by Lizzie Lamb
‘Mitzi. I - don’t know what to say.’
‘The wonders of the internet, hmm? Got all this equipment without setting foot outside Kinloch Mara. Cat showed me how to order everything online. I had a great time. Bet you thought that I wasn’t serious about my project. Ruairi made that mistake too. And to be honest, I have had one or two failed enterprises.’ She glossed swiftly over those. ‘But with your expertise, Angus’s war chest and my address book we’re going to be a huge success.’ She put the uniform down gave Fliss another Allure-scented hug.
‘Thank you, for giving me this chance, Mitzi. I won’t let you down.’ It was as much as Fliss could manage without her voice cracking, overwhelmed by all that had been accomplished in such a short a time. ‘But I think I need to have another word with Ruairi.’
Demonstrating her selective deafness Mitzi ignored the last comment. ‘The monogrammed jacket was couriered here from Inverness. I wanted it to be here when you arrived. Try it on, darling; I want to see how you look in it.’
Fliss looked around to make sure they weren’t overlooked and slipped off her t-shirt and shorts. Feeling a little self-conscious standing in just her underwear, she pulled on the wide-legged trousers and struggled into the tunic. It fastened Chinese style along her collarbone and had a mandarin collar.
‘How do I look?’ She caught sight of herself in a long mirror and pulled a wry face. If she was sent packing, at least she’d had her fifteen minutes of fame as the manageress of Kinloch Mara therapy centre. Maybe they’d even let her keep the uniform.
‘Fabulous, darling. Very Zen. Oh, I can’t wait for the appointment book to fill!’ She handed Fliss a leather bound appointments diary with Kinloch Mara Holistic Therapy Centre tooled in gold letters on the front. ‘All my friends will be green with envy.’ She clapped her hands and then looked out through the conservatory window. ‘Look, it’s Ruairi - let’s ask him what he thinks of your new uniform.’
‘Mitzi. I’d rather you didn’t.’ Fliss was horrified at the thought of seeing him so soon after their confrontation in the library. Now she’d be forced to eat her words about putting as much distance between herself and Kinloch Mara as possible. ‘Please …’
‘Don’t be silly darling, you look gorgeous.’ Completely misunderstanding the reason for her reluctance to show off the uniform, Mitzi unlocked the side doors of the conservatory and beckoned Ruairi and Murdo inside. ‘Any luck with the poacher, darlings?’ Ruairi made his way round to the side of the house, the wind ruffling his hair and teasing the eagle feather in his highland bonnet.
‘Jaimsie MacMor, as usual,’ he replied and entered the conservatory with Murdo.
Murdo gave a dry laugh. ‘His excuse this time? That the salmon had apparently committed suicide by leaping out of the water and he’d just happened upon it while out walking his dog. Being a kind soul he thought he’d put it out of its misery. We confiscated the salmon and let him go with a ticking off. He’s a good beater and the Twelfth will be on us sooner than we realise, and we’ll have need of him.’
They all laughed except Ruairi. Either he took the poaching of his fish seriously or was displeased to see Fliss in her uniform, commanding the therapy centre as though her position was now de facto.
‘The Twelfth?’ Fliss asked, anxious to steer the subject away from herself.
‘The Glorious Twelfth of August, Miss Bagshawe,’ Ruairi replied, formal and distant. ‘The start of the grouse season. Not that I’d expect you to know that.’ His tone implied that there were many things on his estate a city dwelling Sassenach wouldn’t understand.
‘The estate’s biggest money earner,’ Murdo put in more kindly.
‘Soon to be followed by the profits from the therapy centre,’ Mitzi added, clearly missing the ‘as if’ look Ruairi exchanged with Murdo. Feeling patronised Fliss sent him an inimical look, but he was too busy casting a dismissive eye over the packing cases and the empty shelves to catch it. Clearly, shooting grouse and catching poachers was important Man’s work and all this - frippery - held little interest for him.
Murdo, evidently picking up the vibe, tried to break the tension by drawing Fliss back into the conversation. ‘Although, this year we’ll start on the thirteenth because the twelfth falls on a Sunday. No shooting on the Sabbath, Fliss. The Sabbath is strictly observed on Kinloch Mara.’
‘Quite right, too,’ Ruairi put in swiftly and gave Fliss and Mitzi a meaningful look.
This prompted Fliss to interject: ‘I have no intention of working at weekends, in case you’re worried,’ then she bit her lip. Damn. Now she’d admitted that she was having second thoughts about leaving.
‘Oh. I’m worried Miss Bagshawe, by the whole idea of you.’
‘Well, you needn’t be. The centre’s going to be a great success,’ Mitzi soothed, clearly misinterpreting his meaning. ‘My girlfriends - and their girlfriends’ girlfriends - will be very supportive and then word will spread. There’s nowhere between here and Inverness where you can get a good massage, let alone a Brazilian.’
Ruairi flinched at the graphic picture that conjured up. He coughed to clear his throat and shared a slightly desperate look with Murdo. Mitzi seemed to take his silence for approval and pushed Fliss forward to stand in front of him.
‘Doesn’t she look cute in her uniform? Ruairi? Murdo?’ she prompted as neither man answered, obviously unsure of the response expected from them.
‘Aye, bonnie,’ Murdo replied in a broad Highland accent and winked. Fliss wanted to crawl under the therapy couch and hide from their scrutiny.
‘Ruairi?’
‘Cute, indeed,’ Ruairi agreed poker-faced. But she knew that he was running the word through his mind and coming up with alternative definitions of cute;
clever … sharp … clued - in … devious.
Ignoring his cold look, Fliss walked round to the other side of the couch, and staked her claim. Ruairi looked as if he’d like to say more and was undoubtedly holding back for when they were alone to voice his disquiet. He glanced down at her clothes, which lay in a pile at his feet - the discarded clothing had an erotic, abandoned look, as though she’d shrugged them off for a lover. Fliss remembered her nakedness in the garden, the uncooperative sari cloth and blushed. Bringing his head up, Ruairi sent her a scorching look which showed he hadn’t forgotten the moment in the garden - or the scene in the library, either. With mock gallantry he bent down, retrieved Fliss’s clothes, and folded them - lingering unnecessarily over the operation, in her opinion - and handed them back to her.
‘Thank you,’ she responded expressionless.
‘There. Friends,’ Mitzi beamed, totally misreading their body language. Ruairi looked as if he wanted to wipe his hands clean after touching Fliss’s clothes and she felt like burning them because they’d been contaminated by his touch. Murdo, witnessing the exchange and clearly understanding what was going on, took Mitzi by the arm.
‘Come on, Mitzi - we’ve got the clearing up to supervise after last night’s party.’ He steered her firmly through the open doors. ‘Ruairi?’ he questioned as he made no attempt to follow them.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ he replied, not taking his eyes off Fliss.
‘See you later, then,’ Mitzi called over her shoulder, evidently believing the therapy centre was a done deal and she had no further worries on that score. Fliss and Ruairi watched them leave and when they were sure they were alone, whipped round to face each other, dropping all pretence of civility.
‘I asked you to wait for me in the library.’
‘You told me to wait for you in the library; there’s a difference.’
‘In semantics?’
‘In good manners.’
Seemingly, the walk on the hills had done nothing to improve his mood and her snarky remark brought angry colour to his cheeks. She placed her clothes on the therapy bed, put her hands on either side of the pile and faced him across it, unwilling to give an inch.
‘I’m guessing that
Miss Bagshawe no longer requires a taxi?’
‘You guess correctly,’ she countered. ‘I’ve spoken to Mitzi and decided to stay on.’
‘I’m glad that’s settled, then.’ The disdain in his voice made it clear he’d suspected that’d been her intention from the outset. That her posturing in the library was nothing more than a piece of theatre, designed to wring more money out of Mitzi and Angus, himself.
A BAFTA winning performance indeed.
She started to explain but realised it was pointless. No matter what she said or did, he’d put his own spin on her reasons for staying. Frantically, she hunted through her brain for a telling phrase that would draw this conversation to a close, put him in his place and leave her with the last word.
Murdo ended things by reappearing at the conservatory door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Ruairi, Fliss - but Angus has arrived back from inspecting his estate and wonders if he could have a word with you about the wolves.’
Wolves! Oh, why was she not surprised to learn that he was an expert on that particular species?
Ruairi gave her a hard look as if waiting for her to make some quip. ‘Oh, don’t stay on my account,’ Fliss said, gathering up her clothes. ‘I’ve got a hundred and one jobs to attend to in order to get the therapy centre ready. And we wouldn’t want to keep the wolves waiting, now would be?’
‘I’m leaving Miss Bagshawe, but rest assured, I’ll be back.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said with her sweetest smile. But when he and Murdo left, she let out a shaky breath.
Last night, she’d vowed that if he wanted a fight over the therapy centre she’d give him one - and, fundamentally, nothing had changed. There could only be one winner in this contest and she’d do her damnedest to make sure it wasn’t Ruairi Urquhart!
Chapter Eighteen
Two days later, Fliss heard footsteps in the hall of the Wee Hoose and guessed it was Murdo doing the daily rounds and checking if she was okay. She reached over to switch the kettle on, glad of the company. She hadn’t seen Cat and Isla since the ‘cluedo’ remark in the hall, and apart from scheduling a meeting with her for tomorrow, Mitzi and Angus had pretty much left her alone.
As for Himself, he’d stayed away, too - something she found more ominous than reassuring. She suspected that Mitzi and Angus had told him to back off and give her some space and it pleased her to think someone was fighting her corner. But, if his parting shot was anything to go by, she suspected it was only a matter of time before he paid another visit.
‘I’m in the kitchen, Murdo,’ she called. ‘Kettle’s on. Tea or coffee?’
‘It’s Ruairi - and I take my coffee dark and strong.’
Heart thumping, she left the sink and walked into the hall where she found him unfastening his muddy boots. In spite of the antagonism between them she checked out the way his t-shirt rode up and exposed his tanned waist and lower back, the long line of his legs in combat trousers and the firm buttocks which the camouflage material could not disguise. She realised that she was unconsciously weighing up his potential as a lover and the father of fine, strong children and pulled herself up sharply. That was a bridge too far! She’d obviously been deprived of human companionship for too long if these dangerous thoughts were percolating through her brain. Dry mouthed, she cleared her throat as he turned round to face her.
‘I’ve been expecting you,’ she stated, more fiercely than she’d intended.
‘Is that your oblique way of telling me that I’m not welcome?’
‘No, it’s not.’ She wondered how much of what she’d been thinking showed on her face. ‘But I’d like my contract returned. You had no right to lock it in your drawer for -’
‘Safekeeping? Insurance? I think I have every right. I get the feeling that there’s more to you than first impressions would suggest. I wouldn’t want you to leave Kinloch Mara just as we’re getting to know each other and reaching a consensus on where we stand on the therapy centre.’
‘Leaving? Who says I’m leaving?’ She ignored the latter part of his sentence. She didn’t want to get to know him any better. And as for him learning more about her, that information was strictly on a need to know basis.
‘Two days ago, you were desperate to get your hands on my cheque and get the hell out of here. In fact - correct me if I’m wrong - I think you resigned at one point? Tell me,’ he prompted, ‘what had made you change your mind.’
‘I -’ Fliss bit her lip. She could hardly say I only wanted the cheque so I could rip it up, throw it back in your face and make you eat your words. He’d never believe her.
‘Enlighten me,’ he perched on the edge of the hall table, arms folded, and waiting for her answer. It was the same pose he’d struck in the library, and judging by the cynical twist to his lips, he was expecting more lies from her. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I hadn’t seen the therapy centre until Mitzi brought me down here. To be honest, I was beginning to think it didn’t exist and Cat and Isla had brought me up here on false pretences - as one of their little jokes.’ The words honest and false hovered between them and Ruairi’s expression left her in no doubt as to which adjective he thought best fitted her.
‘Does Angus strike you as the kind of man who’d have a contract drawn up if he wasn’t serious?’
‘On the face of it - no.’ The silence between them lengthened. Then he smiled - a charming smile that showed off his perfect white teeth, and made him appear younger and less formidable. And dangerously more attractive. But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and he changed the subject - making her doubly suspicious of his motives in turning up unannounced.
‘I’m anxious to get to know the newest employee on my estate, Miss Bagshawe, so tell me a little more about yourself. For example, you must have been pretty desperate to leave London and travel all the way up to Wester Ross for a job.’ He made it sound as if the Vice Squad - not to mention the Serious Fraud Squad - were hot on her heels and she’d come to Wester Ross to lay low until the heat died down. He paused, evidently waiting for her to contradict him.
‘I needed a job. Simple.’
‘Something tells me that there is nothing simple about you - or your intentions, Miss Bagshawe. And there’s the rub - Mitzi has no references for you, other than Cat and Isla’s enthusiastic recommendation. I believe they hired you and other staff from the salon where you worked in order to raise money for Comic Relief in March?’ He made the innocent fundraiser sound like a cross between Sodom and Gomorra with dancing boys and animal sacrifice thrown in, and intimated that Pimlico Pamperers doubled as a lap-dancing club after hours. ‘What I want to know, before I agree to let you stay in my house is - who exactly are you, Miss Bagshawe?’
His blue eyes were openly hostile and suspicious and his smile had vanished.
‘Rest assured the family silver’s safe, if that’s what’s bothering you!’ she snapped.
‘I think that was established when you emptied your holdall.’ Fliss cringed as she recalled how the tampons had scattered in all directions before rolling towards him, tapping against his boots.
‘I’ve already told you - I’m a fully trained therapist. I was working at a salon in Pimlico, when I decided to go freelance.’ She gave the heavily edited version of her reasons for travelling north. Not exactly a lie - but not the whole truth, either. The fact she’d been sacked and had grabbed this opportunity to escape the dole queue was strictly on a need-to-know basis. And, as far as she was concerned, he didn’t need to know. ‘I learned through Cat and Isla that Mitzi was looking for a therapist, and I thought - why not?’
‘Why not, indeed?’
‘I’m good at my job. As you will find out if you give me half a chance.’
‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll give you a long rope to play with and watch you tie yourself in knots.’ Fliss let out an indignant breath, but he continued. ‘I have a feeling about you …’
‘And I have one about you! You like everything your own
way, don’t you? You aren’t used to being …’ she searched for the right word, ‘countermanded. The bottom line - Sir Ruairi - is that I have a contract that runs until the end of October. In that time I’ll turn this centre round, make it a success.’
‘Really?’
‘… and make you eat your words,’ she ignored his interruption. ‘And while we’re having this frank and open discussion I’d like to make a few things clear to you. One, I hope you accept that the episode in the garden was completely unrehearsed and genuine. I never want it referred to again. Understand?’
‘Go on.’ She ignored the quelling look that said she was in no position to dictate terms.
‘Two. I am passionate about the therapy centre and committed to making it a success.’
‘That’s a given. Three?’ His earlier appraisal was replaced by a cooler, more speculative look, as if he was trying to work out the reason behind her volte face.
‘My only interest is the therapy centre … and I want to be left to get on with the job of running it.’ She hoped that her cutting look made it clear that she had no designs, romantic or otherwise, on him - or any other man on the estate. He nodded, and although he listened politely, she sensed that he was waiting for his chance to state his rules of engagement.
‘I’m sensing an addendum here. Please, continue.’ Fliss could feel the metaphorical rope he’d mentioned coiling round her like the serpent in the garden. Much as his hand had curled round her ankle under the rose arbour. She shook her head and dismissed the beguiling image.
‘I want everything to be on a business footing from day one. Just so’s there’s no confusion between us.’ She sent him another forthright look. He might be used to women falling in a dead faint every time he flashed those sexy blue eyes, but she was immune to his charms. She’d made a fool of herself twice - but she’d make damned sure it wouldn’t happen a third time.