Chapter 10
Giselle rose to her feet and dusted off the seat of her shorts, feeling self-conscious.
She rarely wore them because her pale skin burnt easily despite copious amounts of sun cream, but it was early, and she’d had a hunch that the day might be warm.
Maybe she’d envisioned a bit of a paddle, too – after removing her socks and boots, obviously.
But now that she was here, suggesting a paddle would have made this walk feel too much like a date, which it most definitely wasn’t, so she hadn’t.
By the time they’d got to the top of the hill, she wished she’d taken the plunge.
Hot and bothered, and very aware that Rocco, who had been scrambling up behind her, was getting an eyeful of her white legs, she had been glad to collapse onto the grass.
At least the climb had been worth it. Rocco, mesmerised by the view, hadn’t been able to take his eyes off it.
Skye was on her best behaviour today, parading herself in all her glorious beauty – emerald grass, turquoise water, azure sky, white fluffy clouds, dark glistening rocks and the iridescent beach, all of it bathed in brilliant early morning sunshine.
And not to mention the wildlife: sea birds, geese flying overhead and the fat sausage shapes of the grey seals.
All that was needed was a pod of dolphins or orcas to complete the scene.
‘I’d read that Skye is beautiful, but I didn’t realise just how beautiful,’ Rocco murmured. He was sitting with his forearms resting on his knees, his eyes on the horizon. ‘I can see why you love it so much.’
‘I don’t want to live anywhere else,’ she replied simply.
‘How about Venice? I recall you were quite taken with the city.’
The city wasn’t all she’d been taken with. Heat infused her cheeks, but her voice was calm as she said, ‘Nice to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.’
‘Not even for the sea glass?’
‘Actually, there isn’t much to be found in Venice. You were lucky.’
She caught his sideways look as he replied, ‘I certainly was.’
Determined not to show how discomforted she felt, she said, ‘It’s unusual to find sea glass on the island.
Most furnaces don’t discard their waste glass; they reuse it.
And there aren’t exactly loads of beaches, apart from Lido, but I think those are man-made.
We just happened to be at the lighthouse at low tide that day. ’
‘I didn’t think Venice was tidal, or the Med as a whole, for that matter.’
‘I believe there’s a fluctuation in sea level in Venice itself of around a metre, but it doesn’t happen often. When it does, it exposes that rocky area by the lighthouse.’
He grinned at her. ‘We were fortunate, then.’
‘Very.’ More fortunate than he could imagine, since Rocco finding the sea glass had set her on the path to Duncoorie, the castle and its craft centre.
A wave of sadness washed over her as she thought of Mhairi. She really was going to miss the grand old lady, and not just because there was a real possibility that her life was about to change as a result of her passing.
‘It’s time we made a move,’ she declared. ‘I’ve got a studio to open.’
‘And I’ve got work to do.’ A shadow flitted across his face. ‘Thank you for letting me come with you this morning.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They walked down the hill, soon reaching the bottom, and he fell in beside her again. His gaze swept across the landscape, and he kept slowing down for a longer look.
‘I can’t believe how incredibly beautiful it is.’
‘It’s only a small part of the island. There are places like this all over. Some are far more spectacular.’
‘Do you mean the mountains? I drove past some impressive ones on the way to Duncoorie.’
‘Yes, tourists flock to the Quiraing, which is probably the most beautiful place to hike on Skye, as well as The Old Man of Storr and Trotternish Ridge, and quite rightly too, as they are all impressive. The scenery is stunning, but they can get busy in high summer.’
‘Like now?’
‘Exactly.’
So far, they’d had this walk to themselves, but they were starting to encounter the occasional person, and she knew from experience that as the day wore on visitors to the beach would increase.
Which was why she preferred getting here early.
Not that she visited often because, as she’d told Rocco, it wasn’t the best beach to find sea glass.
But she’d wanted to show him how beautiful her island was, and she’d also wanted to make him suffer.
Although that plan seemed to have backfired, because getting up early hadn’t fazed him and neither had the long walk.
If she was honest, she was impressed he’d coped so well with the hike, considering he was a pencil pusher, chained to his desk for hours on end.
‘I get the feeling you prefer quieter places,’ he said. ‘Are there any?’
‘Plenty, but you really should see the more touristy ones as well; they’re popular for a reason.’
‘Such as?’
She sent him a sideways glance. ‘I know you love history, so you could go see the dinosaur footprints at Staffin, and if you want something more recent, there are plenty of brochs around – they’re round towers built around two thousand years ago – and of course, you have your very own castle.’
‘I doubt mine is the only one on Skye,’ he replied.
‘It’s not. The ruins of Duntulm Castle are worth seeing. It was owned by the MacDonald clan, the same clan Flora MacDonald belonged to. Her grave is on Skye, if you wanted to visit it.’
‘Where do I know that name from?’
‘Bonnie Prince Charlie. She helped him evade the British after the Battle of Culloden and brought him to Skye. That’s where the “Skye Boat Song” comes from.’
‘The what song?’
‘It’s an old Gaelic song with several versions, but the most famous is the one that goes… “Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye.”’ Suddenly aware that she was singing, she closed her mouth abruptly.
‘You have a nice voice.’
‘Och, I do not! Although I sometimes do a bit of karaoke in the pub on a Friday night. But not often. I get too self-conscious.’
‘The pub in Duncoorie?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Is that your local?’
‘Aye, since I can walk there and back.’
‘That’s lucky if you want to have a drink. I should imagine taxis around here are scarce.’
‘You can say that again!’ But even if they weren’t, she wouldn’t waste her money on them, not when she had two good legs.
‘What’s Duncoorie like? I haven’t seen much of it, apart from the church and the loch.’
‘It’s quiet during the winter, busy the rest of the year.
’ She shrugged, not sure what he wanted to know.
‘There’s a bakery, a corner shop that’s also a post office – although it’s not really on a corner – a shop selling fishing gear and bait, a couple of cafes, a restaurant, several B I already know the background. I was just making conversation.’
Of course he did. By now, he probably knew everything there was to know about the castle’s financial situation.
‘Tell me about the other crafters,’ he asked. ‘I haven’t had a chance to meet them properly.’
Or he hadn’t cared enough to. Swallowing her misgivings, she said, ‘I expect you’ve met Tara, Cal’s fiancée?
She makes doll’s houses and all the wee furniture and things to go in them.
Then there’s Fergus, who’s the glassblower, and his brother Shane, who makes stained glass.
Isla does needle felting; then there’s…’ As she reeled off the names of the people she’d worked alongside for years, she wondered what they would do if the craft centre were to close.
How would they manage? She couldn’t imagine it not being there, all the studios lying empty, the gift shop and the cafe silent.
The questions kept coming. ‘How long have you lived in Duncoorie?’
‘Three years.’
‘Have you had a studio all that time?’
‘Yes. It was the reason I bought the bothy.’
‘When did you move to Skye?’
‘Not long after Venice.’ She blushed at the memory the word invoked and hoped he didn’t notice. ‘I lived in Portree at first, renting a room and working three jobs to make ends meet.’
‘You must have really wanted to live here.’
‘Some of us didn’t have the benefit of working for the family firm.’
‘I’m not sure whether it was a benefit,’ he replied softly. ‘It was assumed, and then when my dad died, it was a necessity and an obligation. My mother might own the company, but I’ll be the one to carry it on when she retires.’
‘That’s quite a responsibility,’ Giselle said, softening. ‘Do you enjoy asset management?’
‘Sometimes. It has its highs and lows, like any job.’
‘Mine are mostly highs.’
‘Is that because you work for yourself?’
‘It’s because I’m doing something I love. All the crafters are. It isn’t easy, especially during the quieter winter months, but I can’t imagine doing anything else. Are you really going to sell?’ This last was blurted out, without thinking, but she had to know.
‘I am.’ His voice was gentle, understanding. But it didn’t change the fact that soon the craft centre might be no more.
‘But you could—’ She stopped abruptly. What could he do? Stay here and run it, like Mhairi? Giselle knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Little more was said for the rest of the way back, and when they arrived at the castle he said, ‘Thank you for showing me a piece of Skye.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Her voice was stilted.
‘I’m leaving in the morning. By rights, I should have been back in London already.’
Her treacherous heart stuttered. Despite him being about to turn her life upside down, there was a part of her that was dismayed at the news of his imminent departure.
‘It was nice seeing you again, Rocco.’ She actually meant it.
Selling Coorie Castle didn’t make him a bad guy, and she could see why he’d want to sell up.
Izzy was right; if the shoe was on the other foot and Giselle had suddenly inherited a substantial property in London, she’d have it on the market quicker than a heron snatching a fish out of the water.
It wasn’t his fault that selling the castle might have such a devastating effect on her, the other crafters and everyone else who worked there. And at least he was leaving with some appreciation of the island and the castle he was so keen to get rid of.
However, the thought gave her scant comfort.