"I think it's safe to say that I'm the only person in this room with actual war experience. So you two can zip it."
"I don't care about your wars. I care about Morag and her cronies making a fool of themselves outside my shop. Make it stop."
They looked at Betty.
"No," she said, and folded her arms.
There was silence.
"I can't make her," Lake said. "And I doubt Morag will listen to me."
Kirsty made a strangled noise and took a step towards him. Lake felt every nerve in his body stand to attention. He took a deep breath and she filled his senses. It was heady.
"No more Miss Nice Girl," she said as she poked him in the chest right above his heart. "If you want to play dirty, I'll give you dirty."
Lake felt her touch sear flesh. She glared at him, almost eye to eye in her low-heeled boots. He licked his lips.
"We can get dirty together any time you want," he told her.
"Argh!" Kirsty threw up her hands in clear exasperation.
She stalked to the door.
"Let the dirty fight begin," she said as she disappeared through it.
A second later he heard the door downstairs slam shut.
"Why is it everything she says sounds like a come-on?" Lake mumbled.
"Maybe because you're thinking with your trousers, I mean your towel, and not with your head," Betty offered.
Lake ignored her as he watched Kirsty cross the street. He loved that red hair of hers. He even loved the cut. Short and feathered over her forehead and ears. Sexy. Even covered up from ankle to chin, she oozed sex appeal. As he watched her go, she turned and glared up at the window. Well, he'd got one thing that he wanted—the Kirsty from the paper was well and truly alive, and from the look of it she was pretty intent on shedding his blood.
"This is going nowhere," Lake said, and it scared him that he wasn't sure if he was talking about the war or Kirsty.
"That's it," Kirsty declared after she'd fought her way past the protest and into her shop. "He wants to play dirty, I'll give him dirty."
"Uh..." Magenta looked around for something to say.
"Not you too!" Kirsty shrugged into her woollen coat. "Why is it that everyone around me has their minds in the gutter?"
Magenta opened her mouth and shut it again, making her black bob bounce. Kirsty held up a hand.
"Don't answer that," she said. She wrapped a pink woollen scarf around her neck. As usual, the beginning of November was freezing in the Highlands. "Hold down the fort. Try not to kill Morag. I'm going to see my mum."
Magenta placed her slender hand on Kirsty's arm.
"While you're there," she said, "have a nice cup of calming tea, take several long breaths and try to remember that you're an adult."
"Ha!" was all Kirsty said before she headed out of the back door and into the alleyway that ran behind the long row of shops.
She turned into the wind and headed down the hill towards the loch. Her mother's shop sat in a tiny, crooked building on the corner of the high street and the road that ran along the waterfront. As she walked towards it she could feel some of the tension seep from her. This was home.
She'd grown up in her mum's wool and craft shop. Played on the floor while her mother dealt with customers. Did her homework at the old table at the back of the shop. The table that was in constant use now as the unofficial meeting place of the Knit Or Die ladies group and they were just the women she wanted to see.
"Darling!"
Her mum jumped up from the round table near the open fire at the rear of the shop. The usual group of middle-aged women smiled up at her while they continued to knit.
"Hey, Mum." Kirsty pulled her tiny, round mother into a hug, resting her chin on the top of her greying hair. She took one of the deep, soothing breaths that Magenta had ordered her to take and actually did feel better.
"Come and have a cup of tea with the girls," her mum said when she pulled away.
Kirsty hung up her coat and scarf on the pegs beside the back door and plopped into an old wooden chair close to the open fire. Around her the floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with all sorts of wool and craft materials, giving the shop the same smell a cosy blanket would have. She'd always loved this place. It was where she'd had her first kiss when her mum thought she was doing homework, where she'd run to every time things had gone wrong at work and it was where she'd hidden when cancer had taken her dad. Naturally, after her accident it was the only place she wanted to be. She took the mug her mum offered with a tiny sigh of satisfaction. If only she could stay cocooned in her mum's shop forever.
"What's up?" her mum said as she climbed back into her armchair and picked up her knitting.
Kirsty looked around the group as she sipped her tea. When she was little the women only met once a week, but now that most of them were retired, or free in the mornings, their time was spent gabbing and knitting in Margaret Campbell's shop—much to the delight of their husbands, who welcomed a little peace.
"It's okay, dear," Jean said. "We can keep a secret."
"I know you lot are running some underground war thing and I want in," Kirsty said.
That stopped the clack of needles dead. Smiles were gone.
"We don't know what you mean," her mother said. Her lips drawn tight.
"I caught Billy messing with Lake's pipes," she told them.
"Fine," her mother sighed. "We might have one or two ideas, but we thought it best if you weren't involved."
"Deniability," Shona said. "I saw it on Taggart; apparently it works well in court."
"I don't need to deny anything. I need to ruin the man and send him back to England with his tail between his legs."
"Why now, what did he do?"
"He set Betty loose and now Morag is picketing my shop."
"Outrageous!" Shona said.
"Morag thinks I sell sex toys," Kirsty said indignantly.
"Do you?" said Jean hopefully.
"Of course not," said Kirsty's mother, and Jean's face flushed before she went back to her knitting.
"This is just what you need after all that trouble of yours," Shona said in the faux-sympathetic voice they all barely tolerated. "First that fiancé of yours leaves you dying in a hospital in Spain and runs off with your money. And now this. There's no justice in the world."
Kirsty rolled her eyes and watched as her mother fought a smile.
"Thanks for the recap, Shona, but I wasn't dying," Kirsty said.
Shona leaned over to pat her hand.
"That's not the point, love. You were seriously injured and he was the man you were going to marry. You don't run out on the people you love."
Kirsty swallowed the old feelings that tried to gag her. Her mother flicked a concerned glance in her direction.
"Okay, ladies, we've strayed from the point," her mum said.
"Do we really have to send him packing?" Jean said. "He's such a nice man. He has a right to try to get his business off the ground too."
The group turned to her in unison. Jaws opened but no words came out. There was a general consensus that Jean needed to buy herself another couple of IQ points with the money her husband had left her in his will.
"He's a stranger. Our loyalty lies with family," they told her.
"We need the business in this town," Jean continued, unaware that they were ganging up on her. "And that class last night was great. I haven't had that much fun since Dave died. You were there, Kirsty—I didn't see you complaining."
Kirsty kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was to admit that the evening had turned out to be fun. Whether or not she enjoyed herself wasn't the point. The point was, Lake was getting under her skin and it was time for him to leave Invertary.
"It's lovely that you had a nice time last night. Both of you," Shona said pointedly, "but the fact of the matter is that we don't need another lingerie shop in Invertary. We're a small town. We barely need one lingerie shop, let alone two."
"Don
't forget he's English," Heather said.
Everyone nodded. English trumped community economics any day of the week. When it came to a choice between a precious daughter of Invertary and an English interloper, everyone knew exactly where their loyalty lay—business or not.
"What do you want us to do?" her mum said.
"I'd like to know if you have anything else planned." Kirsty pulled her chair in close to the table. "He's fighting dirty so I want to fight dirty back, but I don't know how. All I had planned was some advertising and a fashion show. So I'm looking for ideas. What you got?"
Five middle-aged women smiled with scarily cold eyes.
"I had a wee talk with my nephew," Jean said. "He works with the courier company, and your man's underwear isn't going to arrive when he expects it."
"If at all," Shona said with a mad gleam in her eye.
Kirsty grinned. This was more like it.
"Billy already worked on the pipes," Shona said, "but his cousin is a decent electrician. We were planning a wee power cut—or two."
Kirsty started to chuckle.
"I had planned for him to get the wrong paint," Heather said. "But he went to Fort William and bought it there. Which was a pity. Otherwise his shop would have been vomit green."
Shona patted her hand to console her over her failed plan.
"I'll put out the word, make sure that people know where their loyalty lies. It would be scandalous if they bought their knickers from an English impostor instead of our own Kirsty," her mum said.
Kirsty smiled warmly at the women she had known her whole life. Family. That's what it was all about. That's why she'd come home. Plus, there was no doubt in her mind that if Scotland was ever invaded this group could easily sort the enemy out over a cup of tea and a new knitting pattern.
CHAPTER SIX
It became clear to Lake, almost a week after Morag's protest, that things weren't going to plan. First, the truck full of shop fittings had taken a detour en route from Glasgow and was days late. The local courier rep didn't seem bothered in the slightest. It had taken a threat for the truck to suddenly find Invertary. Once that was solved, he got an embarrassed call from his lingerie supplier. His order had been delivered back to the warehouse instead of to Invertary.
Meanwhile, his shop and flat had been the victim of several inconvenient and mysterious power cuts. It'd taken him three days to figure out that the old wiring in his house shared a second fuse box with the house next door. The owners swore that they had no idea how the power cuts happened. Lake had given them a look that told them he knew otherwise, then he'd sealed and padlocked the box. He was kicking himself that it'd taken three days to get to the bottom of the problem; the fact there were two fuse boxes had thrown him.
He had to hand it to Kirsty, this was pretty impressive. She'd effectively shut him down for almost a full week. He smiled in the direction of her shop as he supervised the unloading of his furniture. He was grateful for her actions. They reminded him that he was becoming soft. It was time to change that. He'd lost sight of his goal. If he didn't make the business work, he wouldn't be able to sell it and his deadline for a new life would pass him by. Two months and counting. Kirsty's efforts had been impressive—for an amateur.
But it took a lot more than that to win a war.
"I like that look on your face, boy," Betty said as she tottered up beside him. Her head barely made it past his waist. "What are you planning now?"
"You're the last person I'd tell. You're a loose cannon."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I can be a whole lot worse if you don't include me in the fun."
"Have you ever thought of getting therapy? I'm pretty sure that there's something wrong in your head."
"Ha!" His own personal Hobbit folded her arms and growled. "Therapy is for Americans with more money than sense. Do I look like I want to mine my childhood looking for scary beasties? There's nothing wrong with my head that can't be fixed with a bit of a challenge. I've been telling you since you arrived—I'm bored. Are you so thick that you can't understand what I'm saying?"
Lake heaved a sigh.
"Why am I responsible for your fun? Why are you even hanging around me? What did I do to deserve this?"
"Now you sound like a namby-pamby bairn. Get a grip on yourself and do something manly. Heck, do something dangerous. But do something. Or I'll have to fire the next shot in this war of yours. What kind of soldier are you anyway that a wee old woman has to fight your battles? It's pathetic."
"You ever heard of a sport called dwarf tossing?" He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head towards her.
She scowled.
"If you're going to pick me up and throw me, at least aim for Kirsty's shop."
It was pointless. The woman was made of Teflon. Insults slid off her. His choices lay in committing her to some sort of asylum, or including her in his plans.
"Fine. We'll meet this afternoon. Sort out a strategy. After we've got this stuff in place."
She punched the air.
"Fandabbydozy," she said. "That leaves enough time to go get some cakes. You can't have a meeting without cakes." She paused. "And Irn-Bru. You can't have a meeting without Scotland's other national drink." She turned towards him with a haughty look. "Do you know that there isn't a stain remover on the planet that will take out an Irn-Bru stain? Nothing will shift it. Isn't that amazing?'
"Mindboggling. Makes me want to drink loads."
She frowned again as she held out her hand.
"Give me money," she demanded. "It's your meeting. You're paying."
With a sigh, Lake reached for his wallet, briefly wondering if this was what all parents felt with unruly children.
"I'll be back when the work's done," she said as the cash disappeared into the folds of her tartan tent. He assumed there was a pocket there somewhere.
With that, she hobbled up the road to the shop. He couldn't help but notice the spring in her step.
Kirsty was feeling pretty good about herself. The women of Knit Or Die were true to their word and Lake had his hands full dealing with them, and that left Kirsty free to work on her website. She grinned widely at the screen in front of her. After much frustration and hard work, it was ready to go live. She called through to the shop for Magenta.
"Hey, what's up?" Magenta said as she came to stand beside Kirsty's desk.
"The website is going live," Kirsty said with a grin. "Didn't want you to miss it."
"Excellent," Magenta said.
Kirsty made a big deal out of pushing the enter key on her laptop. They waited.
"Is that it?" Magenta said.
"Feels like there should be fireworks, doesn't it?"
They stared at the screen.
"Try logging out, then typing the address in the browser to see if it's there."
Kirsty did as she was told and up popped her site, all pink and mint coloured with Eye Candy in bold white lettering across the top of the screen.
"Buy something to see if it works," Magenta prodded.
That seemed like a good idea, so Kirsty went through the rigmarole of buying a bra she already owned and paying the credit card fee for the privilege. She wasn't aware she was holding her breath until the sale went through.
"Great, eh?" she said to Magenta. "Now all we need are people to flock to it and shop up large."
Kirsty chewed her lip for a minute. There was something she wanted to tell Magenta, but she didn't want it to seem like a big deal. Because it wasn't. Really.
"There's something else I want to show you," Kirsty said.
She couldn't look at Magenta while she spoke. Instead she pressed some keys and an advert appeared on a site that reviewed fashion and made recommendations on what to buy. It said: Special lingerie from the specialist in lingerie—Kirsty Campbell. Then it told you to buy at Eye Candy. There was a large picture of the shop, but in the corner there was a small headshot of Kirsty smiling. At last she looked up at Magenta.
Her yo
ung friend stood with her jaw hanging to her chest.
"You put yourself out there," she said at last. There was a hint of awe in her voice that made Kirsty blush. "I am so proud of you."
And before she knew it, Magenta, who never hugged anyone, threw her arms around Kirsty and gave her a big squeeze.
"That is amazing, Kirsty," she said once she'd retreated to a safe distance again.
"It's only a headshot."
"It's more than that," Magenta said, with a look heavy with meaning. "We both know it's more than that."
Then, as things were getting too emotional for her, Magenta fled to the shop.
Kirsty stared at her picture on the screen. It'd been almost three years since she'd advertised anything. It was strange to see her image out in public again. Even stranger because she looked so different. Her hair was short now and she was fully clothed, for a start. For some reason she thought the world would stop if her photo advertised anything again. Instead, it felt kind of cool to have her image promoting a business that belonged to her.
She had to admit, Magenta was right. This was amazing. She pulled open her desk drawer and took out the little dish with the set of papier-mâché beads and put them back beside her monitor. For the first time in three years, she smiled when she looked at them.
Lake surveyed his shop with satisfaction. It was exactly how he imagined it would look—minus the underwear. Hopefully, that would arrive on Friday and they'd be up and running by Saturday. He'd planned a big launch party. Spending yet more money on food, drink and some teenager with a sound system. Dougal was catering the thing, although he said he felt terrible that he was working against Kirsty. To appease his conscience, he told Lake he was charging him ten percent more that his other customers. Lake smiled wryly and paid the man. The folk in Invertary played by their own rules, and it was mystifying. With any luck he would be long gone from town before his head blew up trying to figure them out.
With the shop sorted, and Betty back with cakes and her favourite fluorescent orange soft drink, Lake called a meeting in the office. He'd put a whiteboard up on the wall behind Betty's old desk and stood at it like a teacher. Betty munched on something called a Fern cake, looking more eager than mad for a change, while Rainne slumped in the chair beside Betty. Everything about her screamed that she was hoping to be rescued.
Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books) Page 8