by Lizzie Lamb
‘You mentioned investing in the estate?’ she prompted.
‘Sure. I wanna give Ruairi an interest free loan so that he can make the improvements the estate’s crying out for. Help him get his conservation scheme off the ground. Maybe try some of his radical ideas on my estate, too. But he’s too damn stubborn and proud to accept my offer’
‘Angus. You are a good man.’ She turned sideways to smile at him and he blushed to the roots of his russet hair.
‘Ah figured that once Mitzi and the girls come live with me, Ruairi’ll be free to marry and bring his bride home. He sure as hell needs the love of a good woman to sort him out. Although, he don’t seem too keen - after what … happened with Fiona, to take the plunge again. Though Mitzi’s been trying to help out with her matchmaking skills.’
‘Why do I find that thought alarming?’ Fliss joked and they regarded each other with identical, comic faces.
Bring his bride home.
Fliss experienced a pang similar to the one when Mitzi had mentioned the well-bred girls queuing up to be Lady Urquhart. Then she’d dismissed it as no more than a feeling of pity for the unfortunate woman who would live in the Big Hoose and lie beside Ruairi in the Laird’s Bed. And that’s how she preferred to go on thinking of it. No way was she interested in the Laird of Kinloch Mara, other than in a purely academic sense where she conceded that he was a handsome man. But so not what she needed in her life right now.
She listened with half an ear as Angus rattled on. ‘No woman wants to start married life with three other women in the house, cloggin’ up the pipeline.’ She smiled at his oil industry metaphor.
‘I suppose not.’
She was reminded of her current run of bad luck where men were concerned. She rarely got a second date because men preferred women who didn’t bail on them at the last minute because they couldn’t afford to turn down a lucrative after-hours appointment. And until now it hadn’t bothered her that work and ambition had taken precedence over romance. The way things had turned out, it was probably just as well that she didn’t have a boyfriend ringing her every night and begging her to come home.
She couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by any man right now - Ruairi Urquhart least of all.
‘We’re here.’ Angus swung the Land Rover into a parking space and walked round to help Fliss climb down. ‘Port Urquhart.’
‘Thanks, Angus.’ Small wonder Ruairi had such an inflated idea of his own importance. How many men could actually say they had a town named after them?
‘An hour be long enough for y’all? This ain’t exactly Inverness.’
Fliss glanced round at the painted houses in pink, yellow, blue and creamy white arranged around the L-shaped harbour. They brought to mind the sugar almond houses in Elgin Crescent where this crazy adventure had begun. With one sweeping glance she took in the fishing boats, café and a couple of gift shops, an open-all-hours supermarket and a chemist. She’d make her purchases, buy a take-away coffee from the café and drink it sitting on the harbour wall looking out to sea and try to assimilate everything Angus had told her.
‘I take it we’re all done here?’ Angus asked Fliss, Ruairi and Mitzi in a businesslike manner a few hours later.
‘I haven’t quite finished with Ms-Fliss …’ Ruairi began, gathering his papers together and getting to his feet.
‘Now, Ruairi, darling, don’t be so tiresome. Of course you’ve finished with Fliss,’ Mitzi interjected, moving away from the Pembroke table where the meeting had been conducted. ‘You don’t need to concern yourself with her or the therapy centre any longer. We’ve explained all that.’ She waited for Fliss to corroborate her statement.
‘Absolutely. No, need to worry … R - Ruairi.’ Fliss stumbled over his name - it felt too strange and intimate to use it, given their contentious relationship. She felt more comfortable using Sir Ruairi or Himself, it kept a degree of separation between them. But she supposed they had to move forward. She gathered her note book, pens and invoices together, hoping that no one had noticed that her face and the tips of her ears were scarlet after the warts and all meeting.
Angus and Mitzi had been perfectly calm and reasonable throughout but had made it plain to Ruairi that the centre was going ahead, with or without his approval. And if it turned out to be the flop he predicted, then Angus would have all the equipment disposed of and everything put back to rights - at his own expense.
‘Fait accompli,’ Ruairi conceded, far from happy. ‘But there is one last thing. I asked Fliss a question a couple of days ago and I’d like an answer to it. I wonder if you would give us a few moments alone.’
‘A few moments,’ Mitzi agreed, giving him a stern look, ‘no more. Fliss has been grilled enough for one day. We’ll wait for you in the therapy centre.’ She held her hand out to Angus, and Fliss realised that there was more to Mitzi than blonde highlights, expensive clothes and a reckless spending habit. She knew how to land herself a Texan Oil Baron and could handle the proud Laird of Kinloch Mara. Mitzi caught her look as she closed the door and winked, as if to say - softlee softlee catchee monkey.
‘I’m not answering any more of your questions until you’ve returned my contract and ripped up your insulting cheque,’ Fliss opened with when she was sure they were alone.
‘They’re staying in my drawer for safe keeping. Who knows when I might need them?’
‘I could sue you for - oh, I don’t know - wrongful something or other,’ Fliss spat out.
‘If you dared.’
‘Oh I dare! And as to your question … Prepare yourself for a shock, your Lairdship - unlike everyone else within a hundred mile radius of Kinloch Mara - I’m not afraid of the Big Bad … of you.’ Even as the thought took shape, she knew that in one respect she was afraid of him. Or, at least of the sexual chemistry that fizzed between them, almost as strong as the antipathy that drove them to argue every time they met.
‘You aren’t?’ He took a challenging step closer as if his physical presence could make her back down, change her mind.
She took two steps away from him. Their relationship was complicated enough without adding a sexual element. She returned his provocative look, measure for measure and wondered if he felt as conflicted as she did. Then she dismissed the idea as preposterous; judging from his demeanour, it would give him greater pleasure to throw her off his land than over his four-poster bed.
‘In that case -’
However, Fliss never heard the end of his sentence because the door leading from the conservatory was flung open and Cat and Isla burst in. They were followed at a more sedate pace by Angus and Mitzi, who tapped her Philippe Patek watch with a manicured fingernail to remind Ruairi his time was up.
‘Hey, lovin’ the look, Fliss.’ Cat pointed at the uniform Fliss had left hanging in the therapy centre. ‘Oh - can I have one, too, Mumma? Angus?’
‘Why, darling?’ Mitzi gave her a puzzled look.
‘Well, I was thinking - maybe I could help Fliss. You know - with unpacking and everything.’
Fliss schooled her features into a semblance of joy but her heart plummeted. The last thing she wanted was Cat opening boxes; unpacking products before she’d ticked them off against invoices and making a complete mess of her system. Then becoming bored and leaving her to tidy up. But everyone was looking at her expectantly, practically willing her to give a positive response.
‘Wonderful,’ she choked out, ignoring the imperceptible rise of Ruairi’s eyebrow which said: let’s see you wriggle out of this one.
‘Well, we think you’re wonderful, too. Don’t we Ruairi? So clever and talented.’ Mitzi extended her hands, drew Fliss and Cat into a warm embrace and sent Ruairi an admonishing look.
‘Talented doesn’t even begin to describe Fliss,’ Ruairi said. But only she caught his barbed look which inferred this was a mere skirmish and the battle royal lay ahead. Then he smiled a white, disarming smile, the one Fliss was learning to be especially distrustful of. ‘In fact, I hope to avail
myself of her skills as a linguist, sometime soon.’
‘You’re good at languages, Fliss?’ Mitzi asked. ‘That’s bound to come in handy when the therapy centre expands and we start having foreign visitors stopping in en route to their holiday destination in the highlands. Which languages are you fluent in?’
‘Well, I’m not …’
‘Klingon,’ Ruairi said without missing a beat.
‘Klingon?’ Mitzi repeated.
‘He means, Korean,’ Fliss improvised, wishing he’d go away. But she guessed that by telling him that she wasn’t easily intimidated, she’d unwittingly issued a challenge to the alpha male in him. And he couldn’t just walk away from that.
Oh, why did she have to act so provocatively?
‘I’m sure we’ll get lots of K-Korean visitors,’ Mitzi put in uncertainly.
‘I’m looking forward to hearing Fliss speak the language of the Klingon people again, very soon.’ It was with a sinking feeling that Fliss realised that he not only remembered the phone conversation in the Elgin Crescent gardens but knew that she’d lied on that occasion, too. Or - at the very least, been economical with the truth.
But that was a discussion for another time his look told her.
‘I might have known that Fliss’d be a cunning linguist. Probably knows all about Tantric sex, too.’ Isla said snarkily. Cat was the first to get Isla’s pun and let out a shocked laugh, glancing round at the adults to gauge their reaction.
Predictably, Ruairi wasn’t amused by Isla’s bad manners or her double entendre. ‘Apologise to Fliss. Immediately, Isla.’
It was a couple of seconds before Fliss realised that he’d sprung to her defence - and her heart gave a glad little skip. Even though she knew his reaction stemmed more from his innate good manners and sense of what was appropriate, than from any desire to act as her champion.
‘Sorr - eee, Fliss-sss,’ Isla responded unconvincingly. From her gleeful expression, it was plain that she was exacting revenge for having been sworn at in the hall a couple of days previously. Then it was Ruairi’s turn to receive some of her vitriol. ‘How much longer are you going to be down here? If I am to be busted, I need to know the length of my sentence so I can start organising my diary for the next few weeks.’
‘I’ll be as long as it takes, Isla.’
‘But, I need an answer,’ Isla persisted, but Ruairi was not for moving.
‘Answers, answers. What is it with questions and answers today? I’ve had enough of them. Now all of you - scoot.’ Mitzi shooed them into the hall and the direction of the front door.
‘But Mumma,’ Isla protested. ‘Aren’t you coming back up to the Big Hoose with us?’ It was clear that she wanted her mother to act as buffer between Ruairi and herself.
‘Not at this very moment, darling. I’ve got the organisation for the Open Day to discuss with Fliss and Angus. We couldn’t have picked a better time of year for it, what with the grouse season almost upon us and everyone returning for the Clan Gatherings and Highland Balls.’
Clan Gatherings? Highland Balls? Open Days?
Ruairi threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat as he followed his stepsisters out of the house.
‘Oh, don’t fret about Ruairi.’ Mitzi read Fliss’s mind like she was gifted with second sight. ‘The Highland Balls are part of the Scottish Season and our obligation as landowners; noblesse oblige - and all that. We raise thousands of pounds for charity, darling. Thousands. Then of course there’s the Urquhart Gathering in mid-September followed by our own Ball - which draws the season to a close. You’re going to be really busy. We might need to get you some help. What do you think, Angus?’
‘Whatever you and Fliss decide is fine by me,’ he ducked under the low doorway and followed them through to the kitchen where Mitzi busied herself at the coffee machine.
‘An Open Day is such a good idea. You know - demonstration facials, let people look round the centre, champagne, little nibbles and goody bags,’ she was really getting into her stride. ‘You leave that side of things to me - and Angus,’ she extended her hand towards her tame Texan. He took it and kissed it reverentially and then crashed down on one of the bar stools. Next to his height and girth it looked like it had been designed for a Hobbit.
‘But Mitzi, don’t you think it’s all a little … excessive? Not to mention expensive?’
Angus entered the discussion, ‘Fliss, honey, don’t you know it pays to advertise? Anyhoo, most of this can be written off as expenses. Don’t you worry ’bout a thing. It’s my money and how I spend it is my business. It’s one way of payin’ back Ruairi for his kindness and hospitality.’
Mitzi patted his arm absentmindedly, her absorbed expression showing that her mind was on higher things … the design of the goody bags, the colour of the balloons and what to serve with the drinks.
‘I wonder,’ she began, almost to herself. ‘Would it be too OTT if I had a uniform, like Fliss’s, only with “Mitzi Urquhart, Proprietress” embroidered on the tunic. What do you think, Angus?’
‘Mitzi, I think you need a new dress; several new dresses. Then you can pick one for the Open Day. What say we fly down to London for a few days and let Fliss get on with unpackin’ and sortin’ out the centre? In the meantime you can ring round all your girlfriends and ask them to save the date.’
‘Excellent!’ She came up behind Angus, draped her arms over his shoulder and kissed the top of his russet head. ‘Isn’t he just a darling; he always comes up with a practical solution to our problems.’
He winked at Fliss who responded fervently: ‘He certainly is.’
‘Now, you and Fliss go inspect the therapy centre and I’ll finish off the coffee. Ya’ll think I can be trusted with that?’
‘If you can put out wild fires in Texan oil fields, cope with my naughty daughters and put up with Ruairi’s dark moods, darling, I think we can trust you to make the coffee. Come on Fliss; I want to show you some old photos of the house I’ve found and which I think would be just perfect for the flyers.’
Chapter Twenty
Fliss awoke with a start as the canon in front of the Big Hoose heralded in the new day. Getting out of bed, she opened the casement windows and stepped onto the Juliet balcony but was too late to catch Ruairi and Murdo beating the bounds. She could hear the strains of a Strathspey reel played by Jaimsie on the terrace, its tune so haunting that it was several seconds before she realised she was holding her breath.
Exhaling, she gave a wry smile.
Since arriving at Kinloch Mara a month ago she’d spent most of the time bracing herself for the next disaster, or counting to ten before responding to one of Ruairi Urquhart’s more cutting remarks.
But on a morning like this - when the sun danced on the sea loch, she felt alive and full of optimism. Her upbeat mood was due, in part, to living and working in the Wee Hoose. Compared to her flat in Pimlico it was like living in a palace, but there was more to it than that. Its ancient stone walls radiated a sense of tranquillity and healing, and she wondered if it had its own genius locus. A gentle spirit of the place, which was responsible for restoring her sense of balance after each bruising encounter with Ruairi.
Just thinking about him was enough to prick her bubble of contentment and make her question if her mood was less to do with a benevolent highland spirit - or more with the fact that he’d stayed away from the Wee Hoose since their business meeting three weeks ago.
Which suited her just fine!
She had plenty to occupy her. Mitzi had chosen the first Saturday in August for the open day. By then, everyone would have returned to their estates in preparation for the grouse shooting. There would also be Americans, Canadians and Australians staying in the grand houses nearby as paying guests; immersing themselves in the whole highland experience, complete with midges, antiquated plumbing and peaty brown bath water. They would be here until the end of September and if the therapy centre wanted to attract their business, it had to be ready - like, yesterday.
She sighed as the last strains of the reel drifted away and hurriedly got dressed. She had boxes to unpack this morning and would leave her shower until this evening when Murdo was due to call in.
Half an hour later, seated at the breakfast bar nursing a second cup of coffee and tapping a biro against her teeth, she contemplated the appointments diary. As she ran a finger down the impressive list of names, she experienced a jolt of excitement. The success of the therapy centre would mean a fistful of feathers in her cap and the satisfaction of having Ruairi retract every derogatory remark he’d levelled at her since her arrival on his estate.
The thought made her smile as she cleared away the breakfast things and put the milk back in the fridge. Mitzi had given her the choice of dining en famille each evening or fending for herself - and she’d opted for the latter. She didn’t want to relive the controversial breakfast of her first morning over dinner every night, like a damaged DVD sticking on the same scene.
Being an only child, she hadn’t appreciated that families got on better when they weren’t playing to the gallery. Maybe when the therapy centre was up and running, she’d join the Urquharts for the occasional evening meal. But until then they were an acquired taste and best enjoyed sparingly she decided, snapping the appointment book shut and tucking the pen behind her ear.
She heard her name called out, and froze. Had simply thinking about Ruairi conjured up his presence? She’d been dreading meeting him again as they’d hardly parted on good terms. There was unfinished business between them and she suspected he was biding his time. Waiting for her to drop the pretence of hard working therapist determined to reverse the fortunes of Mitzi’s centre, and revert to type. Then, as he saw it, he’d have his suspicions about her finally confirmed.