Chapter 24
Giselle scuttled down the ladder and headed for the bathroom, trying to be quiet and not disturb Izzy, who was sound asleep.
Sharing a bed with her sister had reminded Giselle of when they were kids.
They’d had single beds with a nightstand separating them, but invariably Giselle would wake up in the same one as Izzy; either she’d climbed in with her twin in the middle of the night, or Izzy had crept into hers.
They may have gone their separate ways during the day, but at night they’d sought each other out.
Giselle suspected that even if Izzy had begun last night on the sofa, she would have ended up in Giselle’s bed with her.
Wearily, she slumped on the loo, feeling dreadful.
Not only was she exhausted, but her eyes were gritty, and she felt sick.
Thankfully, she didn’t have a headache, but that small mercy didn’t prevent her from wishing she hadn’t drunk so much wine last night.
Had it only been the one bottle between them?
It felt like she’d guzzled the whole thing on her own.
And to top it all off, her period was due.
Great. That was all she needed: sore boobs, bloating and irritability.
She was a right bundle of laughs, wasn’t she? Hopefully, a cup of coffee and some breakfast would sort her out. Actually, scrap that; she’d have tea. Coffee was just too bleh right now. And she needed to rehydrate before she could face food.
But when she saw last night’s dishes in the sink, with the remains of the tomato-covered pasta sauce smeared on them, she had to dash to the bathroom.
I’m never drinking again, she vowed, after dry heaving with her head hanging over the toilet bowl. She hoped Izzy didn’t want to do anything energetic today, such as speaking, for instance. Giselle might manage a grunt or two, but that would be it.
After rinsing her mouth and brushing her teeth, she felt marginally better, so she made some tea and went outside to sit and drink it.
The grass was still wet with dew, and the air was cool and fragrant with the wildflowers that had self-seeded in the garden. A cheeky blackbird eyed her as it scurried through the stems looking for grubs, and bees cruised from bloom to bloom.
Gradually, Giselle’s hangover receded and she began to feel more human, and as she slowly came back to life, her brain kicked into gear as she thought about yesterday.
Izzy’s arrival had been a lovely welcome surprise, and so had her news.
Her sister was engaged, and to a plumber!
Giselle, if she’d imagined Izzy falling in love, would have assumed it would be with someone from the fashion industry, and in a way, she was relieved it wasn’t.
Izzy needed someone to ground her, and from what she’d told Giselle, Edoardo sounded perfect.
She couldn’t wait to meet him, but when that would be was anyone’s guess.
Before the wedding, she hoped, but with the state of her finances and the uncertainty of the craft centre’s future, she mightn’t meet the guy until he said, ‘I do.’
‘You should have brought him with you,’ Giselle had said, then felt guilty when Izzy had told her she’d sensed Giselle needed her. She’d felt even more guilty when Izzy had confided, ‘I debated whether to tell you about me and Edoardo, because of Rocco.’
‘Did you honestly think I’d begrudge you your happiness because I’m feeling so miserable? This is the best news ever!’ she’d cried.
And it was. Giselle couldn’t have been happier for her sister. She just wished she could be equally happy for herself. There are other fish in the sea, she’d said, but she wasn’t convinced. She didn’t want anyone else. She wanted Rocco.
‘Morning.’ Izzy yawned sleepily, coming outside to join her. ‘How long have you been up?’
‘An hour.’
‘I’d forgotten how quiet it is here. I slept like the dead, and your bed is so comfy.’ She stretched, then curled up in the chair next to Giselle, tucking her feet underneath her.
Giselle envied her twin. She wished she’d slept as well. ‘Why haven’t you got a hangover?’ she grumbled, noting how fresh and rested her sister looked.
‘We only had a couple of glasses,’ Izzy replied.
‘Then again, I probably drink more than you, so I’ve got a higher tolerance.
Wine with dinner seems to be a given in Italy.
I draw the line at wine with lunch, though, otherwise I wouldn’t get any work done.
Speaking of work, are you going to the studio today? ’
‘No chance! I’m not slaving away over a hot glue gun while you’re swanning about enjoying yourself.’
‘In that case, could we go to a mill? I have an urge to buy some Skye tweed. And then I want to visit the loch, and pop into the craft centre to see what you’ve been working on.
And we could—’ She stopped, and Giselle laughed, the first laugh she’d uttered since Rocco left. ‘What’s so funny?’ Izzy demanded.
‘You. You’re like a whirlwind.’
‘I’m only going to be here for a couple of days,’ Izzy protested. ‘I don’t want to waste a minute.’
That was how Rocco had felt, Giselle remembered.
He hadn’t wanted to waste any time, either.
It struck her that Izzy and Rocco were so much alike in their spontaneity and their zest for life.
Unlike her own boring, predictable, introverted self.
No wonder she’d fallen in love with him, and no wonder he hadn’t felt the same way about her.
An Aston Martin DB9 isn’t the roomiest of cars if you have a lot of luggage, Rocco mused, as he pulled into Tebay services on the M6.
He’d been on the road for around six hours and had reached the halfway point in the journey, so it was time for a break.
It would have been far quicker to fly to Inverness, as he’d done previously, but this wouldn’t be a flying visit.
This time he intended to stay for good. Which was why the car was jam packed with everything he thought he might need.
Including a couple of suits, because one never knew when a suit might come in handy – when he had to beg a local council for something, perhaps?
His stomach rumbled as he entered the restaurant area and smelt coffee and bacon.
He was starving, having not eaten much yesterday evening as he’d been too busy sifting through the boxes from the castle.
He’d have to arrange for those to be sent back at some point, along with the rest of the things that he hadn’t been able to fit in the car.
And at some juncture, he’d have to decide what, if any, of his possessions he wanted to bring to Skye with him.
There was a lot to consider and a lot to sort out.
And there was also his mother; she wouldn’t be pleased, but this was his life, not hers, and he had to live it his way.
While he waited in the queue for food, he checked his phone.
No messages and no emails of note. He’d shot off an email to Nora before he’d left London, informing her that something had come up and he wouldn’t be in the office today, so that if anyone asked, she wouldn’t be put in an awkward position.
He’d speak to her later today, or first thing tomorrow, and explain, after he’d spoken to his mother.
He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.
Not wanting to risk having to speak to his mother before he was ready, he put his phone in airplane mode and concentrated on choosing the items he wanted for his breakfast: bacon obviously, eggs, grilled tomato, a sausage.
This meal would have to sustain him until dinner because he had another seven hours to go, longer if he hit roadworks or traffic.
He wouldn’t arrive in Duncoorie until three thirty at the earliest and he wasn’t going to be thinking of food at that point.
His mind would be on Giselle, as it had been ever since he’d set eyes on her at the kirk.
He hoped she’d be pleased to see him. If he was honest, he hoped she’d be more than just pleased, but what if she wasn’t? She might want nothing more than the brief fling they’d had. It was a fear he’d been grappling with ever since he’d made the impulsive decision to return to Skye last night.
However, the fear hadn’t held him back. Mhairi’s words had continued to play on his mind: I don’t regret loving you. How could I ever regret that? But I do regret not being by your side every minute of every day when I had the chance.
He had to try to make Giselle fall in love with him, because he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t. His future happiness depended on it.
The mill was a small one, run and owned by the same family for several generations, and a forty-minute drive from Duncoorie.
Against a backdrop of green hills, it nestled between a rocky outcrop and grazing land dotted with sheep.
Built of weathered grey stone, with a roof studded with moss, and ivy completely covering one side, it had a permanence about it, as though it had grown out of the landscape.
A wooden sign saying ‘Viewing Platform’ hung above a door, and Giselle followed Izzy inside.
She was immediately struck by the noise.
Gosh, it was loud, with several enormous machines clattering away, the shuttles snapping back and forth with dizzying speed.
A barrier separated the working area from the long viewing gallery, and at several points along it, information boards described the looms and the weaving process.
A pile of raw wool was in a box near the entrance, and Giselle gently stroked the fibres as she read about how the fleeces were graded, carded, then spun into yarn.