Sealed With a Kiss (18 page)

‘It’s . . . very . . . striking.’

In the mirror she caught a glimpse of Roderick leaving the room. Kate could swear he was laughing, but when he returned a few moments later he looked as buttoned-up as ever.

‘Now then, if you two have finished your fashion show,’ he slid a glance at Kate, ‘we’ll have a quick check over the final details for the cottages.’

It was agreed that Kate would drive over to the cottages after a supermarket visit. All three of them were desperately keen for the first cottage guests to have a trouble-free stay. Kate’s
shopping list included a bottle of malt whisky from the distillery on the island, flowers for the kitchen and the basics: bread, milk, cheese, coffee and tea.

‘R–Roderick,’ she stumbled slightly. There was something about just saying his name that made her feel embarrassed. ‘I forgot to say – when I was at the beach
yesterday, Sandra let a lunatic dog loose. It scared the seals and they all headed back to sea.’

‘That bloody woman,’ said Roderick, slamming down his coffee. ‘She has no sense. I’ll take a drive up later and have a look at the seals.’ He gathered up a pile of
paperwork and stormed out of the room, thunder-faced.

Jean sneaked a look at Kate, and raised her eyebrows.

‘Now then, young lady. What’s this I hear about you sneaking away for Christmas?’

‘It’s . . . well, I’d like to see my mum,’ muttered Kate, thinking that she sounded about five. ‘And . . .’

‘And it’s a bitty awkward here, with Roderick being such a pain in the backside?’ finished Jean.

‘Jean!’ Kate laughed. ‘But yes, that’s it, really. I mean, the cottages are nearly done, the bunkhouse will be finished by February . . .’ She tailed off, biting
her lip.

‘I’d be very sad to see you go.’

‘I didn’t say I was going.’

Jean’s face was grave. ‘You don’t have to. I was young once, remember.’ She reached across the table, taking Kate’s hand. ‘Roderick is a lovely young man;
he’s like a son to me. But he’s proud, and stubborn, and the circumstances of his mother’s death affected him.’

Kate put her head in her hands, remembering his face that morning at the cottage.

‘We were thinking that he’d seen sense after Bonfire Night,’ said Jean gently.

‘Oh God,’ groaned Kate, head still in her hands. ‘Did Bruno tell the entire island?’

‘That he did not. But after Roderick – well, I could say after he saw the light about Fiona, but maybe that’s a wee bit unfair . . . We were so glad he’d seen sense. The
two of you would make a great pair.’

Kate sighed, unconvinced. ‘He didn’t seem to think so, Jean. He legged it off the island and never mentioned it again.’

‘He did, and that was a mistake. He’s his father’s son. Takes too long to make a decision, and then ends up having it made for him.’

Kate’s interest was piqued and she looked up at Jean. ‘Am I missing something?’

‘Och, you’ve not taken long to pick up the ways of this place,’ laughed Jean. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and tell you the whole saga.’

Kate parked herself next to the Aga, pulling up another chair for her feet. ‘I love a saga.’

‘Right then,’ said Jean, arranging the teapot on the table and covering it with an embroidered tea cosy. ‘I think a long story like this needs a wee bit of cake. Hold
on.’

She leapt up from the table, returning with a tartan tin filled with a sticky, heavily perfumed gingerbread.

‘It was like this. Long ago – we’re talking probably a good thirty-five years – James, Roderick’s father, was secretly in love with a young girl from the island.
She was beautiful and wild and funny, and she loved him back. They were the greatest of friends.’

Kate cut a second slice of cake, and ate it mindlessly as she listened to Jean continue the tale. She was a born storyteller, the soft island lilt giving the narrative a fairytale quality.

‘But James was shy, and he never let on how he felt. And after a couple of years the young girl grew tired of waiting for him to declare his feelings.’

‘Jean!’ exclaimed Kate, suddenly realizing, ‘it was you!’

‘It was not.’ Jean took a long drink of tea and continued. ‘Meanwhile there was another man, a quiet, thoughtful man, who also loved the girl. He didn’t have a grand
castle to offer her, but he was kind, and hardworking, and he was good.’

Kate rolled her eyes, thinking of her life with Ian. ‘He sounds a bit . . . well, dull.’

‘Ach, you young things are all the same. There’s nothing wrong with a quiet life. Anyway. So the young girl went to James and told him that another man was in love with her, but that
she had feelings for him.’

‘She was hoping he’d declare undying love?’

‘But he never did. I suppose he wasn’t sure how she felt, and he wasn’t willing to take a risk and get it wrong. So he congratulated her, and offered her Duntarvie House for
the wedding.’

Kate sighed. ‘That’s so sad.’

‘Indeed it is. Because we all know what happened next. Suddenly realizing that he’d missed the boat, James married the next girl who came along, who just happened to be Miss Annabel
Farquhar. And, as you know, that didn’t end well.’

‘But what happened to the girl? Did she leave the island?’

‘She did that. She went away to London with her good man and lived there for many years. But when James died a few years back, he left her a house on the island in his will and she came
back.’

‘And she’s still here?’

‘She is. And she’s my dearest friend.’

‘Morag?’ Kate gasped.

Jean nodded slightly. ‘James left her the stables and his horses, knowing how much she’d always loved Highland ponies.’

‘Oh, that’s so sad.’

‘And a lesson that a certain young laird would do well to remember.’

A tear sneaked out of the corner of Kate’s eye, and she wiped it away quickly before Jean could see, standing up and warming her hands on the Aga.

‘You know, Roderick came to the cottage the morning he arrived back from England,’ said Kate.

‘Did he indeed.’ She looked at Kate, not letting on. ‘That was bad timing, that’s all. You’re a young girl – you’re entitled to a wee bit of fun now and
again.’ Jean’s eyes twinkled. ‘And I tell you what, Finn McArthur’s a good-looking young man. If I was thirty years younger—’

‘Jean!’ Kate burst out laughing.

‘You just wait, young lady. You’ll wake up one day and be sixty – and you’ll not feel much different from the way you do at twenty-five.’

If I carry on at this rate, I’ll still be single, too, Kate thought.

She stood up, making to clear away the cups. ‘Look at the time. I’m sorry, Jean, I’d better get to the supermarket, much as I’d love to sit here all day.’

Jean smiled at her fondly. ‘Leave that, I’ll sort it out. Now, don’t you go worrying your head about Roderick. Give him a bit of time.’

Kate grimaced. Whilst it was lovely to have someone to confide in, there was something excruciating about having her feelings out there in the open. Until now she hadn’t even really
admitted them to herself. Her chest throbbed with a raw, lonely, miserable ache. It was only ten o’clock and already what she wanted to do was sneak home and climb into bed.

‘Can I leave Willow with you, Jean?’ Kate didn’t have the heart to deal with the rambunctious bouncing of her little dog around the shops, no matter how gorgeous she was.

‘Course you can, dear. I’ll take her out when I walk Roddy’s two later.’

Kate plonked the bags of shopping down on the table. She’d spent a bit more money than she’d planned in town. She’d driven to the little distillery and picked
up a bottle of whisky, had a chat and a coffee with Bruno, then collected a beautiful crunchy loaf from the bakery, and had a lovely chat with Helen while she put together a beautiful bouquet of
flowers for their guest, who was proving to be a bit of a mystery.

‘And you’ve no idea who’s staying?’ Helen had asked, snipping eucalyptus leaves.

‘Not a clue. It was booked by one of those corporate concierge services. There’s nothing other than a company name. I think it was a Glasgow number.’

‘Very odd.’

‘Well, it’s perfectly normal for anywhere else, but odd for the island of Auchenmor – I’ve only been here three months, and I’ve already caught the nosiness bug.
Back in Cambridge I was never interested in other people’s comings and goings like this.’ Kate had been fiddling with a roll of raffia and it had unfurled all over the floor. She was
trying to put it back without Helen noticing.

‘Give me that. What are you doing? You’re making a right dog’s dinner of it.’

‘Oops!’

Following that, Kate had popped into the supermarket to get the bare essentials.

‘All right gorgeous?’

A familiar husky voice caused her to spin round in the bakery aisle. She flushed scarlet at the sight of Finn, who grinned at her broadly, taking the heavy basket of shopping out of her
hands.

‘Have you been behaving yourself?’

‘Of course.’ She sounded a bit stiff and formal. It was more awkward than she’d expected, bumping into him. He seemed completely at ease, presumably because one-night stands
were more of a regular occurrence in his world.

He fell into step beside her as she wandered the aisles of the supermarket. His big mouth stretched open in a huge yawn, his fair hair and blond stubble making him look like a young lion.

‘Sorry, excuse me. I’m knackered – got a couple of sculpture commissions, and I’m busy with the forestry at this time of year as well.’

‘Aren’t you ever tempted to get an exhibition together over on the mainland?’ Kate plopped a bottle of washing-up liquid into the basket, alongside a couple of packs of scented
tea-lights. The cottage was going to look gorgeous. She hoped their first guest would appreciate all the little touches she’d done to make it feel like a cosy retreat.

‘No chance to get the work done – I’d need a decent six-month run at it, and unless I win the lottery, there’s no way I can give up working for Roddy. I need the estate
as much as they need someone running the forestry.’

He grabbed the bottle of lemonade he’d come in for, tucking it under his arm. ‘Got everything?’

‘Thanks – do you want me to take that?’ She motioned to the shopping basket.

‘You’re fine.’ He plonked it down on the conveyor, helpfully unloading the items one by one. Feeling a bit of a spare part, Kate fiddled with her purse.

It slipped out of her hands, falling to the ground with a thump, the catch bursting open. Coins spun across the floor.

Finn knelt down at the same moment she did, gathering handfuls of pennies. He leaned in towards her, eager for news.

‘Any word on you and Roddy? I haven’t heard anything through the jungle drums.’

‘There is no me and Roddy.’ Kate pulled a shut-up face at him. The last thing she wanted was everyone knowing what had happened.

‘Not yet.’ He gave her a wink.

‘Finn, you’re impossible.’ Kate stood up, laughing despite herself.

The woman behind the checkout gave her a curious look. ‘Eighteen pounds forty-two, hen.’

Finn gathered the bags of shopping, insisting on taking them out to the car. He slammed the boot shut, giving a piratical grin.

‘Y’know, Kate, it must get a bit boring out there in the sticks by yourself. If you ever fancy a bit of company . . .’

Kate blushed again. ‘I don’t think so, Finn. But thanks for the offer.’

‘Any time, darling.’ And, with a cheeky grin, he was gone.

She stopped at New Farm for half a dozen blue, white and brown speckled eggs on the way across the island to the cottages. There was something about old-fashioned shopping that
made her feel like a proper islander, regardless of the fact that the proper islanders like Jean were ecstatic about the sterile new supermarket.

Kate placed the bread on the wooden chopping board, the cheese, butter and milk in the fridge, and the whisky on the table. She stood for a moment, wondering whether to leave the bread knife
out, but decided there was something a bit mass-murdererish about it, and shoved it back in the drawer. She plonked the flowers on the coffee table. Helen, knowing that Kate’s
flower-arranging skills were minimal, had made her up a ready-tied arrangement, with a vase to plonk them in. Kate lit the wood-burning stove and stepped back, admiring her handiwork. The cottage
looked beautiful: homely, cosy, understated and classic. Kate could quite happily have moved in herself. Smiling, she turned for the door.

As she turned the handle, she felt the door being pushed hard from the outside.

‘Good God! You’d think they’d manage to get the front door right,’ came a voice from outside. ‘I mean, have they not heard about first impressions?’

Kate let go of the door and stepped back just in time as it swung open, nearly hitting her in the face.

‘And who are you?’ demanded the voice.

It was attached to a prim-mouthed, slightly pinched-looking woman of around the same age as Kate. Her long blonde hair had been ironed poker-straight and expensively highlighted. Her eyebrows
had been plucked into obedience and stood to attention above ice-blue eyes. The voice, and its body, stood waiting for a response.

Kate gulped slightly. ‘I’m Kate. I work with . . . I work for . . . the Duntarvie estate.’

‘Fiona darling, will you take Blossom while I unload the Range Rover?’ A familiar voice fluted through the room, one that it took Kate a moment to recognize.

‘Oh, hello, Kate. You’ll have met Fiona then?’

Sandra appeared in the room, towed by an overexcited Blossom. The dog sniffed at the table, circuited the room and promptly peed with excitement by the arm of the sofa. Kate cringed.

‘Naughty Blossom!’ said Fiona, sounding not at all put out. ‘I’m sure you’ve got something to clean that up, haven’t you?’ She turned to Kate, smiling
at her.

That’s more of a smirk than a smile, thought Kate, but the customer is always right. She reached into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a bottle of all-purpose cleaner and a
J-cloth.

‘That’s absolutely fine,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘Everyone has a little accident now and then.’

Fiona laughed, a fluting and unpleasant sound. ‘Oh, it’s more than now and then with my little Blossom, but never mind, darling.’ She reached down for the dog, stroking her on
the head. ‘It’s only a rented house anyway.’