Chapter 13
The following morning, a sunny Saturday, Skye breathed in the sea air as she puttered along the front carrying a too-hot latte from the café. The colours and textures of the town were like nowhere else, the houses every colour of an artist’s paintbox. Uneven waves with frothy bubbles hushed in and out of the harbour beach, sea birds swooped and called overhead. Further out, a bob of seals barked contentedly, a couple flopping their sleek bodies up on to a nearby rock. She wondered if Sporran — a seal her uncle had once treated after it had been caught in a net — was one of them.
Did Eastercraig look even more charming than usual? Perhaps her plan to go to Mull next week was making it seem that way. Or did it have something to do with spending the day with Bear tomorrow? She recalled the feelings of the night before, the noticeable thrills she had registered racing round her body. She reminded herself once more that it hadn’t been a week since she had broken up with Will. It was far too soon to be thinking about moving on.
She blinked as she repeated her thoughts, a Richter-scale-registering shock jolting her. Moving on? She had been in love with Will, she had pictured their future together, decorated imaginary walls in the home they would share, chosen the places they would adventure to. Frankly, it was inappropriate, impossible to think she could be moving on, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Well, maybe it wasn’t completely against the rules. You couldn’t help the way you felt, of course. But she had met Bear a handful of times. He and she clearly had things in common — work crises, tough parents. And he was very handsome, but that was nothing. It was, most likely, a little crush to tide her over following her breakup. Anyway, she shouldn’t be considering any men at all, given what happened with the last one.
Skye stopped dead. Forget about the moving on. More to the point, had she broken up with Will? The gusto with which he had been kissing The Woman suggested the end of their relationship was a foregone conclusion, but neither of them had said anything official. She thought about the text and voicemail he’d left earlier in the week. She hadn’t opened either of them. Perhaps he had ditched her already after all.
Skye sighed deeply. So, what if she did find Bear attractive? She needn’t feel too guilty. If someone cheated on you, you were sort-of a free agent. Right?
She went over to the railings, pondering what counted as suitable attire for hiking to a blackhouse, and whether she ought to read up on them first. She smiled to herself, and carried on along the pavement.
A minute later, she reached the flat, and rooted in her bag for the key. Three more weeks of freedom. Her plan for the day was going to commence with drinking her latte and looking for places to stay. It would be a wrench to leave Eastercraig, but she’d never been to Mull, and while the weather was fine, it would be a good time to explore. Skye didn’t want to outstay her welcome at Paolo’s, despite loving the book selection, and Ginger’s company, and the fact that Paolo was an all-round superstar.
As she put the key in the lock, a deep woofing reverberated through her chest. Skye glanced round and spied Hamish wrestling a large wolfhound. She could see the veins popping in his neck as the dog strained at the leash, trying to make a break for the sea; a seal had slid off the rock, and swum over to say hello. The scar across its face marked it out. It was definitely Sporran. Skye ran over.
‘Skye!’ Hamish was panting more than the dog. ‘How are you?’
Skye went round and grabbed the lead, only to realize she’d entered a tug-of-war with an animal who possessed the combined strength of the Scottish national rugby team.
‘Not bad. I’m off work for the rest of the month. You?’
‘Fine apart from struggling with this guy. I don’t think you’ve met him before. Wolfie, you idiot canine. Come on . Sporran is not your friend.’
Skye turned to look at the seal, who stared at them with twinkling eyes. His wonky muzzle made it seem as though he was giving the dog a goading smile.
‘Yeah, pup. He’s winding you up,’ said Skye, heaving harder.
‘I need to get him to his Lyme vaccine. Come on, Wolfie. If I can stop fretting about all the bloody ticks you keep coming in with, it’ll be one less thing on my plate.’
Between them, they heaved Wolfie one last time. As luck would have it, a boat came into the harbour at that moment and Sporran swam off to greet it. Wolfie, his bushy eyebrows furrowed, finally acquiesced. The lead slackened and Skye and Hamish collapsed on to the pavement.
‘You daft bugger,’ said Hamish, as Wolfie came and licked their faces.
‘Ugh, gross, Wolfie!’ Skye got off the ground, and with her sleeve wiped the slobber from her cheek. ‘What else are you worrying about?’
‘I’ve lost Maeve, my admin assistant.’ Hamish stood up, and looked to the sky, as if a new assistant might float down, Mary Poppins style. ‘She’s only four days a week, but she’s the one other person in the house who can work a spreadsheet. Mum and Dad try, but Mum oversees tours and can’t tell if the computer is broken or simply turned off, and Dad can only type with his index fingers.’
Skye didn’t need to think twice. ‘I’ll take over!’
It was obvious. The B Hamish, try to keep him calm. Talk to him for a second . . .’ She swiftly injected the vaccine into Wolfie’s leg, causing Wolfie to howl briefly. ‘All done.’
Hamish scratched Wolfie’s ears. ‘Good boy. Here, have a treat.’
He produced a biscuit from a sealed pack in his coat pocket. ‘I know it seems weird to wrap them up,’ he said, looking from Paolo to Holly. ‘But he sniffs them out otherwise.’
‘Sensible. Dogs like that can eat you out of house and home before you realize.’ Holly went over to her computer screen, and updated her records. ‘See you soon, Hamish.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Paolo.
Hamish thanked Holly, and Paolo returned to reception with him. Chloe, who had been on a phone call, looked up from the desk and smiled. ‘That’ll be ￡40, please.’
The phone rang again, and Chloe picked up, simultaneously handing the card machine over to Hamish, and managing to daintily sip from a cup of tea at the same time.
‘Tell you what,’ said Hamish. ‘I have a clear hour this afternoon. Why don’t I get Skye out of your hair now? I can help her pack, and she can come straight over. It’ll be fantastic. She can settle in, and reacquaint herself with the castle and all its nooks and crannies.’
‘Oh. Sure.’ This was happening so fast it felt like being on an out-of-control rollercoaster. ‘I guess so. Err . . . thanks.’
Hamish, having tapped his card, stuffed it into his pocket. ‘Great I’ll see you, Paolo.’
He clapped a hand to Paolo’s arm. It was such a man-to-man gesture. Still, Paolo tried not to look at where Hamish’s hand rested.
‘See you later.’
Hamish left, Wolfie trotting along happily after him. Paolo watched him disappear along the front, then stared at the sea out of the window. A nugget of unease proceeded to wend its way through his body, before firmly lodging itself in his brain.
Hamish seemed almost desperate to install Skye at Glenalmond, like a delightful, young chatelaine. It didn’t matter she was only going to be there three weeks. Paolo could see the excitement radiating from Hamish as he’d suggested moving Skye in immediately.
‘Gosh! Who knew there was such history between the two of them,’ Chloe said.
It was not the comforting interruption he needed. Paolo turned around, narrowing his eyes. She narrowed hers back as she took another sip of tea, then winked.
‘Are you half bat? How on earth did you get to hear any of that?’ He groaned, leaning his elbows on the desk and putting his head in his hands.
‘I’ve perfected the ability to use both ears separately,’ said Chloe, with an impish smile.
‘That’s not a thing,’ grouched Paolo. He relented, remembering Chloe was on his side. ‘Do you think there’s something going on?’
Chloe, who rarely guffawed, stifled one. ‘Are you serious, Rossini? They’re old friends.’
‘He waxed lyrical about her. Like a waxy love song.’
‘I didn’t hear that ,’ said Chloe. ‘Even with my bat ears. You’re being paranoid, Paolo.’
‘But he’s lovely, and obviously cares for her. And she’s . . . I don’t want to call her a hot mess, because that’s offensive. But she’s hot, and she’s a mess, and he’s relishing the chance to take her under his wing and help her recover, like he did all those years ago.’
‘Pah.’ Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘You’re making that up as you go along. Can you stop being so ludicrous?’
‘Yes,’ he acceded. ‘Come on, who’s next on the list?’