Chapter 14
Rocco gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, praying they wouldn’t meet any vehicles coming the other way. There were plenty of passing places, but the thought of having to reverse down this single-track road with its soft verges didn’t appeal.
The landscape was wild and rugged, clothed in long-stemmed grass, spiky reeds and bracken, and dotted with the occasional sheep. Ahead lay vast outcrops of forbidding rock, towering into the sky.
Everywhere he looked, in every direction, was a photo opportunity begging to be taken. The only word he could think of was ‘breathtaking’, but in his opinion, everything here was breathtaking.
The road twisted and climbed ever higher, each hairpin bend revealing another jaw-dropping view, and just as they crested the top of a rise, to his relief, a car park appeared.
Once they’d parked up and settled their bags on their backs, Giselle pointed to a path on the opposite side of the road.
‘We’re going that way,’ she said.
Rocco blew out his cheeks. ‘Up there?’
‘That’s right.’
Up there was a huge cliff with stomach-churning drops, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. He didn’t think he was scared of heights, but he had a feeling he was about to be proved wrong.
The path was gentle at first but soon became rough underfoot, and then positively scrambly (you fibbed, Giselle) as a small stream had to be crossed, and further on they were faced with a section of loose scree.
And they kept heading ever upwards, passing needles of rock, climbing over stiles, trying not to get too close to the cliff edges, and always, always being humbled by the view.
The summit was five hundred metres above sea level, and Rocco was thankful by the time they reached it. And totally astounded, because below them was a spectacular tableau of flat emerald-green plateau which was surrounded by rock formations and staggering cliffs.
He’d never seen anything so awe inspiring in his life.
Shaking his head in wonder, he turned to look at Giselle, who was equally moved. Her eyes were wide, her full lips parted and she had a rosy glow in her usually pale cheeks. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful that he forgot to look at the view for several long seconds.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘Huh?’ Damn. Had she noticed him watching her?
‘Was it worth the hike?’
‘Absolutely!’ Of that there was no doubt. ‘Thank you for bringing me.’
‘I’m sure you would have found this place on your own.’
‘I expect I would have, but it’s so much nicer to have someone to enjoy it with.’
Not just someone: Giselle. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d want to be here with. To be truthful, he was beginning to think he wouldn’t want to be anywhere with anyone other than her.
It was a sobering thought.
‘Real live dinosaur footprints?’ Rocco asked, incredulously.
‘Not live, no. I believe dinosaurs have been dead a wee while.’
‘I meant, in situ – not in a museum.’
‘On An Corran beach, actually. I’ve never heard of “situ”. Where’s that? Down south?’
Rocco pulled a face, and wondered whether to tell Giselle that in situ didn’t mean an actual place, when he caught the twinkle in her eye and realised she was winding him up.
‘Why don’t you stop making fun of me and tell me where we’re supposed to be going,’ he said.
‘I told you, An Corran beach.’
‘Who’s Anne Corran and where is her beach?’ he shot back.
Giselle rolled her eyes. ‘Just drive. I’ll let you know where to go when we get to the main road.’
‘Please tell me it won’t involve any more walking,’ he begged.
He’d more than achieved his step count for today.
In fact, he’d happily find a nice pub to sit in for a couple of hours, but he’d asked her to show him Skye, and he could hardly complain that she was doing as he’d asked.
He was also worried that if he did, she might suggest they return to Duncoorie, and he wasn’t ready to go back yet.
Not unless he was able to spend the rest of the day with her, but he had no idea how he’d wangle that.
Great, yet more single-track lanes, Rocco grumbled to himself when Giselle instructed him to turn off the main road and head for a village called Staffin. At least they were at sea level now, so hopefully their destination wasn’t far.
‘There it is,’ she said, pointing to a small expanse of sandy beach flanked by rocks.
He parked the car and they picked their way down onto the beach. As they did so, he glanced back the way they’d come, to see cliffs rearing above them, and to the west he could make out the Quiraing.
Rocco was now standing on a shelf of flat rock, and he wondered where to start looking. The rock was criss-crossed with cracks and furrows, and speckled with green algae and seaweed.
Heads down, they spread out and began their quest.
‘What are we looking for, exactly?’ he called, after a few minutes of not seeing anything obvious. He wondered whether they’d be similar to the massive, cratered footprints depicted in the Jurassic Park films.
Giselle was a few feet away. She was crouching down, tracing the outline of something with a finger. ‘This,’ she said.
Rocco hurried to her side and peered down. He still didn’t see anything.
And then he did! It wasn’t as big as he’d anticipated, about forty centimetres long, and neither was it as distinct an outline as he’d expected.
But now that she’d pointed it out, he could see a three-toed depression.
Although, if it hadn’t been for Giselle, he would have walked straight past it.
Now that he’d seen one, he spotted another, and another.
Three in all, although he subsequently found out that there were eighteen in total.
‘This island is full of surprises,’ he said. ‘I knew it had lots of history, but I didn’t realise it went so far back.’
‘Want to see some more?’
‘Footprints?’
Giselle nodded. ‘And other things. Staffin Fossil Museum is just down the way.’
The museum was an old stone single-storey building, a mile or so along the main road leading towards Portree.
‘It’s quite a small museum,’ Giselle said, ‘run by a guy by the name of Dugald. He’s collected many of the exhibits himself, and some have been donated by local schoolchildren.’
She was right. It was small, but it had some interesting stuff.
Rocco gravitated towards a display of footprints made by a creature called a Coelophysis, and a slab of rock containing fossilised shells.
There was also a thigh bone as tall as a small child.
The Neolithic arrowheads and pottery fragments were fascinating, and he spent a few minutes studying them before joining Giselle, who was at the far end of the room, examining something called a mangle.
Rocco had no idea what the contraption was for.
‘It was used to wring out wet clothes after they’d been washed, before they were hung on the line to dry,’ she said. ‘People rolled them between the two rollers to squeeze the water out.’
‘It looks lethal. You wouldn’t want to get your fingers caught in that!’
‘I believe you own one of these,’ she told him.
‘I do?’
‘I think it was put in the cellars when the outbuildings were converted into the craft centre,’ she said, and Rocco made a mental note to take a look when he got the chance, wondering what else might be down there.
It was now five thirty and the museum was about to close, so they returned to the car.
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
‘Starving.’
‘So am I.’
‘Fish and chips?’ she suggested.
Rocco thought he could do better than that, but he’d have to be careful how he went about it. She wasn’t going to take kindly to him paying for her meal. ‘I could eat some fish. We’ve had a busy day. Thanks for showing me your island. I’ve enjoyed it.’
‘That was only a teeny tiny part.’
With fake surprise, Rocco said, ‘There’s more?’
‘Of course, there’s—’ she began hotly, subsiding when she realised he was teasing. ‘I really do have to get some work done tomorrow,’ she said. ‘This is peak tourist season, and—’
‘I understand. There’s no need to explain. I’m sure I can find my way around by myself.’
‘I’m sure you can.’
‘It won’t be as much fun.’
‘I doubt it will.’ She sighed. ‘OK, how about Monday?’
‘Monday is fine.’ He hid the smile creeping across his face.
‘When are you going back to London?’
‘I’m not sure.’ It depended on how long he could get away with this impromptu holiday.
He was aware that work would be building up, and there was only a certain amount he could do while away from the office, but goddamn it, he’d put his heart and soul into the business since his dad died, so surely he was entitled to some time off?
His battery was in sore need of recharging, and the most telling thing was that he hadn’t thought about work at all today.
Not once. That had to be healthy, right?
He needed this holiday. He’d felt more relaxed today than he’d felt in months.
‘What will you do with yourself tomorrow?’ she asked, her head still resting on the back of her seat.
He glanced at her to find her gazing at him. ‘I suppose I could try to get some work done.’
‘Are you able to work remotely?’
‘I am, but not for long. Beverly isn’t keen, and many of our clients prefer face-to-face meetings.
’ That was simplifying things considerably, but he didn’t want to go into the details of the business.
He didn’t want to think about it at all, right now.
Sod it, he was on holiday. He wasn’t going to work while he was here.
He was going to kick back, relax and enjoy himself. Preferably with Giselle.
‘On second thoughts,’ he said, ‘I’ll get out and about tomorrow. Any recommendations?’
‘Plenty, but nearly all of them involve some kind of outdoor activity. If you don’t want to venture too far from Duncoorie, you could go out on a boat. Mack – you met him last night in the pub; the guy who looks like a Viking? – he does whale- and dolphin-watching excursions.’
‘That sounds perfect. Are you sure you don’t want to come?’
She looked rueful. ‘I’d better not,’ she replied, then lapsed into silence.
Rocco turned the radio on for some background noise and relaxed into the drive. The pub was on the outskirts of Portree. He’d noticed it yesterday – was it only yesterday that he’d changed his mind about going home? – and had thought it looked nice. He was about to find out if it was.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, sitting up straighter as the car rolled to a halt.
He switched off the engine. ‘I’m about to have dinner. You can join me, if you wish.’
‘Here? I thought we were going to have fish and chips?’
‘I’m sure they’ll have fish on the menu.’
Giselle narrowed her eyes. He noticed her nose had caught the sun, and he really, really wanted to kiss it.
‘I can’t afford it,’ she stated boldly.
‘I’m paying.’
‘No.’
‘Giselle…’
‘I said no.’
‘Think of it as me buying you dinner in exchange for your services as a tour guide.’
‘Like a kind of barter system?’ she said.
‘That’s right, a barter system.’
‘Is everything business to you?’
‘Not everything. Anyway, you bought the fish and chips last time.’
‘Don’t pull this stunt again,’ she warned, getting out of the car.
‘I won’t.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘And don’t you go ordering too much, or loads of side dishes,’ she added.
‘Would I do such a thing?’
‘Venice,’ was all she said, stalking towards the pub’s entrance.
He’d guessed at the time that she’d seen through his ruse when he’d ordered far too much bruschette for one.
The pub was more of a restaurant, Rocco realised, as they were shown to a table.
With drinks ordered and menus in their hands, Giselle hissed, ‘I feel underdressed.’
Oh, I wish you were, Rocco thought, before catching himself. ‘You look fine,’ he told her. She looked more than fine: she looked gorgeous.
‘My hair is a mess and I’ve got grass stains on my trousers.’
‘So is mine,’ he said, running a hand through his hair.
Her lips twitched. ‘How about grass stains?’
‘Do you want me to stand up and show you my backside?’ Then he groaned aloud as he realised what he’d said. ‘Did I just offer to show you my arse? Good grief!’
‘I’ve seen it before,’ she quipped.
‘So you have. Does the fact that we knew each other years ago bother you?’
Two spots of colour appeared on her cheeks. ‘A little,’ she admitted.
‘Me, too. Venice was lovely, wasn’t it? I mean, the city, not the… although that was lovely, too. Oh, shit!’
Giselle was giggling, and Rocco started to laugh. ‘I’m not usually this inarticulate,’ he said. ‘I’m normally quite eloquent. Or at least not as embarrassing.’
‘I loved it,’ she said, her eyes brimming with laughter. ‘Venice, that is, as well as the…’ Her laughter faded as she stared into his eyes.
Hers were navy, as fathomless as the ocean.
‘Are you ready to order, sir, madam?’
The moment was gone with the appearance of a waiter, and Rocco hurriedly looked at the menu and picked the first thing he saw.
Giselle seemed equally as flustered, and further conversation was stilted and awkward, only settling when the food arrived and the conversation turned to less personal matters.
‘Didn’t you tell me that Flora MacDonald is buried on Skye?’ Rocco asked. They’d been discussing Skye’s rich history and the role the island played in the war against the English in the eighteenth century.
‘She is. I’ve been to her grave.’
‘I’d like to see it.’
‘We could go there on Monday, if you like.’ Giselle looked pleased. ‘Most people want to see the big stuff: the mountains, the waterfalls, the castles, the jaw-dropping scenery, but the smaller stuff, the less well known, is equally important.’
Rocco was looking forward to it already.
They lingered over dessert and coffee, Giselle declaring herself to be stuffed, then Rocco paid the bill and they headed home.
Dusk was falling as he brought the car to a halt outside her bothy.
Her rucksack was in the boot, so he got out and opened it. Picking the bag up, he handed it to her, and when his fingers touched hers, the contact sent a shock up his arm.
He thought she must have felt it too, because she inhaled sharply and her lips parted.
There was a moment where their hands were touching, the rucksack between them, when he thought he was going to kiss her, when he thought he was going to lose himself in the depths of her eyes.
But then she stepped back and he released his hold on the bag, and found himself saying off-handedly, ‘See you on Monday,’ as he closed the boot.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could wait a whole day to see her again.