Tall, Dark and Kilted

by Lizzie Lamb

  His parting remark was aimed at Cat and Isla, but Fliss felt that the little barb was for her benefit, too. She watched as he left the library and climbed the stairs towards the upper floors where, presumably, he had his lair.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Fliss breathed in the scent of green, growing things through her open bedroom window, instead of the usual Chicken Hong Kong style that wafted over from the take away adjoining her flat in Pimlico. The beach and loch below her were shrouded in lowlying mist - like a scene from Brigadoon and she watched spellbound as the purple-blue hills were touched by cartwheeling shafts of sunlight.

  Then, dragging herself away from the view, she focused on more pressing matters. She’d spent the last hour pouring over the contract drawn up between Angus, Mitzi and herself a few weeks earlier. It proclaimed her manageress of the Kinloch Mara Therapy Centre for an initial six month period stretching from May to October. But she knew if Ruairi Urquhart had any say in the matter she would never take up her post. Despite last night’s resolution to square up to him and convince him of the viability of the centre, she knew in reality that the debacle in the rose garden had sealed her fate. Irrevocably.

  But, she wasn’t going down without a fight - she’d march into breakfast this morning and … A sound - somewhere between a cat being strangled and a dog baying at the moon drew her back to the window. Kneeling on the window seat, she beheld a spectral vision: a highland bonnet complete with eagle’s feather, floating just above the shifting ribbons of mist. An errant wind blew off the loch and dispersed the fog to reveal Ruairi Urquhart, preceded by an ancient piper, making his way along the path from the beach.

  It was a Kodak Moment.

  The summer sun caught the clan badge which fastened the eagle feather to his Balmoral and turned it to burnished gold. The pleats of his kilt waggled aesthetically and his broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by a dark blue Scotland rugger shirt cinched in by a leather belt. He looked every inch the Laird of Kinloch Mara and the very embodiment of rugged, highland manhood as he stopped on the terrace where Murdo was standing by a small brass canon. With a nod from Ruairi, he pointed a remote control at the canon; it gave out a large boom and then shot back several feet on its wheels.

  An unseen hand hoisted the Urquhart pennant on a flagpole jutting out from the ramparts, Ruairi and Murdo let out a bloodcurdling battle cry in Gaelic and raised a clenched fist in salute.

  The rallying call reverberated against Fliss’s breast bone and left her feeling unsettled by the sheer unapologetic maleness of it. Fancifully, she felt she’d witnessed something ancient and forbidden and sank back on her heels to ensure she was out of sight. Then she closed her eyes and let out a wail of frustration. This was the man she was up against: Monarch of the Glen - with knobs on. She might as well rip up her contract and start packing now. No way would she be able to persuade Ruairi Urquhart to change his mind about anything that concerned his house, his land or his heritage.

  Then, breaking the sombre mood, the piper played a lively reel and led Ruairi and Murdo round to the front of the house.

  There was a knock on the door and in contrast to the skirl of pipes and the canon’s roar, Mitzi whispered hoarsely: ‘Fliss darling, can I come in?’ She entered without waiting for an answer, looking pale and wan in an eau de nil negligee and matching peignoir trimmed with marabou feathers. Fliss let out a pent-up breath relieved that it was Mitzi - and not a member of staff announcing that breakfast was served, and would she be after joining Himself in the dining room? Or the kitchen, or wherever last night’s unpleasantness would begin all over again.

  ‘Good morning, Mitzi.’

  ‘How did you sleep, sweetie?’

  She’d hardly slept a wink all night, twisting and turning in the 400 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, corkscrewing into a silky cocoon, burning with humiliation over what had happened between her and Ruairi. Reliving over and over the moment when he’d dropped her on the path like she had Ebola Virus.

  ‘Not well,’ she said succinctly.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a virus myself, actually. Must be something I ate.’ Mitzi sat on the edge of Fliss’s bed nursing a glass of alka-seltzer and a massive hangover.

  Must be something you drank, Fliss mentally corrected before replying, ‘I kept waiting for it to get dark but it didn’t. All the guide books say that June’s the best month to be in Wester Ross - long hours of daylight, the Gulf Stream warming the waters of the loch. Now I’ve seen it for myself …’ she knew she was babbling but couldn’t stop.

  ‘No, I meant - how did you manage to sleep after Ruairi’s little chat in the library?’

  Little chat! It was like calling a tsunami a little local flooding. ‘Well, he certainly left us aware of our shortcomings, didn’t he?’ She wasn’t quite sure what Mitzi wanted from her. Did she want her to side with herself, Cat and Isla against Ruairi? Or, did she want her to throw in the towel and head back to England on the next available flight, making it easier for them to renege on her contract and avoid paying compensation?

  She didn’t know Mitzi very well, but somehow she couldn’t believe her capable of that. For the moment it was best to withhold her counsel, take a deep breath and consider all the options before saying anything.

  ‘Good. Good.’ Mitzi pushed her blond hair off her face, without her makeup she looked all of her fifty plus years. ‘I just wanted to remind you that Ruairi expects us down for breakfast at eight. On the dot.’ She opened one bloodshot eye a little wider and gave Fliss a baleful look. ‘He dragged Cat and Isla out of bed, ordered tea to be served in our rooms and then went for a yomp on the hills to check the shooting butts. His body clock’s probably telling him that it’s the middle of the day, or something.’ She took a large swig of the alka-seltzer and pulled a face as it hit her stomach on the way to her liver.

  ‘I saw him walk up from the loch,’ Fliss nodded. She rather suspected that she had more to fear from the kilted warrior who’d dramatically staked his claim to his land beneath her window just now, than from the man in the sharply tailored suit who’d freed her from the rose bush last night.

  ‘Yes, I heard Jaimsie playing The Laird’s Lament and the canon going off.’ Mitzi looked out to where the blue and silver Urquhart pennant fluttered above the house. ‘Aye, Himself’s in residence and the traditions must be observed.’ There was a wistful note in her voice as if she was thinking about her late husband and the times the tradition had been observed in his honour.

  ‘I suppose,’ Fliss responded distractedly, having momentarily lost her train of thought.

  ‘Anyway, darling, I wanted to check you were awake and to thank you,’ Mitzi said, brightening up.

  ‘Well - thank you for offering me the post.’

  ‘No. Not that. The other thing. You know - what Isla said.’ Beneath her death like morning-after-the-night-before pallor, Mitzi blushed.

  ‘Other thing?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked over her shoulder before spelling it out. ‘S -E -X. With Ruairi - to save my business. Darling girl, it was kind of you, but …’

  ‘Mitzi! I was tired and hungry; I bent down to pick up the sari cloth, we banged heads, that’s it!’

  ‘Oh, yes, sweet pea. Quite; quite,’ Mitzi patted her hand like they were co-conspirators getting their story straight. ‘Then we turned up and spoiled everything …’

  ‘Mitzi, really I -’

  ‘No, darling. Don’t say another word. You tried your best and I thank you for it. How did Isla phrase it? Greater love hath no woman etc.’ She waved her hand in Fliss’s direction and then drained her pick-me-up in one.

  ‘Mitzi, you don’t understand …’

  ‘Although,’ she frowned. ‘It does appear to have gone spectacularly wrong.’ She rubbed the cold glass against her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen Ruairi in such a mood; so angry, so - put out with us all. Not since Fiona did a runner - but, that’s a story for another time.’ She
dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Actually, sweetie, he seems mostly put out with you.’

  ‘Me? Oh, God,’ Fliss’s stomach flipped over and she tried to penetrate Mitzi’s hangover. ‘You’ve got to … to intercede with Ruairi; explain that my faint was genuine. Mitzi, please; you really must …’

  ‘Of course. I understand. That’s the tack we’ll take.’ Like all the Urquharts, Mitzi had perfected the art of switching off from what she didn’t want to hear. She patted Fliss’s arm, patently misunderstanding her meaning. ‘You need time to prepare.’

  ‘Prepare? Prepare for what?’ But Mitzi rushed on without pausing for breath.

  ‘Put on your prettiest dress and apply your war paint. You’ll need to look your best when …’ Her telling pause did nothing for Fliss’s confidence, especially when she added: ‘But I’m sure Ruairi will be perfectly charming to you this morning. Last night will be ancient history - forgiven; forgotten.’

  ‘Wanna bet?’ Fliss was thoroughly alarmed at the thought of meeting Ruairi Urquhart and the rest of the family after Mitzi’s Sunday tabloid revelations. No doubt the tom-toms had been busy spreading the message throughout the glen that Ruairi Urquhart had been seduced by a wanton, half-naked, Sassenach fairy.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to win Ruairi round. Just explain to him that you weren’t going to have sex with him to save the therapy centre. That he got it all wrong.’ Mitzi winked theatrically at Fliss to let her know that she considered the opposite to be true. ‘Bless you for trying though, darling girl.’ She gave Fliss’s arm a squeeze of gratitude and then got to her feet. ‘Ruairi’s a tough nut to crack.’

  ‘Mitzi, that wasn’t what I was doing,’ Fliss got to her feet, appalled.

  ‘Well, you’ll be able to explain it all to Ruairi,’ Mitzi said as she left the guest bedroom. ‘I believe he wants to have a little tete-a-tete with you after breakfast.’

  ‘I bet he does,’ Fliss muttered as Mitzi left, closing the door behind her. She threw herself on the large brass bed, looked up at the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling and prayed for divine inspiration to get her out of this fix.

  Then it came to her in a flash: she’d phone a friend!

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘You wot?’ Becky spluttered down the crackling line from Walthamstow to Kinloch Mara. ‘It sounded like: you almost had sex with Ruairi Urquhart. How can you almost have sex with someone?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Put down your straighteners and listen.’ Monday was Becky’s day off and Fliss pictured her sitting at her dressing table about to begin the daily ritual of applying her makeup and rearranging her hair extensions before she hit the Bluewater centre.

  ‘My God, you’re a fast worker,’ Becky said admiringly. ‘You only got there yesterday, and you’ve already almost had sex with someone?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t sex - exactly. A case of mistaken identity might be more accurate.’ Fliss ran last night’s events over in her mind as she explained. ‘You see, I was wearing a bikini, dressed as a fairy and – ’

  ‘Time out … You were dressed as a fairy?’

  Maybe ringing Becky hadn’t been such a good idea. She should have known Becky wouldn’t be able to get past the sex part - and focus on the seriousness of the situation. Optimistically, she’d hoped that Becky would have some words of wisdom regarding how she could face the family over breakfast this morning.

  ‘It was a fancy dress party and beach barbecue, right? But that’s not the point; the point is …’

  ‘The point is, Fliss, sweetie, you nearly had sex with the big bad wolf. Ohmigod. That must be against the law. A fairy and a wolf; it’s like a bleeding nursery rhyme gone wrong. Or, an episode of Being Human, only with a werewolf instead of a -’

  ‘Becky! Concentrate. This isn’t funny. I didn’t know he was Ruairi Urquhart at that point. Okay? I thought he was a party guest who was kind enough to free me from a rose bush.’

  ‘Rose bush? Where exactly did this hot date take place?’

  ‘Beneath a rose arbour - and it wasn’t a hot date. It was a completely embarrassing situation if you must know. Now the Urquharts think that …’ Fliss tailed off, sensing that Becky had zoned out after hearing the buzzwords: sex, bikini, hot date.

  ‘You can tell me what a rose arbour is another time. Tell me what he looked like.’

  The phone line was now so clear that, if Fliss closed her eyes, she could imagine she was sitting on Becky’s rumpled bed swapping details of what they’d got up to the night before. She could almost smell the hair straighteners scorching another mark onto Becky’s dressing table. In spite of the situation, she smiled.

  ‘You’re missing the point, Bex. I’m in trouble, here.’

  ‘Tell me what he’s like,’ Becky insisted. ‘I have to get a picture of the two of you together - well, perhaps not that picture! But you get my drift.’ Fliss sighed; Becky could only think and move at her own pace, and was not to be rushed.

  ‘Tall. Slim. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Smelled of some divine aftershave - Chanel or Jo Malone at a guess, Oh, and did I mention he is bloody rude, self-opinionated and doesn’t look as if anyone’s said no to him in a long time?’ She glanced towards the door, paranoid that someone was on the other side listening and would report her scathing description back to Himself.

  ‘What was he wearing - a hairy suit?’ Becky broke into her thoughts.

  ‘A hairy suit?’

  ‘You know. Was he dressed like a wolf?’

  ‘No, you idiot, he was wearing a business suit. He’d just landed in his helicopter, and …’ She gave a short-tempered tut, willing Becky to get on message.

  ‘Helicopter. He has a helicopter?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know if it’s his, exactly; it might belong to that other guy I told you about - Mitzi’s boyfriend - Angus Gordon.’

  ‘Jeesuz - Fliss. How could you resist him?’ Becky sang, like this was a scene from Mamma Mia and Fliss was Meryl Streep. ‘Gorgeous. Own helicopter and castle in Scotland. What’s not to like? So, just how far did you go? First base?’ she asked matter of factly and then laughed.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’ Fliss demanded, not quite seeing the funny side of her predicament.

  ‘This is like one of those 0875 Chat lines. You know. Hello. This is Sheena in the Highlands; I’m wearing a kilt and no knickers.’ The line went silent Fliss’s end and eventually Becky picked up the vibe. ‘Ok. I’ll shut up and listen.’

  Fliss continued. ‘He freed me from the rose bush. I bent down to pick up my sari cloth; we banged heads and I saw stars. I was about to keel over - not so romantic - fireworks went off around us. He caught me in his arms.’ She didn’t mention their passionate kiss; she didn’t want even her best friend to know how idiotically she’d behaved. Becky, however, quickly dismissed the subtle nuances in the tale and concentrated instead on the bigger picture.

  ‘Fireworks. Buff bloke. Not romantic? Bloody hell, Fliss, you’re hard to please. Well, it works for me. Tell me there’s more - pleeease,’ she begged.

  Now it was Fliss’s turn not to be rushed.

  ‘At that point, Mitzi, Murdo, Cat and Isla came up from the beach and …’ she tailed off. The moment was over and the damage was done.

  ‘Murdo, Angus? Oh, never mind.’ Becky quickly dismissed the secondary characters and waited for the resolution. ‘So - you weren’t actually … you know, getting down and dirty when they found you.’

  ‘Well, hardly. I’d just fainted, remember.’ She was glad that Becky couldn’t see her blush or the long strand of auburn hair she was twining round her finger. ‘They called out my name. He,’ she still couldn’t quite bring herself to call him Ruairi, ‘put two and two together. We stood looking at each other. It was then that the penny finally dropped - for me, at least. He got there a nano second ahead of me. Naturally, Isla took great pleasure in introducing us.’

  ‘Naturally?’ Becky let out a shriek of outrage. ‘The skinny cow. I bet she did. You get a
ll upset; but she gets the chance to put one over on her brother.’

  ‘He thought I’d faked the whole episode in order to compromise him. Thought I was offering myself on a plate so that he’d give the therapy centre the green light.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Becky!’

  ‘Well! I know how much this job means to you.’

  ‘Not that much, I can assure you.’ Fliss suspected that she sounded like an outraged dowager next to the ever-pragmatic Becky. ‘Then Isla implied that I was willing to lay myself down for the sake of the centre. Planned it even. And, judging by the conversation I’ve just had with Mitzi, it’s clear that she thinks so too. And if she thinks it, then Ruairi Urquhart - and no doubt half the estate - believes it. Trust me; the clan network works faster than Twitter during an inner city riot round here.’ She paused to give Becky the chance to come up with some words of comfort.

  ‘Now. Don’t go all huffy on me, Flissy … but.’ Her tut of exasperation could be clearly heard 500 miles away in London. ‘Bloody hell - how come you din’t know who he was? You’re supposed to be the one with brains. Din’t you wonder why he was wearing a suit when everyone else was in fancy dress?’

  ‘I know, I know. I was so anxious to keep my appointment that I wasn’t thinking straight. I assumed that he was a guest who’d received an invitation too late to organise a costume, or one of the event planners.’ There was a pause as Fliss acknowledged that Becky was right - she’d been an absolute idiot.

  ‘Okay. So … you stood your ground and explained that it was all a misunderstanding?’ Becky painted in the final scene.

  Silence.

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Wot?’

  ‘We were escorted to the library where he laid into each member of his family in turn. I think my bollocking has been reserved for this morning after breakfast when, no doubt, I’ll be given my marching orders.’