by Clare London
Dougie grimaced too. Greg wondered if the pair of them looked like goblin bookends.
“It’s bad news, man.” Dougie shook his head mournfully. “What you gonnae do?”
Angus’s younger son plunked a glass full of rich beer on the countertop, and Dougie took another gulp.
“Do about what, gentlemen?” came a feminine voice behind them.
Greg, startled halfway to lifting his own pint, just managed to catch the glass before it tipped off the edge of the counter.
“Bridie,” Dougie crowed. “Just in time t’ pay for the drinks.”
“No,” said Angus’s son hastily. He’d gone very red, and his gaze was fixed on the table rather than Bridie, but everyone already knew he had a huge crush on her. “On the house.” Then he rushed away to another part of the room.
Dougie shook his head and laughed, then hugged Bridie welcome. She was also short, and shared a broad face and dark auburn hair with her brother, but the freckles on her nose were cute and her full figure drew every eye in the place. She’d been a good friend to Greg, especially when he’d first arrived and found her accent was a lot easier to understand than most.
“Greg.” Bridie’s cheeks were pink from the cold air outside—she would have walked from their shop to Angus’s, only a matter of a couple of miles. “Good to see you out of that cottage. You’re looking bonny.”
“You see?” Dougie said to Greg, eyebrows raised again. “You’re nae ugly duckling there.”
“Leave it.” Greg had no illusions about his shortcomings. But even if he wasn’t good-looking, he was male and single, and he supposed that made him a person of interest in such a small place.
“They want him back in t’ smoke,” Dougie told Bridie.
Bridie frowned. “Those brothers of yours? The ones who never come to see you? Who don’t even bother to send you a proper letter?”
Greg winced. “There’s no love lost between us, Bridie, we all know that.”
“But that’s all we know, love, isn’t it? You don’t share the whole story.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze, so he didn’t feel it was a criticism of his lack of friendship. Her more delicate palm didn’t make much impact on Greg’s solid muscles, but he appreciated the thought behind it. “It’s your decision when you feel ready to talk about your family—”
Which would be never.
“—but we’re here when you need us. And if you do wanna go back to London…?”
Greg shook his head. “No,” he said abruptly. Talking had never done him any good; neither had fighting. The only thing that had brought him peace and self-respect was escape from London. The Western Isles were a bloody fine place to come to terms with yourself and what gifts you did have, and he wouldn’t put that at risk after all these years. Return to London, and all its noise and filth and speed? Return to be poked and posed and presented as a mockery of the man he really was, just to satisfy his family’s greed?
“No,” he repeated firmly. “That won’t be happening.”
Chapter Three
“BUT what the hell do I pack?” Perry was on the verge of panic. His bed was covered with several neat piles of clothing and footwear, but his suitcase was still empty. It wasn’t as if he had a massive wardrobe to start with—he understood the sense of owning just a few good quality, well-matched items, although his decision was influenced more by his pathetic salary than fashion maths—but he was still reeling from this latest career development.
Scotland.
Scotland!
“Isn’t it always raining there?” Antony, thin and nervy, even on a calm day, was perched on the edge of Perry’s bed. He’d crossed his legs, and he swung his foot back and forth, up and down. The jittery movement was starting to annoy Perry. “Or snowing? Aren’t there hurricanes?”
“Bloody hell, you’re a total Philistine!” Perry’s other friend, Candace, shared Reception duties with Antony at the Latham Agency, where the pair of them seemed to spend most of their time miming through ABBA hits, surfing the latest fashion trends online, and bickering. She sat beside him now on Perry’s bed, shoulder to shoulder, partners in crime. They’d even dyed a streak of their hair the same blue, though friendship didn’t stop her snorting with scorn right now. “You’ve never been north of Watford, have you? I bet you think they’re all still wearing woad and charging into battle with bloody Mel Gibson.”
“What’s woad? Some kind of mascara?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“You’d notice, right?”
Perry bit back a sigh. Antony and Candace were good friends of his—weren’t they?—but he wondered at the wisdom of calling them over to help him get ready for the trip.
“Seriously,” Candace said, turning back to Perry. “It’s a beautiful country, you’ll love it.”
“Have you been there?” Antony said to her, pierced eyebrow raised.
“I googled it,” Candace muttered back with a glare. She turned a gleaming smile back to Perry. “Fresh, clean air, gorgeous heather, friendly people. No local council roadworks outside your flat all week, no struggling for a seat on the bus with hordes of commuters, no pigeons shitting on your windowsill, and no gangs fighting over drugs in the back alley.”
“Darling, you gotta move from that part of London,” Antony murmured.
Candace ignored him pointedly. “Scotland will be an adventure!”
Perry wasn’t sure how he felt about adventure, but didn’t dare say so.
“There are animals.” Antony gave a gentle but obvious shudder. “In the wild.” Up, down, up, down, his foot went.
Candace slapped him on the arm. “Jesus. What a wuss you are! Just a few sheep and dogs.”
Antony turned a soulful gaze on Perry. “Perry’s allergic to dogs.”
“Well,” Perry said, in the interests of full disclosure, “I’m not exactly allergic, they just make me nervous—”
Antony had continued regardless. “Oh God. Are any of these clothes any use, anyway? Will you have to wear a kilt?”
“What?” Perry felt increasingly like he was in a West End sitcom.
“Of course not,” Candace replied confidently. “He’s a visitor, that’s all.” She glanced at Perry. “I mean, you won’t. Or will you? There are some fabulous leather ones in the sample room, though I’m not sure they’re your size—”
“No,” Perry said firmly.
“Of course not,” Candace agreed, in the kind of patronizing tone that was no agreement at all. “And this guy you’re going to make over isn’t Scottish either, is he?”
Perry shook his head firmly. He had no idea, really, but none of the other Ventura brothers had spoken with any kind of an accent. He wished he had time to do more online searches on the family, but apparently he was booked to leave the next morning.
“See? It’ll be like a bloody holiday,” Candace crowed.
Perry was still uncertain, and Antony looked totally unconvinced. When he flounced off to the kitchen to get them all a beer from Perry’s small supply in the fridge, Perry turned to Candace.
“You’re just saying that to cheer me up, aren’t you? All that stuff about a holiday, and how wonderful it’ll be?”
“No, of course not!” Candace winced. “Well, yes, okay, I am. My older sister went to Scotland once, but she drank a shitload of single malt on the first night and doesn’t remember much of the rest of the trip. Except that, yes, it rained. All the bloody time.”
Perry sat down heavily on the bed. “Oh God. You’re no help at all. I’m traveling to some kind of wilderness I’ve never heard of, where I’m expected to transform a total stranger into a glamorous, twenty-first century New Man—and then I have to persuade him to return happily to the place he ran away from years ago. How am I going to do all that?”
“You’ve done it before, haven’t you? Transformed people.”
“Only in London itself. In a studio, in a salon, with full wardrobe and makeup close by. And that�
�s when they wanted to be transformed.”
Candace hugged him. “You won’t be on your own, will you? Eddy always sends a whole team to support a makeover.” She sniggered and clapped Perry on the shoulder with just a little too much force. “Perry, you really need to man up. They’re not sending you to the Amazon jungle.”
Man up. Right. That had been a common insult thrown at Perry through much of his life, from his parents, bosses, and friends. He wasn’t as fey as Antony, and he didn’t particularly want to be as forceful as Candace could be. But he couldn’t help being naturally cautious, could he? University had been three years of huge challenge, mixing with so many people for the first time, needing to handle his own living expenses, learning to juggle academic work and partying, and then looking for a job. He was quietly proud of what he’d done at the agency, even if the promotion prospects weren’t as good as he’d been promised. He seemed to have a knack for making clients look their best and finding what suited them. Some of them had even complimented his work in front of Eddy. It had certainly helped bolster his self-esteem—it had also kept him in place through the last round of redundancies.
And he desperately needed this job, not only for his own self-respect, but for salvaging what he could from the bloody awful mistake that was Henry, his ex. A whole year wasted with that tosser, a whole year of emotional upheaval and anguished breakup, and then to find that Henry had betrayed him in the worst way possible—
Antony placed a cold supermarket beer in his hand and chinked a tentative cheers. “Just go as you are,” he said kindly. “You’re cute just like that. And wardrobe will bring so much stuff, they’ll have outfits for you too, won’t they? Just in case you’re, oh I don’t know, wearing something that clashes with the heather.”
Candace rolled her eyes and chugged her beer.
“You wanna borrow some things, Perry, love?” Antony said softly.
Perry stood up to let Antony collapse back down on the bed beside his bestie, and he looked at his friends’ outfits. Antony was wearing skinny jeans and one of his usual neon-yellow tee shirts, which looked fabulous against his dark skin but was a color that made Perry look like a ghost with jaundice. Candace was wearing four layers on her top, rose-patterned leggings, and a stretchy skirt that barely covered her crotch. Perry knew he didn’t have the legs for that look either.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” He’d have to pack what he had and hope it was appropriate. After all, Antony was right, the agency’s wardrobe department would bring clothing on the trip, accounts would authorize expenses if he needed to pay for dry cleaning, and makeup would have plenty of hair product he could beg the use of if need be.
“Perry?” Candace was peering at him. Both she and Antony looked more worried now. “Have they paid directly for your flight and hotel? You don’t want the hassle of… you know, claiming that back and everything.”
How embarrassing. They were good friends, and both knew the dire straits he was in since Henry left. He loved them for their concern, even if he blushed at their clumsy attempt at tact. But then, without their help, he wouldn’t even be here today.
“Things are fine,” he reassured them. At least, he assumed they were. He’d been e-mailed the air tickets to Glasgow and then on to Skye. Apparently he could get transport from there to Greg Ventura’s location, and he was sure the agency team would have booked accommodation. He couldn’t worry about all those extras right now: that was someone else’s responsibility.
He was saved from having to give further details by his phone ringing.
“Perry darling!” The voice across the tinny line was loud enough for everyone to hear, and not just because you could barely swing a cat in Perry’s bedroom.
He blinked hard. A headache was threatening. “Hello, Mother.”
“The grapevine tells me you’re on course for a promotion!” She sounded far more gleeful than he did. And where did she get her intelligence from? Not Perry, who rang her the absolute minimum times his duty required. A quick glance at Candace and Antony showed no sign of guilt. Mind you, he’d learned they were great actors, if their ABBA impressions were anything to go by.
“Well, not exactly. I mean, it may happen. If I do well. If I help out with this… um… sensitive project.”
“Who?” she almost squealed.
“What do you mean?”
“Who is it you’re working on? Tell me at once! I promise I’ll keep it secret.”
Perry rolled his eyes. Like that’s ever happened. His mother leaked secrets like a sieve on the Titanic. “I can’t say, Mother. It’s confidential. And it’s early days yet. I won’t really know how things are going to go until I get to the Western Isles—”
“The where?”
“Scotland, Mother.”
There was a small but pregnant silence. “Scotland? You mean…?”
“The country, yes.” Good grief, Perry was almost looking forward to going there so the place could prove everyone’s horror wrong. If, in fact, it could. “It’s a beautiful country, you know. Fresh, clean air, gorgeous heather, friendly people.” Over on the bed, Candace smirked at him. Perry flipped her off. “And it’s not the end of the world. I fully expect to be back in a week or so.”
“They said a month,” Candace mouthed at him and rolled her eyes again. “I listened in. Up to a month.”
There was silence again, but he could hear his mother breathing heavily. “But what about our lunch date?”
“We’ll have to reschedule. Or maybe miss this month.” You know, Mother. Show some spontaneity for the first time in years.
“That’s going to be very inconvenient.”
“For God’s sake!” he burst out. “This is my job. It’s very important to me to do well. This is going to be a great opportunity, and I’m going to take it, whatever else has to give way.”
Antony’s eyes were wide. Candace mouthed, “Wow!” and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“There’s no need to take that tone with me, Perry.”
Perry knew, with the inevitability of fat molecules settling on his thighs after a bag of chocolate buttons, that he’d pay for this for months to come.
LONDON City Airport was a large and confusing building. Perry hadn’t flown before, it was tremendously early in the morning, and he hadn’t had time for his breakfast camomile tea. He was sure Eddy had said they’d all meet up by the departure gates, but so far Perry hadn’t recognized anyone he knew from the agency. He waited as long as he could, and his flight was being called to board when he finally lost his nerve.
He rang Eddy Latham direct: none of the staff would be in the agency at this time. “Eddy, where are the others?”
“Peregrine, is that you? What time is it? The reception here is very poor.” Eddy cleared his throat. Maybe it was because Perry had woken him, or maybe he was playing for time. Perry knew which he believed. “Others, love?”
“The team coming with me.” Dread was creeping slowly through Perry’s gut. “There’s wardrobe, and hair, and usually someone to run about with coffees and things. And what about one of your promotions managers?” Eddy never let any of his design assistants loose without supervision.
There was a moment of utter silence from Eddy’s end. Then, “Let me get back to you on that. I can’t possibly call everything to mind right here and now. I’ll call you back when I’ve checked into it.”
Perry knew he’d be on the plane by then. He wasn’t letting go of this that easily, though he was startled by his own assertiveness. “Surely you can tell me now how many will be coming? Are they on a later flight?”
Eddy coughed again. Perry knew it was a sure sign of truth avoidance. “Eddy? Tell me!”
“To be honest with you, Peregrine, there’s been some kind of monumental cock-up. No one thought to tell me before last night, and believe me, I’ll have something to say to promotions later. But when I checked the diary, it seems like everyone was booked out elsewhere.”
“What do you mean�
�everyone?”
“Well, apart from you, Peregrine. And that’s lucky, isn’t it?”
The dread had settled as a roiling ache by now. “I don’t understand.” But he did. Oh God, he did. He was setting out for a foreign place without any support at all.
“I’ll sort it out later, Peregrine. But you’ll have to manage on your own for the time being. It’s a great opportunity for you.” It was a weird echo of what Perry had said to his mother only yesterday. “I’m sure you can hold the fort for a while.”
For how long? “These are the Venturas, Eddy. They’re famous! They’re expecting us to send a team to meet Greg, to explain to him what’s needed, and style him appropriately. To bring him back over to England in time for the pilot.”
“…hold the fort…. Didn’t I say…?” There was some kind of interference on the line. At least, that’s probably what Eddy would claim. However, Perry had seen Eddy in his office far too often, speaking in garbled vowel sounds and claiming a “bad line” when he didn’t want to continue a phone conversation.
“What about the travel plans? The hotel? I don’t even know where I’m staying!”
“I’ll get someone to text you. Just do your best.” Eddy’s voice rang clearly for long enough to deliver this coup de grâce. “I’ll send others when I can, of course I will. All you have to do…. It’s easy…. Even you can….” The line was drifting again. “…just make him look good, and….”
“Eddy?” In the background, Perry could hear his flight being announced again. They were chasing the final few passengers.
“…then back to London….”
“Eddy!” For fuck’s sake! Perry was not going to let the agency get away with this, he definitely wasn’t, they had no right to abandon him like this, to send him off on his own without the full client service package—
“…be no trouble for you, right?” Eddy finished with a chuckle and the line chose that moment to drop out completely.
“Mr. Goodwood to the departure gate,” droned the overhead announcement. “Two minutes before the departure gate closes.”