Chapter 35 Finn
FINN
“Well, this is a first.” Jamie grins broadly as he walks into the kitchen at Benruar House.
Georgia, who has been filing papers, emerges from the back room, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Oh!” She goes pink and drops her phone, then bends to pick it up, straightening up with a little giggle.
I roll my eyes. It seems even Georgia isn’t immune to my younger brother’s charms.
“Finn, you didn’t tell me we had—I mean I didn’t know you were—would you like some tea? Coffee?”
Jamie flops down on the armchair by the door and is immediately covered in dogs.
“Oof. Flora, you weigh a ton.”
“She thinks she’s a lap dog,” I say, reaching down to stroke her ears. She tips her head up to look at me, tail thumping the chair in delight.
Jamie shifts to make space for Jess and Poll, who are wriggling with excitement. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.” He shoots me a sideways grin.
I shrug. “Turns out I’m more of a basset fan than I thought.”
“And her owner?” His brows lift, knowing perfectly well what he’s fishing for.
“And her owner.”
“I knew it,” he crows, as Georgia bustles around the kitchen making coffee. “I had a bet with Rory after you brought her to Loch Morven. You’ve never brought anyone before.”
“I brought her to see the gardens,” I protest, but I can’t stop myself from returning his grin. The words sound weak, even to me.
“Sure you did.” Jamie’s grin widens. “Where is she? I want to congratulate the woman who managed to tame you.”
“She’s in the gin garden, working. She’s unstoppable when she’s on a mission.”
He pushes himself up, scattering dogs. “I need to see this miracle of horticulture in action.”
“Brace yourself,” says Georgia, who seems to have recovered herself slightly. “They’re revoltingly happy. Even the postman’s emotionally invested at this point.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. “Allow a man some dignity.”
“Too late,” says Georgia sweetly, and disappears back into the back room with a cackle.
Jamie follows me out of the door, laughing. We walk through the courtyard, where the flowers Tilda has planted are starting to fill out in their pots.
“This is looking good.”
“All Tilda’s work.”
“I reckon cousin Charlie would be pretty chuffed with what you’ve done with the place.”
I grunt acknowledgement. “Not enough, though. That’s why you’re here.”
We walk through the gateway and into the gin garden.
The air smells of damp earth and the resinous tang of rosemary.
Tilda’s bent over one of the raised wooden beds, her hair escaping from its knot, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
She straightens when she hears us, brushing soil from her hands.
Her eyes meet mine for a second and I find myself smiling again. It’s becoming a habit.
“Tilda, you remember Jamie.” I brace for the teasing.
My brother pulls her into a hug, kissing her on both cheeks. “How could she forget me?” he says, giving her a wink. “Nice to see you again, Tilda. And even nicer to see what you’ve been up to, besides keeping Finn occupied.”
Tilda bites her lower lip and her cheeks flush pink under her freckles.
“I’m only teasing,” he says, brushing a hand against a lavender bush and inhaling the sweet scent on his fingers. “The last time I saw this place it looked like a jungle. You’re a miracle worker.”
“Hardly,” she says, glancing at me for a second. “I just tell the plants what to do and hope they don’t die on my watch.”
“She’s amazing,” I say, my eyes meeting hers again.
“So,” Jamie perches on the edge of one of the beds and folds his arms, looking at us both. “What’s your plan?”
“We put our heads together when we realised we weren’t going to get the help we wanted from the tourist office,” Tilda says, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Because everyone knows, and nobody can prove, that Jennifer Ross is getting backhanders,” I mutter.
“Nothing would surprise me.” Jamie shrugs. “You can’t compete with a behemoth like Glen Mhor.”
“We can’t. But we can make a difference. And that’s where you come in.”
“Go on?”
“The rewilding project at Loch Morven.”
My brother’s eyes light up. “Yeah, we’re about to go onto the next stage and start getting people in for the planting of the woodlands. You two need to come over and see the log cabins we’re having built, they’re amazing.”
“That’s my point. If we could do something along those lines here, but not the corporate bullshit that Glen Mhor do.
With Tilda talking about the gardens, and maybe a planting scheme to echo the machair, I could show them how the peatland regeneration works on a small scale and maybe we could tie it in with Loch Morven and the regeneration project. ”
‘We thought we might try and make a pollinator meadow,” Tilda says, picking a sprig of rosemary.
Jamie scratches his head, a bemused smile spreading over his face. “Okay, this sounds amazing, but—”
Tilda’s face falls.
“You’re going to show people how the peatland regeneration works?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Your point?”
“You hate people.”
I glance at Tilda, who smirks and raises her brows. “I did say that when we were talking about it with Malcolm and Georgia.”
“Alright, very amusing.” I shake my head.
Poll hops up onto the wall of the flowerbed, and I bend down to stroke the top of her silky head.
“That’s my point. Charming visitors isn’t necessarily my strong point, but I can do it if I have to.
More importantly, we can hire people to do it.
I want to put my money where my mouth is and support the island. ”
“Now you’re talking.” Jamie grins again. “Is this the point where you accept your inheritance and use it for something worthwhile?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I want to see what we can do if we all pull together.
Glen Mhor have more money and clout than we can ever hope for, but we can beat them with something they’ll never have – the human element.
I want to make Benruar House a central hub where people come to find out about the island.
We might not get the busloads of tourists that come over from the organised trips, but we can bring people in through word of mouth. ”
Jamie tips his head, impressed. “Okay, this sounds like it’s got legs.” He looks at Tilda with a frown. “Although, I’m wondering what you’ve done to my brother.”
“I haven’t done a thing!” Tilda laughs.
“Well, I’m bloody impressed.” Jamie pushes himself up to standing and spins around, taking in the garden with a thoughtful expression. “Amazing what the love of a good woman will do.”
“Or the threat of a bad one,” Tilda says.
“Yeah, I’ve come across her a few times.” Jamie’s face clouds over. “But you’re right, you can’t beat them, but you can match them.”
We head back to the house a couple of hours later after walking the grounds and making plans. Tilda slips off to wash her hands before lunch and Jamie claps a hand to my shoulder, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.
“I’m impressed.”
I nod once. “Thanks.”
“You deserve a bit of happiness,” he says, tipping his head towards the door where Tilda disappeared a moment ago.
“I said to Kate a while back I felt like you saw this place as a cross to bear, but now Tilda’s here it’s got a different feeling.
Maybe you needed someone else to help you see it differently. ”
I watch as Flora and the spaniels sniff around under the table in the hope of leftover crumbs, the three of them an incongruous mix that somehow works perfectly.
There’s a loaf of sourdough waiting on the table and I head for the fridge to fetch the butter and some cheese.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say after a moment.
“D’you want to put that in a message on the Loch Morven group chat? Kate’ll never believe it otherwise.”
I turn back from the fridge, the butter in my hand.
“No chance.” I grin. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
Jamie laughs and waggles his phone with a knowing look. “Right, I’d better head off before the boat goes without me. Give my love to Tilda.”
I walk him out to the car, the dogs trailing after us. After he drives off, I head back to find Tilda back out in the gin garden, kneeling beside one of the raised beds with soil on her hands again, and a streak of dirt on her forehead.
“Jamie gone?” She doesn’t look up, focused on tucking a young lavender plant into the earth.
“Yeah.” I crouch down beside her. “He’s impressed. With you, and all of this.”
“Glad to hear it,” she says, shooting me a teasing look. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
I straighten, holding out a hand to pull her up to her feet, my hands sliding to her waist as she does.
“Someone might see,” she whispers, but she’s already tilting her face to mine.
“Let them.” I kiss her, slow and deep, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. Her fingers dig into my back and I press closer, my body remembering every inch of hers.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and I slide my hand beneath the fabric of her T-shirt, needing to feel her skin.
“Finn,” she says in warning. “We can’t. Not here.”
“No?” I drop my mouth to her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. “Tell me to stop.”
“I—”
I feel her back curve as she arches toward me.
“Georgia’s gone to the village,” I murmur. “Malcolm’s home. There’s only us.”
“And the dogs.”
“They can wait.” I trace a line down her back. “But I can’t.”
She laughs, breathlessly. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” I capture her mouth again, deeper this time, my hands roaming over her body with growing urgency.
“Inside,” she gasps against my lips. “Bed. Now.”
We barely make it upstairs.