Chapter 8 #2
‘I’ll go with the fish supper.’ He got out of the car, saying, ‘This is my shout. After all, I did invite you to dinner.’
‘I can pay my own way.’
‘I’m not suggesting you can’t.’
‘Halfsies?’
‘You mean go Dutch?’
‘Yes, that’s what I said, halfsies.’
‘I’ll have to pay, and you can owe me. I don’t have any cash on me.’
‘Of course you don’t.’
‘And you do?’
She patted her chest, and he guffawed. ‘Please don’t tell me you still keep your money down your bra!’
‘It’s the safest place for it. Money can fall out of pockets.’ She also had her house key in the left cup, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
‘What about your mobile phone?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t bring it with me.’
‘You’re not some hippy chick who lives off-grid, are you?’
‘Hippy chick? How 1960s of you. No, I’m not. I just don’t see the point in carrying it everywhere.’
From the pained expression on his face, she assumed his phone was surgically attached to him. ‘That must be… freeing,’ he said after a pause.
‘It is. You should try it sometime. Do you want a can of pop?’
His lips twitched. ‘I suppose I’d better have something to wash my fish supper down, since I doubt they’ll have champagne.’
She didn’t flinch at his barbed comment. ‘No champagne, but they’ll probably give you a wee dram of whisky, if you ask nicely.’
His loud guffaw made her jump. ‘I’ll stick to cola, since I’m driving.’
There was a mild tussle when it was time to pay, which Giselle won because she told Shawn, who owned the place, that Rocco’s card was probably stolen and that he’d be better off insisting on cash only. Shawn gave her a dubious look, followed by an even more dubious one aimed at Rocco.
‘That’s my reputation in tatters,’ Rocco joked as she handed over some notes.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it. You won’t be here long enough. Aren’t you leaving tomorrow or the next day?’
‘No.’
‘When?’ Her heart skipped a beat.
‘Friday, probably. There’s a great deal to go through.’
She should be able to avoid him for two more days. Mind you, she wasn’t doing too well so far, was she? She blamed Jinny for asking her to find out whether Rocco already had a buyer in mind.
‘Where shall we go to eat this?’ he asked, hefting the paper-wrapped parcel containing his portion of fish and chips. ‘The car?’
‘Good grief, no!’ Far too intimate. It had been bad enough sitting so close to him for the five-minute drive from her house. Talk about feeling trapped and claustrophobic! Ignoring the voice in her head arguing that it wasn’t trapped she’d felt, she said, ‘Let’s go down to the loch.’
There was a pretty place at the far end of the village where the burn trickled into the sea. It sported a couple of picnic tables and a view of the water. Giselle couldn’t think of anywhere nicer to eat her supper, even if she was forced to eat it with Rocco.
She plonked her bottom down on one of the benches, expecting him to sit opposite, but he squeezed in next to her, his jean-clad thigh almost touching hers.
She scooted over a bit, disconcerted at his nearness when there was all this space around them.
Was he deliberately trying to unsettle her, she wondered, determined for it not to work.
As she unwrapped the fragrant parcel, the aroma of vinegary chips and hot batter wafted up her nose and her stomach rumbled. Realising she was hungry, she popped a piping hot chip into her mouth and tried to cool it by sucking in air around it.
‘’Ot,’ she mumbled, desperately wanting to chew but scared of burning her already scalded tongue even more. She fanned her open mouth, embarrassment whooshing through her. She’d been a klutz when they’d first met, and it looked as though she still was. How galling.
When her face had cooled, along with the chip, she proceeded to eat her supper with a little more caution, pondering how best to broach the subject of potential wealthy buyers waiting in the wings for a castle to come on the market.
‘I bet it isn’t as stunning as this where you live,’ was her opening gambit.
‘Nowhere near it.’ His attention was on the view, and she suddenly understood why he’d chosen to sit next to her, rather than have his back to it. He continued, ‘No wonder so many people come here. The scenery is outstanding.’
‘And many of those people pop into the craft centre,’ she said. Subtle? No, but she didn’t think beating around the bush would do it.
‘I noticed. Cal reckons there are at least three or four coach trips a day, plus the motor home and caravan lot, as well as the cottage renters and the bed and breakfasters.’
She was nodding vigorously, until he added, ‘I bet it’s not half as busy in the winter. In fact, I know it’s not.’
About to ask him how he knew, she realised he’d probably viewed the accounts. ‘Is that why you want to sell it to a wealthy American?’ she ventured, licking her fingers.
‘I don’t care what nationality the buyer is, as long as they can meet the asking price.’
‘You don’t have anyone lined up?’
‘No.’
He shuffled around on the bench to face her. His lips glistened with salt, and her eyes were drawn to them. When his tongue flicked out to lick the crystals away, she swallowed hard.
‘Look, I didn’t know Mhairi,’ he began. ‘I knew I had a distant relative in Scotland, but I thought she’d died years ago. Inheriting her estate was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you.’
Hardly, she thought. Giselle hadn’t even known his surname until Avril had told her in the churchyard on the day of the funeral.
‘I’ve got no use for a castle,’ he added gently. ‘I’ve got to sell it. I’m sorry.’
So was she. Sorrier than he’d ever understand.