Surprises on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #1)

Chapter 9

It had been a long and fraught week, so when Friday finally arrived Tara was more than ready for a visit to the pub later that evening. She prayed Cal wouldn’t be there.

Hoping to find out, Tara popped along to the gift shop, ostensibly to check the stock levels on her stand, but in reality she wanted to ask Jinny who was going, and she was relieved when his name wasn’t mentioned. Maybe he didn’t fraternise with the staff.

However, she couldn’t resist mentioning him herself, albeit in a roundabout way, her desire to know more about him as difficult to curb and as painful as the habit of probing at a sore tooth with a tongue.

‘Calan’s daughter is lovely,’ she began, her face averted as she examined the packets of miniatures on the stand. ‘How old is she?’

‘Nine, the same age as my eldest, Katie.’

Tara felt sick. The child must have been born not long after Cal had got married. He hadn’t wasted any time, had he?

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Jinny reminded her as Tara continued to fiddle with the stand.

‘I know, but I like to. It makes me feel good to see how well they’re selling.’ Her hands shook slightly and she hoped Jinny wouldn’t notice. ‘Bonnie wants to sign up for a doll’s house workshop, but I haven’t decided whether to run one yet.’

‘Give yourself time to settle in, you’ve only just got here.’

‘I know, but Bonnie wants me to hold one and…’ She trailed off, not sure where she was going with this.

‘And she’s the boss’s daughter?’

‘Um, yeah.’

‘Don’t worry, Cal won’t insist you run one.’

‘What is he like to work for?’

‘He’s the best! He used to be an assistant manager at some big estate near Inverness but,’ Jinny lowered her voice, ‘he moved here to be near Bonnie. He’s divorced. His ex – Yvaine – is from Skye originally and she came back to the island after they split up. Her mum and dad still live in the village.’

Something loosened in Tara’s chest at the news that he was no longer married. Yvaine had haunted her ever since she’d seen the photos Cal’s sister had posted online. Tara had scrutinised each and every one of them, over and over again, trying to read the expression in Calan’s eyes, comparing herself to Yvaine, and hating the woman who had unknowingly driven another nail in the coffin of Tara and Cal’s dead romance.

Tara wanted to ask more but didn’t see how she could, so she scurried back to her studio hoping she wouldn’t bump into him.

She’d managed to avoid him all week, although she’d caught the occasional glimpse that had sent her pulse soaring and tied her stomach into anxious knots. She couldn’t go on like this, though. Something would have to give. Maybe if she became more used to seeing him around, she wouldn’t have such an extreme reaction. What was it called…? Exposure therapy? Immersion therapy? Whatever, she had to learn to cope with his presence if she intended to remain at the craft centre.

It wouldn’t be so bad when she had a home of her own, because that could be anywhere within a reasonable commute to the castle (a house in Duncoorie would be ideal), but until then, she’d have to get used to Calan living a mere stone’s throw away. He was so close she could see his cottage from her bedroom window. Last night there’d been a light on at two thirty-five, and she’d lain there in the darkness knowing he was awake. It had taken her a long time to drift off to sleep.

Tara kept a keen eye out for Cal for the rest of the day, but if he’d ventured anywhere near her studio, she wasn’t aware of it, and neither did she see him when she returned to the boathouse to get ready to go out. She was looking forward to getting to know some of the other crafters better, and apart from the dash to the supermarket in Portree the day after she’d arrived, she hadn’t left the castle grounds.

The evening was warm, but Tara took a fleece with her in case the temperature dropped later. Although the loch was sheltered with hills rising steeply on either side, there was usually a breeze near the water, and with the village following the contours of the loch, she suspected the walk home might be fresh.

Duncoorie was only a fifteen-minute walk from the castle, and the pub was halfway along the main street, not far from the post office. It appeared to be busy, which wasn’t surprising considering this was the beginning of summer and the tourist season was in full swing.

Tara approached it hesitantly, hoping she wasn’t the first to arrive. Not recognising anyone sitting on the benches outside, she made her way indoors where she was met with delicious cooking smells, and her mouth watered as she realised how hungry she was. Her appetite hadn’t been great these past few days and although she’d made a meal every evening, she’d done little more than pick at it. The wine had taken a hammering, though.

The pub was noisy and full of people, but she recognised Jinny, and a woman called Giselle who made the most glorious pictures out of sea glass, and Fergus, the glassblower who was sitting with his brother Shane, so she made her way across the room. Smiling self-consciously when she reached them, she realised they’d commandeered two tables which they’d pushed together and had placed a variety of personal items on the chairs to secure them.

When Fergus noticed her, it took him a second to register who she was, and when he did he removed a jumper from the seat next to him. ‘Tara, isn’t it? We have met, but in case you don’t remember, I’m Fergus.’

When she told him she remembered and had admired his vases more than once, his face lit up. ‘It’s always nice to get some feedback,’ he said. ‘I love your wee houses, by the way.’

‘Thanks.’ She was about to ask what they were drinking and whether she could top up their glasses, when several others arrived, along with Gillian.

When Tara finally settled back into her chair with her drink, she was content to listen as the conversation ebbed and flowed around her, not feeling in the least bit left out as they chatted about people and events she had no knowledge of. But her ears pricked up when they talked about sales and the number of visitors to the castle and craft centre. She also listened avidly for any mention of Cal.

His name did crop up, but only in a professional capacity. His private life wasn’t discussed at all. Which was just as well, Tara decided, as her meal arrived and she tucked in with gusto. She’d ordered braised beef and it was absolutely delicious.

Conversation subsided while the meals were consumed, but gradually it resumed to its former level as the amount of food on the plates decreased. Another round of drinks also helped.

Replete and happier than she had been for most of this week, Tara’s anxiety began to fade. Everything would work out, she was convinced of it. So what if her ex-boyfriend ran the place – she didn’t have to have anything to do with him, did she? And if there was any contact between them, it would be to do with the studio. As long as she paid her rent on time, he didn’t need to bother her. She could handle it. The shock at seeing him again, had been just that: shock. And maybe some left over emotion caused by how badly he’d treated her and how broken her heart had been.

But it wasn’t broken now. She’d put herself back together by losing herself in her newfound love of doll’s houses and everything associated with them. Tara was determined that what had happened a decade ago would have no bearing on the present. She was an adult, a different person from the na?ve girl she had once been.

But the na?ve girl was still there, Tara abruptly discovered, when a casual glance at the bar revealed a familiar face that made her heart stop and her mouth go dry.

She swallowed and looked away, paying her empty plate far more attention than it deserved.

‘Are you all right?’ Jinny asked.

‘Pardon?’

‘You were frowning. Was everything OK with your meal, because if it wasn’t you should have said. They’re very good here, they would have sorted it for you.’

‘No, it was delicious. I just remembered something I have to do,’ she lied, as her skin tingled. A sixth sense told her Cal was close.

He was so close that he was standing at her elbow, and she imagined she could feel the heat of his skin and smell the aftershave he wore, as memory and reality swirled together.

‘Can I buy anyone a drink?’ he asked, and his voice sent a shiver right through her.

There were murmurs of assent and ‘Ta, hen,’ or ‘Nice one, Cal,’ but Tara couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Fergus got to his feet. ‘You’ll need a hand to carry that lot back.’

Cal spoke to her directly when she failed to say anything. ‘Tara? Can I get you another drink?’

‘No. Thanks. I’m fine.’ Her voice was wooden, stilted.

‘She won’t admit it, but I think something was wrong with her meal,’ Jinny said.

‘My meal was fine,’ Tara insisted. ‘Lovely, in fact. I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long week.’

‘Yes, it has,’ Cal agreed, and she had the feeling the comment was aimed at her.

Maybe he was finding this as awkward as she? For the first time since she’d seen him in her studio, she wondered how he felt about her being here. Guilty, maybe? She hoped so. Ashamed? So he should be. He’d behaved like a complete shit.

When he walked away, Tara breathed out slowly. Could she make her excuses and leave now? She’d already laid the groundwork by saying she was tired. Then she remembered her resolution not to avoid him, but to get used to his presence so that she didn’t act like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever she bumped into him.

No, that was the wrong analogy. A crush presumed she still had feelings for him, which couldn’t be further from the truth. So she stayed put, her own personal endurance test of how long she could stand to be in his company before she did a runner.

Hopefully he would deliver the drinks to their table and bugger off.

However, Cal did no such thing. After distributing the fresh drinks, he took a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up to theirs, wedging himself between her and Jinny.

Tara shuffled her chair away as unobtrusively as she could.

‘I know you said you didn’t want a drink,’ Cal told her, ‘but I got you one anyway. Is vodka and cranberry juice OK?’

It used to be her favourite tipple and she was surprised he remembered. Her mouth dry, she took it from him and gulped at it.

‘Thanks,’ she muttered belatedly, then forced her lips into a semblance of a smile as she realised that both Cal and Jinny were staring at her.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Jinny’s expression was concerned.

She finished her drink. ‘I think I’ll get off – my bed is calling.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cal stiffen, and she could have slapped herself for mentioning the word ‘bed’. They had spent a lot of time in bed, and the last thing she wanted was to remind him of that. Hell, she didn’t want to remind herself of that. Now that she had, she was thoroughly disconcerted.

He got to his feet. ‘I’ll walk back with you.’ His beer was untouched.

‘No, no need. You stay and finish your pint. It isn’t dark, so I’ll be fine,’ she gabbled.

‘I was about to head off anyway. Early start in the morning. Fishing.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Tara glanced at his pint. ‘Stay. I’ll be fine walking back on my own.’

‘I wanted to speak with you, actually.’

‘Oh.’ Left with little choice and feeling as though she’d been backed into a corner, Tara said goodbye to the others, studiously ignoring Calan.

Fergus said, ‘I’ll have that,’ and moved Cal’s pint closer. ‘Shame to waste it.’ He didn’t seem in the least bit bothered by her or Cal’s departure.

Jinny, however, had a speculative look in her eye.

Tara turned away from the table. ‘Come on then, if you’re coming.’ She headed towards the door, not checking whether Calan was following. But as she stepped into the twilight, she was conscious of his nearness, and she lost her patience. ‘What did you want to talk to me about? How you broke my heart?’ And there she goes, sounding like bloody Rod Stewart.

‘About commissioning a doll’s house, actually.’

Dear God. Tara briefly closed her eyes, hoping he would have disappeared when she opened them again. No such luck. He was still there, gazing at her intently. The sight of him infuriated her. ‘Why don’t you go boil your head!’ she snapped.

His blink of surprise gave her momentary satisfaction, until she realised how childish she sounded. What on earth had possessed her? Professional, eh, Tara? Good grief!

She marched off up the road, her movements stiff and jerky, her jaw clenched shut lest she said anything equally as stupid.

Cal quickly caught up with her. His voice was soft as he said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

‘Whatever.’

‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

‘ What?! How can shagging me while you had a girlfriend back home be the right thing?’

‘I wasn’t! I didn’t have a girlfriend.’ He sounded shocked.

‘Fiancée, then.’

‘I didn’t have one of those, either.’

‘It sure didn’t take you long to find one after you dumped me.’

They were at the edge of the village, the road ahead devoid of people, cars or buildings, and Cal grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt.

‘It wasn’t like that. It was a mistake.’

Tara was incredulous. ‘You got married by mistake ?’ She glared pointedly at his hand. His touch sent her heart rate skyrocketing.

His expression was apologetic as he let go of her arm, saying, ‘Not the getting married part, although that was definitely a mistake. Yvaine, my wife – ex-wife – I never should have… She was a rebound date.’

‘ Rebound? What the hell were you rebounding from? You dumped me , remember?’

‘For all the right reasons.’

Tara put her hands on her hips. Anger flared in her chest, quelling the rush of remembered desire she’d felt when he’d touched her. ‘Which were?’

He looked away, staring over her shoulder and shrugged. ‘We were very young, I’d just got a job in the middle of nowhere, you had your degree to finish…’ He sounded as though he was ticking them off against a check list.

‘I didn’t finish it.’ She dropped her hands, clasping them together in front of her, the anger dissipating, replaced by heavy regret and the sadness she’d carried with her for the last ten years. She’d thought she’d buried it nice and deep, but it had bubbled to the surface like spring water through rock.

‘Why not?’ She could tell he didn’t want to ask the question but felt compelled to ask it anyway.

‘Because of you.’

His exhaled breath was long and slow. ‘Oh, Tara.’

‘Yeah, Oh, Tara .’ She was thankful for the scorn in her voice, because it was better than the hurt that might otherwise have been there. Reining in her emotions, she pretended indifference as she said, ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s water under the bridge.’

‘But you loved your course.’ The sympathy in his eyes was unbearable.

‘I did, but I love making doll’s houses more.’ It was the truth.

‘You’re good at it, too.’

‘Thanks.’ Her reply was sarcastic. She neither needed nor wanted his praise. What she wanted was for him to sod off.

He said, ‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. I’m sorry, I should have waited and come to the studio. This is your downtime.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m like one of those people who bump into their GP in the pub and want to talk to them about their piles.’

‘Do you have piles?’

His lips twitched. ‘No, I do not.’

‘Shame.’ Tara began walking again and Calan fell into step beside her. She said, ‘I take it that the doll’s house is for your daughter?’

‘Yes. Yvaine and Bonnie are going to live with Yvaine’s boyfriend, and she’s putting the house on the market. Bonnie was really upset, which was why she wasn’t in school on Monday. Bonnie thought that if she had a scale model, it might help her with the transition, make her miss it less. That’s why she wanted to do a workshop, but I want to commission one instead.’

‘It’ll cost.’ Tara didn’t want the commission. She didn’t want to spend any more time with Cal than necessary.

‘How about you give me a quote and we take it from there?’

We? They hadn’t been a ‘we’ for a very long time. ‘I’ll need measurements and photos. The cost depends on what you want. A shell is considerably less expensive than a fully furnished house with accurate details.’

‘I see. Can you quote me for both?’

‘I’ll need loads of photos – every part of every room.’

‘OK. I’ll get them to you. How is the coffin coming along?’

She didn’t want to make small talk, but he clearly did, and considering she had to work with the man she decided to play nice. Or as nice as she could manage. ‘You heard that?’

He chuckled. ‘You’ve got to admit it was funny.’

‘It wasn’t at the time. I honestly thought she wanted me to measure a corpse. I’ve never been asked to make a funeral parlour before.’ Tara could see the boathouse in the deepening gloaming. Her relief was profound. ‘This is me,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘Good night.’

She didn’t wait for a reply, anxious to put some space between them, but she was aware of him watching her as she walked down the track.

She didn’t look back as she unlocked the door and slipped through it, but as soon as she was inside, she hurried into the bedroom and peered through the window.

Calan had gone.

Moments later she saw a light come on in his cottage, and she let out a sigh. That had been both as bad as she’d feared, and easier. The fool she had made of herself was counterbalanced by the ice having been broken. She’d proved to herself that she could be civil, friendly even. It was the best she could expect, for the moment. Each time she saw him from now on, it should get easier. She wouldn’t try to run away a second time.

Too strung up to even think about going to bed, Tara poured a glass of milk, picked up the novel she’d been reading and curled up on the sofa nearest the picture window.

As she watched the last of the silver light fade from the sky, the novel lying forgotten next to her, Tara lost herself in the memory of her first – and possibly her only – love.