by Ella Hayes
He set off for Strathburn, berating himself for flying off the handle. Rosie hadn’t meant any harm—she was only concerned about him. They all were. He sighed. He never used to be so volatile. It was the legacy of Afghanistan, and one of the reasons he was now chained to a desk at Chatham.
When Rosie had called him a shadow, she was right. He was a hollow shell filled with darkness.
* * *
Milla folded her arms and inspected her work. Around her, the floor was littered with charcoal sketches—studies of outlines and textures, rock formations and dramatic skies. Charcoal wasn’t her usual medium, but it felt right for these studies—bold, dark strokes for the wild and rugged landscape that was Cormac’s favourite place.
She’d just started a new sketch when a sharp knocking sound startled her, and then she remembered Cormac’s promise to come back with her things. She tidied her hair with her hands, then limped out of the studio, but he’d already opened the door and was standing in the threshold. At the sight of him she felt a familiar thrill tingling in her veins and an unwelcome rush of heat in her cheeks.
To hide it she launched an offensive. ‘You frightened the life out of me creeping in like that. Were you in Black Ops, by any chance?’
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I did knock. As for Black Ops—I could ask you the same thing.’ She must have looked perplexed because he added, ‘You might want to look in a mirror...’
She looked down at her oily hands, then noticed the smudges on her vest. ‘I’m covered in charcoal, aren’t I?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘You could say that.’ He took a few steps towards her and motioned to the bag in his hand. ‘I’ve brought your stuff and there’s a sketchbook in the car...it’s the one you were using in the studio. I didn’t know if you’d want it or not...’
She felt a little jolt of dismay. The last thing she remembered drawing was... ‘Did you look inside at all?’
‘It was lying open. I saw a pair of sad eyes and then it all got too much for me.’
It had only been a partial sketch, and there was every chance he hadn’t recognised himself, but she wasn’t sure. When she felt his hand on her shoulder she came back to herself and saw that he was smiling at her.
‘Milla, I’m teasing.’
The warmth of his fingers on her skin and the way he was looking at her threw her off balance. Perhaps he felt it too, because he dropped his hand to his side and the spell was broken.
She stepped back. ‘You might be teasing, but you’re right about the sad eyes. I’m glad I’ve gone back to landscapes.’ She smiled and tried to sound casual. ‘Even so, I’d like to keep the book, if that’s okay. I’ll go and clean up. Be careful where you walk if you go into the studio—there’s work everywhere.’
She confronted her reflection in the bathroom mirror and laughed. Cormac’s reaction had been typically understated. She was so smudged with black that she did indeed resemble a marine on a covert mission. A wash in the tiny sink wouldn’t cut it, so she showered quickly and put on clean jeans and a top. She brushed out her hair and tried to draw it up into messy bun, but for some reason she was all fingers and thumbs.
She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder and it was sapping her concentration. The way he’d looked at her, that soft light in his eyes... She didn’t want to feel these giddy butterflies cavorting around in her stomach.
She stared at herself and took a steadying breath, then forced her fingers to work her hair into the clip. She needed to get her feelings about Cormac into perspective. They’d had a nice morning together. He’d seemed friendlier than before, less starchy. He’d opened up a bit, so she’d warmed to him, but it didn’t mean anything except that maybe they were friends now.
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and put a fresh plaster over the cut on her hand. A minor injury—he must have seen so much worse. Yet again, she wondered what tragedy could have so altered him that the local villagers would throw its bones into casual conversation. Sam had said that Cormac had been in Afghanistan. That was bound to change a person. But at the end of the day it wasn’t any of her business. She should go and thank him for bringing her things back.
She found him in the studio, inspecting her work. He looked up as she entered and for a second she saw it again, that cloudy look in his eyes.
‘These are really good, Milla.’
‘Thanks, but they’re only studies...’ She felt a strange skittering sensation in her veins, a sudden dryness in her mouth. With difficulty, she swallowed. ‘The final pieces will be oil on canvas.’
He walked around the sketches carefully. ‘Well, I think these work on their own merits.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘Just my opinion.’
‘Thanks.’ She didn’t understand why his smile was making her blush, but the way he was looking at her was very disconcerting.
He glanced at her foot. ‘How’s it feeling?’
She looked down and shrugged. ‘I haven’t noticed it, to be honest, but then again I don’t notice much when I’m working. I suppose it’s aching a bit; I’ve been on it all afternoon.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not the afternoon. It’s after seven.’
‘You’re joking—right?’
‘I’m not!’ He frowned. ‘Have you eaten anything since I left?’
She was floundering now. ‘No. I was going to, but...’
His lips straightened into a line of exasperation. ‘You’re just like my grandfather. He’d forget everything when he was painting. You need to eat, and you need to rest. Your ankle won’t mend like this.’
‘I know, but I’m feeling so pressured about this exhibition. It’s making me—’
‘Foolish! That’s the word you’re looking for.’
His irritation seemed disproportionate to the crime and Milla bristled with indignation. ‘And you’re never foolish, I suppose?’
He stared at her for a moment and then the storm in his eyes passed. ‘I’m not saying that, but if you’re staying here you need to take care of yourself. That was the deal, remember?’ Unexpectedly, he broke into a smile. ‘Do you have a box of cornflakes?’
She squeezed her eyes shut and laughed. ‘I don’t know why I even told you that—and, actually, no, I don’t. I was going to shop properly the day after I arrived but then I came to the house...’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Well, I won’t have you starving to death on my watch. I’m taking you for dinner.’ He must have read her thoughts because he added: ‘Don’t worry. I’m not taking you to the house. I have somewhere else in mind.’
Was this a date or was he simply looking after her? Milla was confused. She glanced at him sideways. He looked relaxed—relaxed in the way he would be if he was heading out for a bite to eat with a friend. So—not a date, then, which was perfect.
She felt the evening sunlight playing across her face as he drove them through a winding glen and she closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she said no? She could have told him she had something in the fridge—she needn’t have told him it was only yoghurt. She didn’t understand herself. She’d just gone along with his idea and now it was too late to change her mind.
She fingered the catch on her bag, and then remembered how her mother used to tell her not to fidget, so she clasped her hands together and tried to focus on the view.
They’d emerged from the glen into a village, quaint, with narrow streets, neatly painted cottages and bright window boxes. Rows of colourful bunting flapped in the breeze and she found herself smiling.
Cormac caught her eye. ‘The bunting’s up for a local food festival—it makes the place look pretty for the tourists.’
She laughed. ‘Well, speaking as a tourist, I’d say it’s working.’
After a steep, twisting descent, the road opened out onto a waterfront. Cormac pulled over in front of a broad deck strung with lightbulbs and switche
d off the engine. ‘This is the Pier Smokehouse—it serves the best smoked seafood in Scotland. The view’s pretty good too.’
Milla gazed past the deck to the loch beyond. ‘It’s lovely... But this can’t be Loch Calcarron?’
‘You’re right.’ He unclipped his seat belt. ‘The glen we came through connects Calcarron to Collis—this is Loch Collis—it’s a sea loch.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s go.’
He helped her down from the four-by-four, his hand firm at her elbow. It was a simple courtesy, but in the context of this outing the lines felt blurry and yet again Milla wondered why she’d agreed to let him take her for dinner.
He released her and stepped back. ‘You can use my arm, or I’ll get your stick...’
Entering the restaurant on Cormac’s arm would be muddying the waters way too much; this non-date was already confusing.
She smiled. ‘I’ll go under my own steam, if you don’t mind.’
‘Why should I mind?’
He handed her the stick, then stepped aside to let her go through the timber arch which marked the way onto the decking.
He fell in beside her, adjusting his pace to hers. ‘Strictly speaking, it’s more of a landing stage than a pier, but it’s a great location for a restaurant. In high season it’s mobbed.’
Now that she was through the arch she could see the old smokehouse more clearly. It was a narrow building of weathered timber, its rusticity offset by crisp modern signage and tasteful metal planters filled with decorative grasses. Through the windows she could see red-checked tablecloths and winking tea lights. It was perfect—the kind of place that would have appealed to her if this had been a date. Which, she reminded herself, it wasn’t.
Inside, it was busy. She thought they’d have to wait, but Cormac seemed to know the owner and within moments they’d been shown to a corner table next to the window. As the waiter fussed around them, pouring glasses of iced water, she looked at Cormac and he caught her looking and smiled. She smiled back, and then, for something to do, slipped off her cardigan and arranged it over the back of her chair.
Did this whole thing feel as strange to him as it did to her?
When the waiter came back and handed her a tall menu she was relieved. She held it in front of her face and scanned the room. There was no getting away from it; this was a very romantic restaurant and she absolutely had to stop the butterflies racing around in her stomach.
When she’d composed herself, she lowered her menu slightly and risked a glance across the table. The low sun shining through the window bathed his skin in golden light, illuminating the shards of amber in his irises as he scanned the menu. Absently he drew his thumb across his lower lip and Milla’s insides churned.
Perhaps he heard the catch in her breath because he looked up, caught her in his enquiring gaze. She smiled quickly and looked down again, pretending to study the menu.
‘Have you chosen?’
‘I—I thought I’d let you recommend something.’ She couldn’t tell him she hadn’t read a word.
‘Okay...sea cucumber or hot smoked salmon?’
She grinned, thankful for his easy humour. ‘Hmm...the sea cucumber sounds tempting, but I think I’ll take my chances with the salmon.’
The waiter took their order and disappeared. Cormac topped up their water glasses while she gazed across the loch, wondering what on earth they were going to talk about. Jolting through the countryside together looking for landscapes to draw was one thing; facing each other across a table in a candlelit restaurant was quite another.
‘So, is this better than cornflakes?’
He was looking at her softly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Maybe he was feeling it too, the strangeness.
She smiled. ‘Definitely better than cornflakes—but I’m worried that your family will miss you at dinner.’
He sipped his water. ‘It’ll be fine. You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to listen to the ins and outs of table plans and hand-tied bouquets.’
‘I’m impressed that you even know the terminology.’ She felt her cheeks colouring and looked down at her glass. ‘I find the whole thing—’
‘I know.’
He was looking at her intently, and the curiosity in his eyes only increased her agitation. She didn’t want to talk about her past, but on the other hand, if he knew, he’d be a more effective ally against further invitations to the house.
She moistened her lips. ‘You want to know why, don’t you?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s none of my business.’
She shifted her gaze to the loch. It didn’t matter any more anyway—nothing she could tell him would change anything. ‘I was engaged, planning my own wedding, when my fiancé broke it off.’
‘I’m sorry, Milla. That’s really tough.’
The kindness in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes but she didn’t care. Now that she’d started, she wanted him to know everything. ‘Dan was working away in Berlin—he’s still there, actually—and he met someone else. Someone he loved more than me.’
Cormac sat in silence. She managed a smile. ‘Maybe it was a good thing. What I mean is that at least it happened before we were married.’
‘Maybe—but pain is pain, whenever it comes.’
She could see it again, a depth of sadness in his eyes which made her want to ask him... But she couldn’t.
She took a sip of water from her glass. ‘The break-up knocked me for six, affected my work—everything, really. It’s why I’m here. My tutor suggested it—he said being here would help.’
Cormac’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I can see it’s been a big help—no water at the bothy, a wrenched ankle and a serious case of wedding fever. If I’d known all this before—’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. You couldn’t have stopped any of it happening.’
He was looking at her in that intense way of his and she felt the familiar dizzying spiral of awareness. She was glad when the waiter arrived with their order.
As they ate the sun slipped lower and the golden ambience of the interior intensified. With its waterside location and delicious food, Milla decided that the Pier Smokehouse could easily hold its own against any London restaurant, and as she put down her dessert spoon she realised that telling Cormac about her broken engagement had lightened her spirits somehow.
She caught his eye. ‘It was nice of you to bring me here.’
He smiled. ‘I could hardly let you starve, and I knew you wouldn’t want to have dinner with my family again.’
‘Your family is lovely—’
‘I know—but things are hectic right now.’
She fiddled with her napkin, then smiled. ‘How did you know the terminology for table plans and hand-tied bouquets?’
It had been a light-hearted question, so she was surprised to see a fleeting pain in his eyes.
He looked for the waiter, gestured for the bill, then turned to meet her gaze. ‘I was best man for a friend. I must have absorbed more than I thought.’
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and as they stood up to leave Milla couldn’t help thinking that she’d touched a nerve.
* * *
Cormac pulled on the handbrake and switched off the engine. He wondered what had made him say it. ‘I was best man for a friend.’ He could have said anything at all—he could have said that he only knew wedding jargon because of Rosie—but instead he’d dipped his toe in the waters of intimacy and frightened himself.
Maybe it was because Milla had told him about her broken engagement—some subconscious part of him had wanted to open up too, tell her about Duncan. But he’d faltered at the last moment, and he knew that she was wondering why he’d been so quiet on drive back.
She started to move and he touched her shoulder. ‘Sit tight. I’ll help you to the door and see you safely ins
ide.’
He felt her eyes on his. ‘Thank you.’
Perhaps taking her out for dinner had been a mistake. When he’d brought up her bag nothing could have been further from his mind, but somehow events had overtaken him and now he was adrift, unsure of how to get things back to the way they were before.
As he unclipped his seat belt he felt grateful for the darkness, grateful that she couldn’t see his face.
Inside the bothy he switched on the lamps for her and wondered how he was going to take his leave. It ought to be straightforward, but she was looking at him with that little crease in her forehead, as if she was trying to work something out.
He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll check the water filters before I go, okay?’
She smiled softly. ‘Thanks, but I don’t want to keep you. You’ve already done enough for me today.’
‘It’s no trouble; the cupboard’s just through the back. It’ll only take a second.’
When he returned she was holding the folder he’d slipped into her sketchbook and her face was lovely with smiles. ‘I just found these photographs hidden in the sketchbook.’ She took a step closer. ‘You took them for me...thank you. It was kind of you.’
Her smile warmed him and he suddenly felt better. ‘You couldn’t manage the climb... I could see how frustrated you were.’
She held his gaze, then glanced at her foot. ‘At least it’s temporary—when this gets better there’ll be no stopping me.’
The light in her eyes was mesmerising, and he swallowed. ‘I’d better be going.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll show you out.’
On the deck, she lifted her face to the sky. ‘So many stars; they never look as bright as this in London...’
‘Because of the light pollution.’ He tipped his head back. ‘Desert stars look amazing too...’
‘Oh, my!’ She turned to look at him. ‘Did you see that...?’
‘I don’t know...what did you see?’
‘A green flash.’ She threw him a playful glance. ‘I’m thinking maybe it’s the Martians landing...’