Chapter 2
Tara had never visited Skye, and as she drove across the bridge which connected the mainland to the island, she felt apprehensive. On paper (or rather, on the internet) the castle and the craft centre looked absolutely perfect. But looks and photos could be deceiving, and she prayed she wasn’t about to be disappointed.
With the best part of another hour to go before she reached the village of Duncoorie and its castle, she settled into the drive to enjoy the scenery. For some of the way, the road skirted the eastern edge of the island, with the incredibly blue sea to her right and views of the smaller islands of Scalpay and Raasay.
She passed isolated houses and small hamlets, and there were so many motor homes and caravans on the road that she lost count. Despite the castle’s website hinting at a thriving craft centre with a gift shop on site, Tara had wondered whether there would be much in the way of visitors. Not that a lack of footfall would affect her unduly, because she did all her business online, but it would nevertheless be nice to display her creations in the flesh, so to speak. And she might be interested in running a workshop or two once she’d settled in.
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Tara,’ she muttered, her words whipped away by the breeze from the half-open window.
The weather was unseasonably warm for May, and her little car’s air conditioning had never worked properly. Her blouse clung stickily to her back and she couldn’t wait to park up and get out. She debated whether to have a quick pit stop in Portree to check out the town but decided against it. There would be time enough to have a look around if she managed to secure the studio. She’d want to scout around the estate agents and see what was for sale. Tara had looked online yesterday after she’d received the reply to her email, but it had only been a quick look because she’d been too busy selecting samples to bring along to her meeting this morning. Although she’d sent them a few photos of her work, there was nothing like seeing it in person, and she hoped they would be impressed. After all, both Tara and Miss Gray, who owned the castle and who she was meeting this morning, had to be convinced that they were a suitable match for each other.
Tara was forty-five minutes early for her eleven thirty appointment, but she didn’t mind. Better to be too early than too late, and it would give her the chance to take a look around the place beforehand.
After parking in the ample car park, she clambered stiffly out and cricked her neck from side to side. The five-hour drive from Edinburgh to Skye had felt more like ten, and she’d been on the road since half past five this morning.
Thirsty and in need of a wee, Tara gazed around to get her bearings. If anything, the location was even more stunning than in the photographs.
Perched on a hill above a loch with the open sea in the distance and a backdrop of impressive peaks, the castle proudly rose out of the rock to tower over the landscape, white and gleaming in the morning sun. Its mullioned windows glinted and glittered, and a flag fluttered from the top of a crenellated turret.
Tara was impressed. It was grander than she’d envisaged, and she couldn’t wait to see inside. But first, she needed to find a loo and then have a coffee, followed by a quick delve into the gift shop.
A wooden signpost indicated the way to the cafe, which was cutely called Coorie and Cuppa, ‘coorie’ being the old Scots word meaning to snuggle or to be cosy – much like the Scandinavian word ‘hygge’. The cafe certainly lived up to its name, she discovered, when she went inside and saw the squashy sofas, the wooden beams in the ceiling, the fairy lights, and the most gorgeously mouthwatering selection of cakes and pastries.
Maybe she would treat herself to a spot of lunch after her meeting, but for now she’d have a quick coffee, then go and explore. She already knew from her research that the individual studios, the cafe and the gift shop had been converted from the castle’s extensive outbuildings, and she was keen to have a look around.
Almost scalding her mouth on the seriously good coffee, she gulped it down and then hurried into the gift shop.
Oh, this is simply lovely , she thought, gazing around in delight.
The shop was full of the most wonderful handmade items: silver jewellery, driftwood sculptures, stained glass ornaments, needle-felted figures and quilts, and Tara could easily imagine how well her doll’s houses would fit in.
Tingling in anticipation, she went back outside. With fifteen minutes to go until her appointment, she just about had time to check out the rest of the set-up.
The craft centre was laid out at right-angles, with a courtyard in the middle, and the gift shop and the cafe occupying the corner where the two sides met. To either side of them lay the individual studios. Some were quite small – the one where the silver jewellery was made, for instance – but others were larger. The largest by far was the glass-blowing studio, and she lingered for a moment, watching a guy rolling a long stick with a blob of white-hot glass on the end back and forth over the edge of a wooden bench.
It was fascinating and she would have liked to have stayed longer, but she was conscious of the time. Besides, there was one more thing she wanted to do before she made her way to the castle’s main entrance, and that was to take a look at the empty studio, if she could.
It was easy to find, being the only one whose door was locked, whose lights were off and whose window was empty. Cupping her hands around her eyes, Tara peered through the window.
Bigger inside than it first appeared, she was relieved to see that there would be plenty of space to display her little houses, as well as sufficient room in which to construct them.
Having seen enough and with five minutes to spare, she hurried back to the car to fetch the wee house she’d brought with her, along with some of the miniatures. Then she made her way to the castle’s main entrance and went inside.
At the far end of a wide wood-panelled hall was a reception desk, and as she walked over to it, she couldn’t help being impressed by the sweeping staircase, the crystal chandelier, the portraits on the walls and the coat of arms, as well as a couple of large tapestries. The castle smelt of beeswax and old money, and she bet it cost a fortune to run.
‘Hi, I’m here to see Miss Gray,’ Tara announced, balancing the corner of the large box on the desk and smiling at the woman manning the desk. ‘I’ve got an appointment at eleven thirty.’
‘Tara McTaigh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Great, I’ll let her know you’ve arrived. One second, please.’ The woman briefly spoke into the phone, while Tara hovered anxiously.
This place was even grander than she’d thought, and after seeing the craft centre she was even more keen on securing the studio. It was perfect, exactly what she’d been looking for.
‘I’ll take you through,’ the woman said, and as she got to her feet, Tara spotted a name badge: Avril.
‘Do you need any help with that?’ Avril asked, nodding at the box.
Tara shook her head. ‘I can manage, thanks.’ She might be short, but she was stronger than she looked.
Following the receptionist, she was led across the hall and into one magnificent room after another through a series of interconnecting doors, and soon she was thoroughly lost. Wondering whether she’d be able to find her way out again, she was relieved to be shown into a small sitting room.
‘Here we are,’ Avril announced. ‘This is Tara McTaigh.’
‘Thank you,’ Tara muttered absently as she took in the tall, thin woman standing in front of her.
‘You can put that down over there, my dear,’ Miss Gray said, pointing to a substantial desk in the corner underneath a window.
Tara did as she was instructed, then turned to offer her hand. Miss Gray took it, her handshake surprisingly firm for a woman who, Tara guessed, was somewhere around eighty years old. She’d expected someone younger.
‘Thank you for inviting me,’ Tara said. ‘I’ve brought some pieces to show you, if you’d like to see them?’
‘In a minute, dear. Let’s have a chat first. Take a seat.’
Tara sat on one of the two sofas.
‘Tea?’ the old lady asked. ‘I’m having a cup.’
‘I’d love one, thanks.’
Miss Gray pressed a buzzer and Avril reappeared. ‘Could you ask Cook if she would mind making a pot of tea?’
Miss Gray had a cook ? Tara wondered how many more staff the castle housed. Quite a few probably, because she knew from trawling through the website that it was also a hotel. But ‘Cook’ sounded very Downton Abbey -ish.
‘Tara… May I call you Tara?’
‘Please do.’
Miss Gray beamed at her. ‘And you can call me Mhairi. How old are you, Tara?’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘Married?’
‘No.’ Tara backtracked. ‘I mean, I am, but not for much longer. The decree nisi should be winging its way towards me as we speak.’
‘I’m so sorry, dear.’
Tara sighed. ‘I’m not. It’s been over for a while.’ More than a while, if she was honest. Her marriage had been on the rocks for the past three years and had totally sunk by the time Dougie announced that he wanted a divorce.
‘Children?’
‘No.’
Mhairi nodded thoughtfully, her bright blue eyes fixed on Tara. The questioning was interrupted by Avril’s arrival with a tray, but it resumed as soon as she left. ‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk, please.’
‘Have you always lived in Edinburgh?’
‘No, I’m from Glasgow originally.’
Mhairi handed Tara a cup and saucer and Tara took it carefully, trying to hold the saucer steady so it didn’t rattle. It was china, the porcelain so fine it was almost translucent.
‘How long have you been making doll’s houses?’
A smile crept across Tara’s face. ‘About ten years.’
‘You’ve had plenty of time to hone your craft,’ Mhairi said, with a dip of her head. ‘I must say, I was impressed with your photos. And your website. Tell me, could you recreate Coorie Castle?’
Tara took her time answering before she said, ‘I could , but it wouldn’t be easy.’
‘Nothing worthwhile ever is. Biscuit?’
‘No, thank you.’ Tara hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time. It was like being grilled by a head teacher after being sent to stand outside their office for misbehaving.
Mhairi was relentless. ‘Why Coorie Castle?’
‘Aside from the vacant studio, the location is gorgeous, you’ve got a fair number of visitors for a Tuesday morning, and the range of crafts is excellent.’
‘So this is purely a business decision for you?’
‘Not entirely. It has to feel right.’
‘And does it?’ Mhairi peered over her spectacles.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. You can show me what’s in that box now.’
Tara had chosen one of the smaller doll’s houses to bring with her. It was a commercial piece, not a bespoke one, but she’d given it the same attention to detail as she did to her commissioned ones. This wasn’t a toy for a child, this was a doll’s house for an adult who had been bitten by the doll’s house bug but was just starting out. Tara referred to it as a ‘starter home’ in her head.
She’d also brought with her a selection of some of her finest, more intricate pieces of bedroom furniture to go in it. Keen to show them off, Tara carefully removed the house from the box, conscious of Mhairi peering over her shoulder.
‘How delightful!’ the old lady cried. ‘This takes me back to my girlhood. I did love playing with my little house.’
‘I think that’s part of the allure,’ Tara replied, unwrapping each model and putting it next to the house. ‘Even if you didn’t have one as a child, you probably wanted one.’
As Tara had hoped, Mhairi couldn’t resist picking up a tiny bed and placing it in one of the upstairs rooms. This house was very typical and rather basic in design, with a central doorway, windows on either side, and a front opening. It also had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room.
Untypically, Tara hadn’t brought enough furniture for the whole house. She’d brought four different styles of beds, several wardrobes, a selection of rugs, some nightstands, and a few pairs of curtains.
She wanted Mhairi to see how much fun could be had by changing the look of just one room. Tara’s bread and butter was designing and creating the interior pieces. Her jam was her ability to recreate someone’s beloved flat, house, bungalow or garden shed in exquisite detail.
Her most recent project had been an old mill. The new owners were converting it into living accommodation but had wanted a 3D reminder of it in its original state.
Tara had thoroughly enjoyed the challenge, even down to the millstones and empty bags of flour. Her clients had been delighted.
Mhairi was engrossed in rearranging and replacing the furniture, exclaiming over how changing just one rug could alter the look of the room. She was having so much fun that Tara didn’t want to interrupt, so she moved aside and examined the old lady without being observed.
Coiffured white hair framed a lean wrinkled face, and high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes hinted at the beauty she might have possessed in her youth. Taller than Tara’s five foot one by at least six inches, Mhairi was slim and held herself erect. She was dressed immaculately in a lavender-coloured twin set and a navy plaid skirt. She wore court shoes on her feet, a gold locket around her neck, and a diamond ring on her right hand.
Finally Mhairi grew tired of playing with the doll’s house and turned to face her. ‘I think you’ll fit in very well,’ she said. ‘Very well, indeed. Shall we talk business?’ She indicated a return to the sofa, and Tara resumed her seat.
Folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking, Tara tried hard to contain her delight.
‘I shall ask Avril to prepare a rental contract,’ Mhairi said, reaching for the phone. ‘Shall we say from next Monday? Or from the first of next month?’
‘I don’t mind. Whatever suits you.’ Tara was wincing inside at having to pay rent on a studio she mightn’t be able to use for a couple of months, but if that meant securing it, she would simply have to bite the bullet. ‘I won’t be moving in for a while though, as I’ve got to sell my house in Edinburgh first before I can buy a place on Skye.’
Mhairi’s eyes widened, before her expression fell. ‘But that could take months.’
‘I know, but don’t worry, I can afford to pay the rent until I’m ready to move.’
‘Paying the rent isn’t my concern. Having a studio empty for more than a couple of weeks, is.’
‘I see.’ Tara frantically considered her options and concluded that the only viable one was to move into rented accommodation on the island until the Edinburgh house was sold and she received her half. Money would be tight for a while, but she had some savings to fall back on. ‘No problem,’ she declared cheerfully. ‘I’ll find a place to rent nearby.’
Mhairi pursed her lips. ‘I think you’ll find there’s a distinct lack of properties to rent on the island, unless one is a tourist and only looking for a holiday let. However, I do have a solution. There’s an empty cottage on the estate I intend to rent out to visiting artists and crafters who want more of a self-catering experience instead of staying in the castle itself. The renovations are almost complete – it used to be a boathouse – but it should be ready to move into in a week or so. Would that suit you?’
Wouldn’t it just!
‘That would be brilliant, thank you.’
‘Would you like to see it?’ Mhairi began to get up.
‘No, it’s fine.’ Tara had no doubt that the standard of the cottage would be as good as the rest of the castle and she was eager to return to Edinburgh and begin packing. There was so much to do, and she couldn’t wait to get started.
The sooner all the loose ends in Edinburgh were tied up, the sooner she could embrace her new life in Coorie Castle.