This was the fifth trip home in the past eighteen months. At first, she attributed her dad’s strange behavior to grief. After all, her mother’s death was sudden and unexpected due to an aneurysm. Now she had to admit the signs of his changing were showing long before. Her dad seemed to lose his interest in the business and it was slowing down. They even had to lay off staff. No wonder Murray worried.
The whole situation made her mad, but there was no other option. She had to make some tough decisions.
****
Ian’s first lead was a family-owned distillery west of Stirling. Bryce turned west on the A811 and followed the scenic route through farm fields and woodlands to the small village of Buchlyvie, where she slowed to look for signs.
“Excuse me, do you know where the Braehead distillery is?” Bryce said to a man loading a lorry with crates.
“Aye, turn just a bit past the post office, follow it past the oak grove. You’ll see it.”
“Thank you. Have a good day.”
He doffed his cap and waved.
Bryce smiled. It was nice to get off the highway and wander. The rolling green hills dotted with small farms and the sun dancing between some fluffy clouds made everything look magical. Yes, Scotland felt like home. She felt a warm sense of belonging and almost missed the sign hidden between two huge oak trees on her right. She slowed and looked at the large barn and adjacent whitewashed single-story building. She parked in front of the building housing “Braehead Whisky.”
A young man waved and came over to her. “Hullo, can I help you?” His brogue was soft but clear.
“Good afternoon, my name is Bryce Andrews. I believe Ian Smith may have called you regarding my visit today?”
“Aye, he did. My dad is waiting in the tasting room.” He led her toward the open door.
She glanced around at the chickens and ducks walking in the nearby yard. The older farmhouse had been there for at least a century. White sheets snapped in the breeze by the back door. The main office seemed dark by comparison, but the smell of dank, whisky-perfumed air filled her with curiosity. Could this be a gem?
“This is the American lady, name’s Andrews.” The young man gestured and a tall, muscular man stood. Dark brown corduroy breeches were held up by two bright red suspenders over a dark green plaid shirt. He held a pipe between his teeth with a big smile.
“Pleased to meet you. I believe we’ve got a few Andrews back in the family somewhere. Dusty Hamilton. This is my boy, Danny.”
She shook his hand and gave him her business card. “Thanks for taking the time to see me. I’m sure Mr. Smith briefed you on why I’m here. My company is looking for small-batch whisky for international distribution.”
“He did. Have a seat.” He waved to a stool made with part of a barrel. The bar itself was only about four feet long. “Danny, would you set us up with a couple of glasses and the two bottles I set out?”
“So, how long has Braehead been operating?” Bryce opened a small notepad.
He poured a share into a whisky tasting glass. “Over fifty years. My dad started distilling small batches after he retired. The folks around here liked it well enough he had to keep increasing the batches he made. Within five years he had to expand. He built this addition, hired some local lads, and took out a loan for more equipment. By the time I graduated high school, I had a full-time job.” Dusty beamed with pride.
Bryce sniffed the whisky and held it up to look at it. She added a splash of water from a small pitcher, smelled twice more, and tasted it. She scribbled a couple of notes.
“This is an eight-year-old single malt.” Dusty took a swallow from his own glass and nodded. “We switched to a new cooperage five years ago. I think it’ll make a difference in the flavor. The other barrel had a musty odor.”
“I agree. This has a good nose but tastes a little green. Nice color.”
Dusty reached across the bar for the next bottle. “This is our twelve-year. Used sherry casks for the second stage.”
She dumped her glass, rinsed it, and watched as Dusty added the older Braehead. The color glowed dark amber in the light. She took her time to give it a chance to breathe. “Oh yes, this is lovely. Very nice.” She took another sip and wrote more notes.
They chatted a bit before Bryce stood. “This has been a pleasure. As I said, when all the samples are in, we’ll notify everyone the results.”
“I’m glad you stopped by our little operation. It’s nice to have American visitors.”
Bryce opened her car door. “By the way, can you recommend a B and B around here?”
“The Garrique is up the road just outside of Kippen. Might have to check to see if it’s available. Otherwise, the inn on the corner is good.”
Bryce waved as she turned onto the road. She headed east and her phone rang. She hit the Bluetooth.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Bryce, it’s Reg. I just wanted to check in. Where are you?”
“I just finished up at Braehead and I’m heading back to Kippen to find a room. How was your day?”
“Great. I visited the little place in Dungavel and the owner referred me to a…let me see…John Brown at a pub in Drumclog. He had some great stories and a couple of interesting leads. The guy knows his whisky.”
“I’m glad. Where’re you stopping?”
“I’m heading to the coast to spend the night in Ardrossan so I can get the early ferry to Campbeltown. I think from there I might as well continue up through the islands.”
“Check in later if you want to.”
“Will do. Hey, Bryce, how’re you feeling?”
“Good. In fact, being back in Scotland has brightened my mood considerably. I’m sorry I’ve been so irritable lately. Let’s blame the hormones.” A weight had been lifted just by the change in scenery.
“Okay, if you say so. Take care, bye.”
Bryce slowed down as she entered Kippen. She parked in front of a small pub and looked up Garrique on her phone. A woman answered on the second ring.
“Hello, I’m inquiring about a room for tonight?”
“I’m so sorry, we’re booked for the weekend. Would next week do?”
“I’m afraid not, I’m on the road. Thanks anyway.”
Bryce took the map inside to get a sandwich. It was nearly four and she hadn’t had much since breakfast except a protein bar and some whisky. Inside was homey and warm. Some tea and a cheese sandwich sounded good.
“Could you tell me how long it would take to get to Perth?” She asked the barman.
“Won’t be much traffic if you get on the M9 and avoid Stirling. Follow that, as it’ll be the A9. Take you straight to Perth. Maybe an hour.”
Spring nights meant it stayed light till very late. Refreshed, she drove north looking forward to stopping in Pitlochry and then visiting The Dalwhinnie the next day. How was it she had forgotten how good she felt driving through the countryside, stopping when she wanted, and not answering a constant barrage of questions?
Once she’d settled in someplace, she might even take a long walk. On a whim, she looked up the Atholl Palace, an elegant old manor house built in 1871. When they answered she inquired about a room for the night. “I’ll see you before six.”
She remembered stopping there once for lunch after visiting the Edradour Distillery—the smallest in Scotland at the time. Pitlochry oozed charm and authenticity—like time had stopped briefly. The streets still held fast to their history and each homeowner, like the one before, had kept their homes in pristine and well-loved condition. Freshly painted, window boxes filled with blooms. Then there was the illustrious Atholl Palace, which possessed old-world charm with a heavy dose of class. She smiled at the memory the the grand old building that resembled an ancient castle, including large turrets. The view from her room was breathtaking, and the rolling hills were scattered with fluffy white sheep.
This was the kind of treat she relished on a solitary road trip. In fact, she’d even be willing to dress for dinner.
<
br /> Chapter Four
When she’d opened her eyes that morning, an unusual sensation had rippled through her body. She guessed it was excitement. Anticipation. And yes, eagerness. Those feelings had been dormant for a long time. Maybe this was what midlife felt like. Poor sleeping, lack of interest, weight gain. Ennui, pure and simple.
Rain. Of course, it’s Scotland. Bryce leaned on the window frame as rivulets streamed down the pane, and sipped the steaming tea with added milk and sugar. This change in her normal daily business routine and a new diet of comfort foods, along with new scenery invigorated her. The time change from west coast caused a brain blip that changed her plans. She forgot it was Sunday. No appointments today. Might as well try to visit The Dalwhinnie Distillery on her way northeast.
She propped herself up on pillows with her tea, then picked up her phone to call Reggie.
“Hello?”
“Hi, are you up?”
Reggie grumbled something and dropped the phone. “What time is it and where am I?”
“It’s just after eight, and I hope you’re still somewhere in Scotland.” Bryce smiled. Reggie was not a morning person.
“I just looked out the window and there’s water. It might be the ocean. Oh yeah, salty sea and peaty whisky, must be Scotland.”
“Must be good whisky if you’re not sure where you are.” Bryce wasn’t concerned; Reggie rarely did herself too much mischief.
“I made good time yesterday, so I continued to Islay and made a few more visits. Didn’t get to bed until really late and then couldn’t sleep. Overtired. Remind me why I said I liked peat?”
Bryce sipped the tea and gazed at the watercolor world of Pitlochry. “I’m not sure, I think it was the strong flavors.”
“Hang on.” Rustling and pouring. “A little carbonated sugar might help. Ran into a guy from Suntory. They’re all over these Islay malts. Guess they’re building their portfolio. What’s on your schedule?”
Bryce yawned. “Turns out it’s Sunday. No appointments. I switched my schedule around and I’m going up to the coast. I’ll work my way back to eventually meet you.”
“Okay. I can follow this route to Fort William then head east. I might as well get my notes in the computer for Leo. Have you done yours?”
“Some. I’ll finish today. It’s a grey and rainy day here, no sightseeing, might as well drive. It’s only about three hours.”
Reggie coughed. “Sorry. Wrong pipe. Will you stop to see Malcolm?”
“I forgot. Is he still at Tamdhu?” Malcolm Harris started at their company distillery in Airlie twelve years ago as a malt man and worked his way through the ranks learning every job. He left when the Tamdhu distillery needed a Master Distiller. She scribbled a note in her planner.
“I’m pretty sure. Listen, I need to get some food in me. I’ll give you a call later—in case you’re bored.”
“Right. I’ll try to be strong. Take care.”
Bryce folded the map and put her files away. Hot porridge sounded perfect. Or was it parritch?
****
The Highlands in the spring could be unpredictable. Even though it was May, the snow still covered many of the higher elevations. By midafternoon, the sun began to break through and warm things up.
Because of her late start, Bryce chose Aviemore to stop for a break. She steered off the A9 and followed the side road to the Old Bridge Inn. It looked much the same as it had four years earlier: a single-story stone building whitewashed clean, garnished with flower trellises and flower baskets. Inside was the rustic inn with sturdy wooden tables, an open fireplace, and a comfortable bar.
“What’ll it be, lass?” The barman looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure.
“What’s on tap?”
“Belhaven.”
“That’s good. What’s the special today?”
He set the full pint on a coaster, wiped the bar, and smiled. “If I’m not mistaken, we may still have some fresh spring lamb left.”
“That sounds perfect.” Bryce smiled at the charming old Scot as he headed into the kitchen. Already it felt like a neighborhood tavern, like Cheers, where everyone knows your name. The theme song began in her head.
The room contained a few tables and a dartboard in the back. Near the fire, a young man played a fiddle. She couldn’t make out the tune, but it certainly added to the ambience. She hung her jacket on the back of the barstool and pushed up her sleeves.
The ale tasted good and hearty. It wouldn’t be her choice in the states, but in Scotland it seemed perfect. Her neck and shoulders dropped with relaxation.
“What brings a pretty American up to Aviemore?”
She smiled. “Business and pleasure. My name is Bryce Andrews.”
“Jamie Meigle at your service. What business might that be?”
This is perfect, Bryce thought. “Whisky, as a matter of fact.”
“You don’t say.” He raised his bushy auburn eyebrows and smiled.
“I’m scouting for small-batch whisky. It’s become popular in the States.”
“We’ve been makin’ small batches of whisky for a couple hundred years. I couldn’t even count how many I’ve tasted.” His laugh was deep and musical.
“That’s why we’re here. Nobody knows whisky like the Scots.” She hoisted her glass. “Is there anyone you’d recommend?”
“Hmm, any special requirements?”
Bryce hadn’t thought about that, but now wondered what could be waiting up in the hills. “I guess it would need to be someone serious about growing the business. They’d need something unique, legal, that they could replicate.”
“I’ll ask around. Will you be back this way?”
“Let me leave my card. I’m going on to Speyburn before I come back this way.” She circled her cell number. “This has my email and phone number.”
“Enjoy your visit.”
****
Bryce started the car and then jotted a note to remember Jamie Meigle in Aviemore. This felt like forward movement on a goal. The progress energized her. Well, that along with a delicious meal and good conversation.
The sun broke through the parting clouds and sparkled off the river. The bright blue sky highlighted the resplendent, rounded-shoulder mountains. The Highland scenery took her breath away.
The highway surged northeast, and after a few minutes, Bryce decided to get off and take the secondary road along the River Spey. Her GPS showed a short distance to the Speybridge roundabout and an entrance to the Cairngorms National Park, which covered over seventeen hundred square miles of breathtaking mountain scenery.
Her Bluetooth phone dinged and the helpful voice declared, “Call from Leo.”
“Hi, Leo. What’re you doing up so early?”
Leo laughed. “It’s not that early. It’s eight o’clock and somebody has to work to keep the business afloat.”
Oh boy. “I’m sure you’re managing just fine.”
“I had to fly out to the west coast to help wrangle those juvenile delinquents you left in charge.”
“You went in person? I certainly appreciate your sacrifice, but I think you’ll be pleased with our scouting.”
“Do tell? Anything mind blowing?” He sounded excited.
“Not yet, but the best info has come from the small village pubs. Their owners hear all the stories and get to sample any new efforts the locals produce. I met a couple of good contacts.”
“Makes sense. Where are you now?”
“Since today is Sunday and I can’t see any of the regulars, I’m on my way up to Speyburn in Rothes. I’ll see the team tomorrow. Any messages?”
“Find out how the blend is coming along. I need to get the design team on it soon.”
“I sure will.” Bryce hoped he wouldn’t ask about Malcolm. It was still a sore subject at the Chicago office.
“Okay. Bryce, you’re doing a fine job and you sound much better…Maybe it’s the change of scenery or…well, whatever it is I’m glad. You do your best work when
you’re breaking new ground. Make me proud.”
“I will. Thanks, I do feel better.”
“How’s Reggie doing?”
“She’s already moving through the islands. We’ll meet up in a couple of days to compare notes.”
“Be careful and be frugal!”
“Yes, sir.” Bryce laughed. He always said that and never questioned her expense sheet. “Thanks for calling.”
His concern was touching, and she knew how much he cared. They’d made a good team, and he was a terrific and generous mentor.
After graduation, Bryce thought she had the world by the tail with her fancy business degree. Once she entered the real world, it was clear how little she knew and how women were denigrated in the hospitality and beverage business. If it hadn’t been for Leo making her his protégé, she might be working retail somewhere. Instead, she had a big job with a comparable salary and was respected for her work.
Too bad Gretchen didn’t appreciate the good life and chose an airline stewardess instead.
Next roundabout: six miles.
Bitch.
****
The secondary route required more attention as the road width became uncomfortably narrow. Once the traffic thinned, the countryside blossomed with gorgeous, spring-green growth everywhere. The road cut through the river valley, surrounded by wooded hillsides dotted with farms tucked neatly beside them. The air smelled of new grass.
The topography eventually flattened, and more farms appeared. When Bryce spotted a large lorry piled high with huge timbers coming around a curve ahead, she chose the next left-sided passing place to stop and wait.
Once it rattled past her, she slowly pulled out. She looked right, then saw a hidden driveway on her right with double white posts and a dangling, broken sign. Odd. When she passed it, she noticed faded black lettering: “MacDougall & Son Distillers.”
Not especially welcoming. She smiled. Probably another of the small deserted stills of forgotten times.
Upper Knockando: 3 miles.
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