Chapter 15
She woke the next morning and realised as soon as she tried to climb out of bed that the gentle exercises had been deceptive. Everything ached, from her ankles all the way up to her neck. She tottered down the stairs in her pyjamas and opened the door, wincing slightly, to let Eliza outside for a quick pre-breakfast bathroom break.
‘Morning,’ she heard a man call in greeting.
Meg spun around with a muffled gasp of pain and saw with horror that there were two men in outdoor work gear standing by the lighthouse. One carrying a measuring wheel and the other – oh, you could not make this up – who turned as she watched to raise a hand in greeting was none other than the handsome man from the shop the other day. This village really was something else.
‘Hi,’ she said, giving a brief wave and stepping backwards, hoping they might mistake her tartan checked pyjama trousers for some sort of stylish Highland garb.
‘Sorry if we woke you,’ continued the other man, who was heading towards her. ‘I’m Donald Grant.’
She opened her mouth to find an appropriate response.
‘From Grant Forestry,’ he added, gesturing to the neat lettering on the side of the pick-up truck parked on the grass.
‘No, not at all,’ she said, taking another step back. ‘I was just – working. I didn’t notice the time.’
She brushed an imaginary speck of dust off her pyjama trousers and tried to look casual.
The other man – Gabe – looked at her with the faintest hint of a smile twitching at one corner of his mouth. Coupled with the slightest hint of a raise of his brows, his expression made it clear that she wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining her way out of the situation.
‘Anyway, I had better get on.’ She called Eliza, who with typical corgi contrariness had decided that there was something particularly intriguing under the rosebush by the gate.
‘Eliza,’ she said again. ‘Come on, it’s breakfast time.’
Eliza didn’t budge. All Meg could see was the white and furry bottom and the wag of her tail.
Meg realised with a sinking feeling that Eliza was stuck.
‘You okay?’ The two men made as if to come over.
There was nothing for it. Pulling down the hem of her T-shirt and scuttling as quickly as she could with legs that seemed to be made of lead she scooted to the end of the garden path and unhooked Eliza, who shot off at double quick speed towards the kitchen in the hope of breakfast.
‘You chose the wrong time to get hung up on a rosebush, madam,’ said Meg, sliding the food onto the mat at Eliza’s feet and grimacing at the thought of it.
‘Now stay where you are until I get back. I’m going to get dressed before anything else goes wrong this morning.’
She clambered – slightly laboriously – up the stairs and headed for the bathroom. She’d showered when she got home from the class last night, and her hair had dried by the fire while she’d caught up on her tv show. At least it looked decent, even if she’d been caught – braless and barefoot – on the hop. She washed her face and put on some moisturiser, then brushed out her hair, leaning forward to inspect the threads of silver which were definitely multiplying. She pushed her hair back and put on some make-up. Just – she told herself – because it was good to make an effort, and because the woman she’d been following on looking gorgeous over fifty said that a little bit went a long way to making you feel good at a time when the world wanted you to feel invisible.
She could have done with being blooming invisible earlier. That would have solved a whole lot of problems.
Rubbing a splodge of concealer she’d missed, she peered at herself in the mirror for a moment. A smudge of chestnut shadow at the edges of her lids made her brown eyes look slightly more awake, and the ridiculously expensive mascara she’d treated herself to definitely made her lashes look better. She used a finger to apply some rose-coloured lip cream and then shook out her hair once more.
‘You are being ridiculous,’ she admonished herself, before heading for the bedroom where she pulled her favourite grey shirt and a pair of jeans out of the wardrobe.
Eliza was standing by the door, waiting to go out with a look that suggested that she didn’t appreciate being kept waiting.
‘Two seconds,’ she said, putting on her shoes and grabbing the thick cream sweater she’d left by the door.
‘Hello again,’ said Gabe, as she opened the door of the cottage. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’
She smiled despite herself.
‘Taking a break from work?’ The arch of his eyebrow suggested he hadn’t believed her excuse for a second.
‘Something like that.’ She looped Eliza’s lead around her palm, deciding on the spur of the moment to take a wander down to the library and check the contents.
‘Sorry for the rude awakening,’ he carried on. ‘Donald seemed to think you knew we were coming today.’
Meg laughed, shaking her head in amazement. It was just as well she was used to Helen’s disorganisation.
‘Am I missing a joke?’ Gabe cocked his head slightly and scratched his unshaven jaw with a curious look , a furrow forming between his dark brows. Meg felt that same unfamiliar swooping sensation and glanced downwards for a moment, looking down at her shoes before she glanced back up to meet his dark blue eyes.
‘It’s not you, it’s my friend – it’s her cottage. I’m house-sitting, and she’s got a memory like a sieve. Everywhere I turn there’s something new popping up.’
‘Did she have to leave unexpectedly?’
‘Well, she’s had almost nine months to get organised, so I would say no, on balance.’
‘She’s pregnant?’ Gabe raised his brows in query.
‘Not quite,’ Meg laughed. ‘She’s a friend of mine from art school.’
Gabe made an open-handed gesture. ‘You never know these days. You could be any age.’
Meg met his eyes with a shake of her head and a laugh. ‘Definitely not pregnant. It’s her daughter who is.’
‘And she’s left you in the lurch?’
‘Oh no, not at all. She’s just a bit – well, she’s an artist.’
‘Ah,’ said Gabe, knowingly.
‘Yes, exactly. So she’s off to South America and I’ve turned up and basically spent the last few days firefighting but now I’ve got things under control.’
He looked at the garden, which was still very much in need of a good weeding and a clear out.
Meg wrinkled her nose and laughed. ‘Well, almost under control, anyway.’
‘Well, you were until we turned up. Sorry about that.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘At least Donald’s gone now, so there’s only one of us left to worry about.’
‘Should I be worrying?’ Meg looked at him sideways. He was standing with a black folder in one hand and a large sheaf of papers in the other. He didn’t look particularly alarming. More to the point, it wasn’t exactly a hardship to have to stand here talking to him.
He shook his head, laughing again. ‘Definitely not. I’m here to do some measuring for the planting and the fences they’re putting up around the visitor centre.’