Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘E xcuse me? Are you looking for Chrissie?’
Logan, Campbell and I spun round to find a woman peering over the white painted garden gate at us.
We’d only just arrived at Chrissie Aitken’s house and had knocked a couple of times, but there’d been no answer from her shiny, pillar-box-red front door.
The middle-aged lady continued to eye us. ‘She won’t be there, I’m afraid. She’ll be at the Old Dog and Duck.’
‘Is that where she works?’ asked Campbell.
‘Well, she helps out,’ sniffed the woman. ‘Chrissie and the landlord are … you know … close.’
Campbell looked thrown. ‘Really? Oh. Right.’
The woman edged closer to Chrissie’s gate; a checked tea towel slung over one shoulder. ‘She won’t be back till late. It’s the centenary of the pub opening tonight, so there’s fireworks and all sorts. Sounds like it’s going to be a bit of a shindig.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Campbell.
The three of us departed Chrissie Aitken’s garden path and clicked her gate closed behind us. Chrissie’s neighbour, meanwhile, was still discharging curious looks at us as she made her way back up her garden path and into her own house. She gave the impression she wasn’t sure whether we were tax inspectors or the mafia.
‘I think we should go,’ announced Logan.
‘Go where?’ I frowned up at him.
‘To the Old Dog and Duck’s centenary do tonight. If it’s anything like the Hogmanay celebrations on Skye, believe me, you won’t want to miss it.’
Logan’s gaze came to rest on my mouth. His eyes reminded me of the tumultuous depths of the North Atlantic, with its moody silvers and pearly greys. My stomach felt like a set of tangled up Christmas lights.
‘And it’ll give us a good excuse to go to the pub, join in the festivities and speak to Chrissie Aitken,’ he added.
Campbell watched the two of us as we reached the end of terrace cottage path. He blinked up the street. ‘Aye, young Logan. You might have a point there.’
Logan’s pouty mouth broke into a million-dollar smile as he looked at me. ‘Fancy being naughty on a weeknight?’
I hated it when he did this, when he made my insides feel like they’d turned to liquid. I straightened my back. ‘I thought we were supposed to be working on tracking down the whereabouts of the cross?’
‘We still are, but I forgot the pub celebrations were taking place this evening. We can do both.’
I pushed out my chin. ‘Logan, I?—’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ broke in Campbell. ‘I suggest we head back to Portree and meet up again later. I wonder what time this will all kick off this evening?’
Logan produced his mobile from his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll check the local news website. It’ll be on there.’ He tapped at his phone screen a few times. His lips pushed themselves out into an irresistible kissing shape whenever he concentrated. He was doing it now, damn him. ‘Ah. There we are. Fireworks are at 9pm, but there’s drinks and nibbles in the pub beforehand, from eight. Donation to charity at the door for entry.’ He shot me a loaded look. ‘All of Portree, or near enough, will be there.’
This wasn’t a good idea; thrown together under the stars with music and fireworks. I wanted to try and come up with an excuse not to go. Look how our other evening had turned out, when I’d had cold feet and insisted on leaving.
But Logan and Campbell were already enthusing about the evening ahead. ‘With everything that’s been going on recently, I forgot all about the pub bash,’ said Logan. He slid me another glance. ‘I’ve had other things on my mind.’
I cleared my throat. Then an idea exploded in my head. Maybe this shindig tonight, with a lot of the community being involved, could be the perfect excuse to help others, even if I couldn’t allow it to mean anything for Logan and me…
* * *
I was standing outside The Gorse waiting for Campbell to emerge and for Logan to come and meet us.
The Old Dog and Duck was situated on the corner, further up on the opposite side of the road, and every so often, its double doors would clang open and inviting, warm lemon light would spill out onto the pavement.
Cheerful locals were gravitating towards the pub, linking arms and playfully jostling against one another as they engaged in idle chatter.
‘I like your hair like that.’
My chest heaved at the sight of Logan strolling towards me. My hand reached up to fiddle with my high ponytail, which I’d tonged into big curls.
Logan appraised my outfit of a black jewelled jacket, fitted jeans and sugar pink V-neck sweater.
His lips turned up with amusement. ‘If this isn’t another date, you sure as hell have made an effort for nothing.’ His light eyes glittered almost as much as the stars over our heads. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Logan, this isn’t another date. It’s a fact-finding mission,’ I heard myself say. Who was I trying to convince, though? Him or me? I tugged at the hem of my jacket, just for something to do. ‘And most couples who go out on a date, don’t tend to take an archaeologist along with them.’
‘Ah. So, we’re a couple now?’ He grinned.
I ignored the persistent swish in my stomach at such a prospect. ‘In your imagination.’
‘Oh, I have a very vivid imagination.’
‘I don’t think I want to know.’
‘You sure about that?’
I couldn’t help but break into a smile. Logan grinned back. He did look gorgeous, in his heavy checked shirt, jeans and leather jacket.
‘No pink-cheeked, flaxen-haired local girls who you wanted to ask along tonight?’ I could’ve chewed my own tongue off. Why the hell was I even asking Logan that question? It made it sound like I was interested in him.
That’s because you are, teased an inner voice.
‘I’ve already been out with all the flaxen-haired local girls,’ joked Logan.
‘That wouldn’t surprise me.’
Logan winked. ‘Trust me, they’re very overrated.’
‘Sorry for keeping you both waiting,’ boomed Campbell from behind me, interrupting us as he tapped down the steps of the guest house.
I jumped as though I’d been doing something I shouldn’t, but also let out a mental sigh of relief that Logan and I now had company.
We both studied Campbell’s appearance.
‘You’ve had a haircut,’ I remarked with surprise.
‘Well observed.’
Campbell proceeded to trace his hand lightly over the top of his new, shorter, layered hairstyle.
‘You look like a new man,’ said Logan.
‘I feel like one, or at least I will, if I can prove to the doubters round here that the Skye Lovers’ Cross is a real thing.’ His silhouette began to march ahead of us, towards the glowing pub.
Logan kept sliding me long glances as we made our way towards The Old Dog and Duck.
‘What?’ I asked him, feeling increasingly hot from his attention. I was glad that it was dark and he couldn’t see my zinging cheeks.
He took his time answering, which infuriated me more. ‘Nothing.’
The pub was buzzing with bodies and ceilidh music as we stepped up to the entrance and deposited our charity donations into a giant bucket a man dressed head to foot in tartan was holding. The bucket was even decorated with tartan ribbon on the handles.
The Old Dog and Duck was fitted out with a semi-circular oak bar, and marine blue velvet bench seats were dotted around circular tables.
Silver streamers, bunting and balloons were strung from the beams, bobbing above heads and along the walls. Shiny foil digits forming the number 100 fluttered along the edge of the bar and the clinking of glasses could be heard over the sound of laughter and chatter.
‘The first round’s on me,’ insisted Campbell, reaching for his wallet as he manoeuvred his way between the sea of bodies. ‘Then we’ll see if we can find Chrissie.’
Logan put out one hand and rested it on Campbell’s jacket sleeve. ‘Are you OK going up to the bar? What if you’re recognised?’
Campbell brushed off Logan’s concern. ‘Don’t worry, my lad. In another half hour most of them will be sozzled and the last person they’ll be thinking about or looking for is me.’
I watched the bartenders weaving their way around one another behind the bar, pouring drinks, slipping money into the till and whisking away empty glasses. ‘Will you recognise Chrissie?’ I asked Campbell. ‘You haven’t seen her for years.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ conceded Campbell, attracting the attention of one of the harassed-looking servers. ‘But I’d like to think I’d still know her anywhere.’
Campbell approached the bar and ordered me a white wine and pints of local beer for him and Logan.
While we waited, I glanced around. The atmosphere was buzzing with Scottish Highland hospitality.
Campbell returned with our drinks a few moments later. He clanked his pint glass against my wine and Logan’s beer, saying, ‘Here’s to successful treasure hunts.’
As Logan took a mouthful of his amber beer, his eyes trailed over my face. ‘We know how to party round here.’
He wasn’t wrong. My feet found themselves tapping along to the thumping drums and bagpipes from a ceilidh band who’d just appeared to a din of applause and cheering. They’d set themselves up in the corner and according to the artwork on the bass drum, went by the name of ‘The Celtic Chieftains’. ‘I hate to admit it,’ I murmured over the top of my wine glass, the swirling music pumping through me, ‘but you do.’
Campbell sauntered off to inspect the photos on the pub walls, while Logan’s lips did that quirky thing again. ‘You know, Darcie, it’s OK to admit that you’re enjoying yourself.’
‘Who said I was enjoying myself?’
Logan laughed. ‘OK, this might not be your idea of a great night out, but admit it, the company is pretty amazing.’ He waggled his eyebrows.
‘If you’re talking about Campbell, then yes, it is.’
He grinned. ‘Touché. I asked for that one.’
Then, a more serious expression settled on his face. ‘I hope all this with the pendant won’t interfere with your travel guide research. Just let me know if?—’
I cut him off, guilt running amuck inside me. If I felt rotten before, I felt even worse now. ‘Don’t be daft. Look, it’s fine. I can focus on that while you play Indiana Jones.’
Logan’s eyes sparkled down at me and I forced my attention away. I wanted the pub floor to swallow me.
I looked up from my watch just in time to see Robbie enter the pub. He was wearing a smart, navy blue shirt and dark trousers. He’d also had his sandy thatch of haircut and layered. He looked very dashing in a big, grizzly sort of way.
‘Hey!’ Logan grinned, spotting him and giving him an affectionate pat on the back. He took in Robbie’s attire. ‘What’s all this? Got a date?’
Robbie blushed. ‘Naw, nothing like that. Darcie here told me to come along and dress sharp. She wanted to take my photo for her social media pages.’
Logan blinked down at me. ‘You never mentioned it.’
I waved my hand. ‘Oh, well, I can’t be expected to remember everything.’
‘It’s to help promote Skye.’ Robbie beamed. ‘Only too happy to help.’
The pub noise was getting louder, and I glanced towards the pub doors again.
Logan studied me. ‘You OK, Darcie? You seem a bit distracted.’
‘No, not at all. I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’
Seconds later, there was a flash of long, straight blonde hair.
It was Iona, looking very pretty in a long-sleeved, knee-length, flower-sprigged, button-up dress and long, wine-coloured suede boots.
‘Iona! Over here!’ I beckoned, waving a hand in the air to attract her attention.
At the mention of Iona’s name, the colour in Robbie’s face blossomed pink.
‘You look gorgeous!’ I beamed at her, taking in her soft make-up and the way her dress fluttered around her.
‘Little sis?’ puzzled Logan, giving Iona a peck on the cheek. ‘I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.’ Like with Robbie, he appraised her outfit. ‘You look so lovely; I almost didn’t recognise you.’
Iona rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Wow. Thanks!’
‘You know what I mean.’
I watched Robbie and Iona with fascination. They kept flicking each other surreptitious glances. Finally, Iona gathered herself and smiled over at Robbie. ‘Hi, Robbie. How’s it going?’
Robbie opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He looked shocked that she’d spoken to him. He cleared his throat. ‘Er, great thanks.’ He gestured to Iona’s dress. ‘You look … look … stunning.’
Iona let out a giggle. ‘Aww, thank you. Well, seeing as Darcie asked me to come along dressed up so she could take my photo, I thought I’d better make an effort.’
Robbie couldn’t tear his attention away from Iona’s pert little nose and pouty mouth. ‘Oh, that’s a funny coincidence. That’s why I’m here too.’
I could feel Logan staring at me, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Isn’t that weird?’
I performed a casual shrug. ‘Isn’t it? Oh, well.’
Silence fell again and there were more charged looks between the two of them. Bloody hell! We could be standing around like this for the rest of the night. Right, Darcie. Take action. I seized each of them by the arm. ‘Sorry about this, guys, but I’m going to have to take a rain check on the photos. Plans have changed.’
Iona and Robbie gazed at me, confused, and then looked back at each other.
‘Never mind, eh? Tell you what, why don’t the two of you go sit at that table over there in the corner, have a drink and chat for a bit? See ya!’
Before either of them had time to protest or argue, I’d plonked them down at a quiet, circular table for two and left them to it.
I returned to Logan, having snaked my way back through the crowded pub, to find him shaking his head at me.
‘What?’ I asked, wide-eyed.
Logan arched a brow. I shifted to my right and kept peering through the bodies to where Robbie and Iona were sitting. At first, it was all blushing glances at the pub floor and Robbie fidgeting, but now they both had a drink and Iona was throwing her head back and laughing at something Robbie was saying to her.
Robbie couldn’t conceal his delight.
My optimism bloomed. ‘My cunning plan seems to be working.’
Logan stole a look across the pub at his friend and his sister locked in conversation.
He turned back to me, his eyes softening. ‘You can add matchmaker to your CV.’
‘They just needed a little push in the right direction.’
I beckoned for Logan to pass me back my wine glass and he did, shaking his head in wonder again at me. Our fingers brushed against each other and I almost let out a gasp.
Campbell, who’d been admiring a couple of framed photographs of the Cullins on a bleak winter day on the wall, reappeared, oblivious to what had been taking place.
Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, but I had to admit that I was quite enjoying myself. The atmosphere was buzzing; Iona and Robbie appeared enthralled with each other’s company and Logan was very easy on the eye.
‘This place hasn’t changed a jot in the twenty years I’ve been away,’ mused Campbell, glancing about himself.
He drained the rest of his beer and set his empty pint glass back down on the crowded bar top.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman emerge from a door behind the bar. She was, I estimated, around sixty years old, very attractive, with a faint dusting of freckles and a cloud of curly strawberry-blonde hair skimming her shoulders. She had bright, inquisitive blue eyes and an easy smile, and she chatted happily to the bar staff.
‘Is that her?’ I asked Campbell, giving him a playful nudge. ‘The woman over my shoulder, that’s just appeared behind the bar. Is that Chrissie Aitken?’
Campbell stared over to where she was and his expression changed. It morphed into a softer, faraway look. ‘Yes,’ he managed. ‘That’s her.’
There was a sudden bark of a man’s voice from the same direction. ‘Chrissie. Chrissie! Can you stop gassing for five seconds and collect more glasses?’
I observed a stern-faced man, probably in his mid-sixties, resplendent in a red tartan waistcoat.
Chrissie blew out some air. ‘Alright. Alright! Gee, Conall. Keep your hair on!’
‘That’s Conall Montrose,’ whispered Logan to me. ‘He’s the landlord of the pub.’
And Chrissie’s new partner , I recalled Ava saying.
Campbell’s attention shifted to Conall.
Chrissie pulled a jokey face at the woman she’d been talking to and laughing with and began to busy herself collecting dirty glasses. Then she turned her attention to a couple of other tables.
‘When are you going to talk to her?’ asked Logan over the confusion of noise, music and colour.
‘I’ll wait until she’s not so much in the line of sight of Conall, and then I’ll go over.’
‘Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,’ bellowed Conall suddenly from across the bar. ‘Just to let you know that our fireworks display begins in ten minutes down by the harbour. Please start making your way in an orderly fashion in that direction.’
His weather-leathered face, wreathed in bonhomie for the assembled crowd, changed when he turned to Chrissie. It was like someone had flicked a switch. ‘Come on, honey. Shake a leg, will you!? You need to clear the glasses faster than that!’
I glowered across at him. What a bully!
Campbell finished off the dregs of his Cuillin Brewery craft beer. ‘Wish me luck. I’m going to try and talk to Chrissie.’
Logan and I followed up the rear, hoping to give Campbell some assistance by blocking the view so that Conall couldn’t see.
I noted the way Campbell was fiddling with his hair and puffing out his chest as he approached her.
‘Did you see that, Logan? Did you see the way Campbell’s been looking over at Chrissie?’
‘No. Why?’
‘He was gazing across at her, misty-eyed.’
‘Probably because of the warm atmosphere in here,’ he joked. ‘Tends to dry your eyes out.’ He gave me a look. ‘Don’t you go trying to set them up together as well.’
‘And here was me, thinking you were a romantic at heart,’ I spluttered. ‘Come on, it’s obvious he likes her. He was smoothing his hair down just now as he was walking towards her.’
‘I am a romantic’—he paused for effect— ‘with the right girl.’
A rush of blood raced up my neck and I buried my cheeks in my wine glass, even though I soon realised I didn’t have any white wine left in it.
Campbell had his back turned to us but I could make out Chrissie’s wide-eyed shock as he caught her attention. She was clutching a couple of empty pint glasses and her face was showing a kaleidoscope of emotions. Then the music dropped a little in volume and we could hear faint snippets of their conversation.
Her voice was brittle. ‘I don’t know anything about my ex-husband and the Skye Lovers’ Cross.’ Chrissie appraised him. ‘If that’s why you came back here after all this time, Campbell, you’ve had a wasted trip.’
Campbell gave his newly cut hair a shake. ‘I received a letter, Chrissie. An anonymous one. It says that Gabriel has information about the cross. We’ve spoken to Ava…’
Chrissie kept snatching up empty glasses and whirling between the crowd, which was dwindling as people started to leave to head down for the fireworks. She shot nervous glances over at Conall, but he was too preoccupied braying with laughter with a couple of patrons to take any notice of her.
‘Gabriel’s trouble,’ she snipped. ‘Getting divorced from him was the best thing I ever did.’ She took a step closer to Campbell, as a whirling Scottish reel was about to come to an end. ‘I can’t help you.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
Chrissie’s mouth pursed.
Campbell persevered. ‘Do you know anything about Gabriel hanging around with someone called Leyton McPhail?’
Chrissie shuffled in her canvas ankle boots. ‘I’ve heard a few things.’
‘And do you happen to know anything about this McPhail character?’
‘I’ve heard rumours.’
Campbell sighed. ‘Chrissie, I know you. You’re keeping something back.’
‘You don’t know me! Maybe once you did, a long time ago, but a lot has happened since then.’
She clanked the empty glasses in her hands, flashes of colour rising in her cheeks. ‘If you hadn’t become so bloody besotted with archaeology, we could’ve had a future together, Campbell, but instead, you chased your dreams and ended up marrying someone else.’ She moved to brush past him. ‘Our lives could’ve been so different… It’s good to see you again, Campbell. Really. But I can’t help. Sorry.’
Chrissie disappeared behind the bar and made a big show of fiddling with the till.
Logan’s brows danced at me. ‘Well, well, Ms Freeman. I stand corrected. Looks like you were right about Campbell and the sultry barmaid.’
‘Told you so,’ I whispered. ‘Cynic.’
As Campbell turned around and came back towards us, Logan and I made a big show of pretending that we hadn’t overheard the conversation.
Campbell aimed a final, despondent glance in Chrissie’s direction. ‘Come on, you two. We might as well go and enjoy the fireworks. I think we’re done here.’