m too busy.”

  Tinder chats?

  “Let me see!” Katya held out a hand for her phone, but Mhari whisked it behind her back. Cheek of her. Nosiness was a one-way street as far as her flatmate was concerned.

  Outside, Zac fidgeted—part two steps forward, one step backward. Nerves? Funny how he veered from OTT confidence to vulnerability, and Katya found the nervousness one hundred percent more appealing than the Mr Flashy Car Posh English persona. But if he was to talk to the villagers about his brand-new business, she hoped that he’d be able to turn on the well-practised charm.

  “Thanks for this, Katya,” he said. “Did you get the money for the articles? I paid it straight into your account.”

  She stopped outside the library. Lochalshie’s community library, the setting for this evening’s meeting, was in the middle of the High Street incongruously disguised as a house, like many of the public buildings in the village, so it blended in.

  “Yes, I did. A pleasure doing business with you, sir.

  True. A client who paid straight away went to the top of the Christmas card list.

  “A pleasure?” That wolf-like grin again. “That’s my mission, you know—pleasuring you.”

  “Oh, sod off,” she said, pushing past him. Hadn’t she told him she much preferred the non-flirty guy?

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said, hurrying after her. “But it’s true.”

  Dating Zac, the pros and cons. Pros—he was right here. No snatched dates and no tiny reality TV stars providing competition for his attention. A big, big plus. He was smart, funny and when he dropped the alpha-male persona, appealing.

  Cons. Still to explain what she’d found out about him online. And did that alpha-male thing follow him round all the time, waiting to leap out? Who was the real Zac? Perhaps those glimpses of vulnerability he gave her weren’t genuine. He could have read up on the male equivalent of Kirsty,’s dreadful dating website, The Dating Guru.

  “Guys! Pretend to cry sometimes. Or say something about you past that makes you sound as if you’ve suffered. Women LOVE that. They’ll be opening their legs for you in no time!”

  Huh. Imaginary advice or no, Katya decided she needed further evidence. And when crunch time came, she’d be the one asking Zac out. On her terms.

  CHAPTER 16

  Inside the library was far more spacious than it looked from outside. The main area was l
ined with shelves labelled crime, romance, thrillers and non-fiction. A mezzanine floor housed the section for children and young adults, and a room packed with computers for the public to use was at the back. A small room with a table doubled up as the space used for village meetings.

  Dr McLatchie had appointed herself the organiser of the Hogmanay Ceilidh and parked herself at the head of the table. She nodded at Katya and Zac, and told everyone to sit down and make themselves comfortable. Space was at a premium in the committee room, and Zac sat too close to Katya, his thigh next to hers radiating red-hot heat.

  Gaby breezed in a few minutes later, breathless with apologies for being late. When Jack sidled in after her, Katya swallowed back the old green monster once more. It’s been too long, too long since I last did this. Gaby’s top was inside out and her cheeks flushed. Katya pinched her friend’s arm and muttered about her top. Gaby’s mouth rounded in an ‘o’ of dismay, and she reached behind her neck to tuck the top’s label in.

  Jolene joined them, the pipe major, a man introduced as Big Donnie (the nickname literal) and a woman called Laney Haggerty who ran a nearby horse-riding school. Most of them glared at Zac, who did his best to disarm them with his friendliest smile. Everyone ignored the smile, studying the agenda in front of them instead.

  “Katya,” the doctor said, “you’re the writer, aye?”

  Here it came—the bit where a small committee with no budget asked her to do press releases and articles on websites. Oh well. It might improve her standing in the village.

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. You can dae the minutes, then.”

  Ah. She got out her notepad and prepared to take plenty of notes.

  The Hogmanay Ceilidh had begun life as a dance in an old barn, the ‘tables’ bales of straw, the heating provided by braziers—risky with all that straw—and the food provided by the farmers’ wives all competing to supply the best soup/stovies/shortbread.

  As this year’s Lochalshie Highland Games in the summer had taken on legendary status, the stakes for the Hogmanay ceilidh were raised.