Glasgow Grace

by Marion Ueckermann

  Bile rose in his throat at the thought of Skye’s mother and what she’d probably done. Even though he’d come to her defense, he knew she was capable and most likely had kept Skye from making contact. “Enough of Rita Robinson. She’s been mentioned too many times tonight.”

  Skye smiled. “You’re right.”

  “Back to you, please.”

  “OK. When I surfaced from my time of mourning, I enrolled at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music at the University of Sydney, and spent the next five years doing my Undergraduate Degrees—BA and BMus. That’s Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Music Studies.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t tell her he knew exactly what the abbreviations stood for. He had a couple of them, too. Master of Surgery, MB ChB (Hons), MSc (Hons). “Sounds impressive, Miss Hunter. Your mother must be proud.”

  “Too proud. But remember, no more talk of Rita Robinson.”

  He grinned. “How could I have forgotten so soon? What instrument did you major in?” He bit his lip. He had to be careful what questions he asked.

  “Piano. Mother was ecstatic that all those piano lessons in Glasgow weren’t for naught.”

  “I’ll bet she was.” He emptied his cup and set it on the carpet beside him. “What did you do after you got those degrees?”

  “Three years of Post Graduate Degrees—one for my Graduate Diploma in Music, and another two on my Master of Music Studies. Both in Opera Performance.”

  “That’s a lot of studying. Didn’t you get tired of it?”

  “I love what I do, but yes, I was tired when I finally graduated. Eight years of non-stop studying is long. Probably the reason I took the next year off, doing the things those years of study had kept me from. I spent autumn and winter on my mother’s couch reading paperback novels and watching movies, a bowl of buttered popcorn always by my side. Summer and spring saw me on Bondi beach with my nose buried in yet more novels.”

  “I’ll bet your mother wasn’t pleased.”

  “No, she wasn’t.” Skye placed a finger on Callum’s lips. “Enough. No more talk of her.”

  He kissed her finger. “Agreed. So, was dating one of the things your studies kept you from?”

  “Not really. I dated a little through the years.”

  “Meet anyone special?”

  She shook her head. “I always compared them to you. No one ever measured up.”

  His eyes searched hers. “How’s that possible? We were just kids.” But Callum knew how. Nobody had ever measured up to Skye either. Even Katie had failed to fill the space in his heart that had always belonged to this girl…now a woman.

  She cupped his cheek. “No, we weren’t just kids. We were teens on the brink of adulthood—at least you were—and we were in love. We had plans for a future together.”

  Callum wanted to wrap Skye in his arms and kiss her as they had earlier in the car…and tell her that maybe, just maybe, life had thrown them a second chance. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He didn’t want to scare Skye with too much, too soon. She had her career. A relationship with him could impact that. Was it possible they could be together and still have their individual careers? There would be a lot to figure out if they got back together again.

  Skye waved her hand in front of Callum’s face. “Hey there…” She leaned toward him. “Tell me what life without me has been like.”

  “One word. Hell.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  A smile brushed her lips as light and brief as her fingers did his hair. “So what did Callum McGuire do in hell for sixteen years?”

  Just where he didn’t want this conversation to go. Much as he was reluctant to leave, it was time to head home. He glanced at his wristwatch. Almost midnight. “I’d better go. You need to sleep. Tomorrow night we’ll be up late again.”

  Skye pouted. “You’ll let me tell you all about my life, and I don’t get even the slightest inkling of what you’ve been up to all this time. Not fair, Callum McGuire.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Another time. I promise. Besides,” he grinned as he pushed himself up off the floor, “you haven’t told me everything yet. There are some gaps you need to fill.”

  Towering over Skye, he held out his hand and pulled her up. She overbalanced and fell into his arms. His breath caught for a moment before he breathed deep of her scent. Hints of vanilla, May rose, and jasmine. He knew this high street perfume, and it was as classy and timeless as Skye. Callum took another deep breath as his hands traveled up her back until they disappeared into her hair. It was softer than he remembered. Redder. Longer. Sweeping his fingers through the silky strands was like skimming his hand over the edge of a flame. It both warmed and scared him. Be careful you don’t get burned.

  Steeling himself, he kissed the top of her head. “I need to go.” He released her and walked to the door. He retrieved his now dry jacket and slipped into it. Then he slid his feet into his boots and knelt down to tie the laces. He peered up at Skye. “I’ll fetch you around six tomorrow night.”

  She nodded. “That’ll be fine. I can’t wait.”

  Callum straightened and took her in his arms, holding her tight for a moment. Then he turned and opened the door. Without looking back, he closed it behind him and leaned against the wooden divide. How could all those years just melt away? He felt eighteen again. Young. Hormonal. In love. As he walked away, one thought assailed his mind. He had loved Skye then; he loved her even more now.

  ~*~

  Skye rested her back and head against the door, and then spread her palms across its smooth surface, certain she could hear Callum breathing on the other side. She closed her eyes, imagining they stood back to back, holding hands. She could still smell his scent on her skin from their interlude in the car. Earthy, with a hint of musk. Expensive. Yet it couldn’t be. Those knock-off colognes were getting good.

  A sudden spell of coughing bent her over. She rushed to the bathroom and filled a glass with water. If this carried on, she’d have to take Callum’s advice and see a doctor. She rummaged in her toiletry bag for a throat lozenge. Finding one, she popped it into her mouth. That should help for both her coughing and sore throat. Please don’t let me be coming down with something.

  Pajamas on, Skye hopped into bed and plunged the room into darkness. If she could turn off her thoughts, she might get some sleep. Tonight had been a revelation. She was still in love with Callum, but their lives were so different. Maybe they always had been. Had she been too young, too naïve, and too in love then to notice? Perhaps her father had camouflaged the differences between her world and Callum’s. Even though successful and admired, Da had never felt it beneath him to mingle with everyone at the pub. In fact, he’d reveled in it. That’s why he’d loved going to McGuire’s so much.

  But now she’d spent all these years under her mother’s influence. What if her snooty ways have rubbed off on me? Never. Skye would rather die than become like her mother. Yet, it was possible that Rita Robinson had affected her more than she cared to admit since Da’s passing. Time back in Glasgow, spent with the McGuires, would soon tell who’d left the biggest imprint on her life—her father, or her mother. Skye feared it would be the latter. Hadn’t she already looked down on Callum tonight for still singing and working in his parents’ pub? Lord, forgive me. Don’t let me be like Mother. Give me Da’s empathy for my fellow man, for those who work hard and love their work.

  An unexpected tear spilled from her eye. Then another. She wiped them away. She must be more exhausted than she thought—she hadn’t cried in years. Da, I miss you so much.

  Tomorrow she’d ask Callum if he could drive her to the Isle of Skye before the New Year to visit her father’s grave. She hadn’t been there since they’d buried him. Would she remember where the grave was? All she could recall was that it was near a row of trees. Just beyond the trees, the shallower waters of Portree Bay. A year after his death, Mother had a headstone erected. That would make his grave easier to find.

  If only
Da had been buried in Glasgow. But he’d insisted on his deathbed that he was to be buried in his hometown, Portree. Skye loved that place. So did Da. That’s where he’d met his Rita. She was on holiday from Australia. Her ancestors had emigrated to Australia from the Isle of Skye, and she was researching her family genealogy. They fell in love, and Da asked her to marry him. She never returned home. Not until Da died.

  That’s how Skye got her name. Her parents couldn’t resist naming her after the place most special to their hearts.

  Skye loved the Isle for different reasons. Childhood summer holidays in Portree, with its colorful two-, three- and four-storied homes and hotels on the waterfront, had provided unforgettable memories. Da insisted on bringing Callum along on some of those holidays—until Mother put her foot down. Eventually Da could no longer argue with her on the Callum McGuire issue. He stopped inviting Callum on their annual trips.

  She and Callum had loved sitting on the pier, gazing across the ocean. They’d stay there for hours, watching the seals play in the bay. Sometimes Da would buy them a bucket of fish and amid shrieks of laughter, they’d throw the fish into the air and feed the slippery black creatures that ducked and dived through the water.

  As she wandered down memory lane, the Phantom of the Opera foremost in her mind, those water creatures with their sharp noses and hollow eyes resembled a dark version of the Phantom’s mask. Of course, as a child, she’d known nothing of phantoms and opera.

  She’d been to Skye only three times in the wintery months. The first when her grandmother died. The second on her grandfather’s passing. The third time, to bury her father, had been the worst. This was the only winter’s journey Callum had taken with them…in a manner of speaking. He’d driven all the way to Portree in his little red Beetle. He could’ve driven with her and Mother, but the late Dr. Lewis Hunter’s widow wouldn’t allow it. So Callum had gone on his own to pay his last respects to her dad.

  I’ll need to hire a car. Callum’s Beetle probably wouldn’t make the two hundred mile trip this time. It was sixteen years older. Earlier she’d panicked they would even make it to the hotel.

  Skye rolled over and reached for her cellphone on the bedside table. She lifted it and fumbled with the keypad. The screen illuminated. One thirty. She needed to sleep. If only her mind would stop running like a hamster on a wheel.

  Sinking back into her pillow, Skye stared up at the dark roof, barely visible. I should get Callum’s cellphone number. Surely he had one? And first thing come morning, she needed to find a mall. She had Christmas gifts to buy. What could she get for Callum? Something that would tell him she was interested? But was he interested? He hadn’t kissed her good night. Had returning the passion earlier in the car merely been a moment of weakness? Nostalgia?

  Maybe she’d just wrap a big red bow around herself.

  ~*~

  Callum touched the M on his cellphone and cradled the phone in his neck as he opened the Beetle’s door. How he wished he had his own car right now. Leather upholstery. Heated seats.

  Don’t think about it.

  “Callum? Are yi awright? Whit uryi callin’ so late fer?”

  “I’m fine, Ma. Did I wake you?”

  “Dinnae be daft, Callum. It’s oanly jist gaun midnight. Ahm oanly noo awa upsterrs tae me bed. Ahv jist loackt the pub. Yir Da turnt in a wee while ago.”

  “Ma, you know how we always have Christmas dinner at my house?”

  “Aye.”

  “I need us to have dinner this year at McGuires.”

  “Whit yi up tae, Callum? This huv somethin’ tae dae wi Skye?”

  “Tavish told you?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll explain why tomorrow, Ma. I promise.”

  Mary McGuire sighed.

  “I love you, too, Ma.”

  Callum cut the call and pocketed his phone. He started the Beetle and pulled away from the Crowne Plaza. First stop—the gas station, then straight home to bed. A busy day awaited him. He’d need to get a gift for Skye. How he’d love to buy her something fancy, like a diamond necklace. But for now, he had to keep up the pretense.

  In the morning, he’d see his Ma to discuss the evening’s plans. While there, he’d need to get his car back from Tavish. Just for the morning. Tavish would be sure to hold him to their deal. If he hit the road by nine, he’d be in Edinburgh by ten—in time for the opening of his favorite chocolatier. He’d be home before midday with his purchase of luxury handmade chocolates—the perfect gift for the perfect woman. A box would be just the gift to sweeten Skye’s heart. And her lips. Not that they needed sweetening.

  4

  Never in his wildest dreams had Callum expected Christmas to turn out this different, this special. What better gift than to have Skye back in his life?

  Anxious to get home to help his ma with the Christmas dinner and table settings, he pushed his foot down on the pedal. Everything had to be perfect tonight. For Skye. Thankfully Tavish didn’t play hardball this morning and let him use the BMW. But it did cost Callum an extra week without his luxury car. As much as he’d loved the Beetle, the only alluring quality about Tavish’s old faunty was the memories with Skye it held captive within its metal walls.

  Glancing at the gifts on the passenger seat, Callum licked his lips as he remembered the delicious experience at the chocolatier. Tasting samples. Choosing. Raspberry, orange, lime, ginger, garden mint, rose, coffee, cinnamon, and fresh Scottish cream velvet truffles; spiced hazelnut, lemongrass, cinnamon, and orange pralines; and milk chocolate caramel-filled hearts and white chocolate vanilla hearts—the boxed assortments beautifully wrapped in red and gold. All just for Skye.

  A few minutes inside the chocolate shop and Callum knew exactly which box he’d choose. The red cigar-style one with black interior that held the chocolatier’s full selection of elegantly crafted and intricately decorated chocolates. Six rows, forty-eight chocolates. The finest Scotland had to offer.

  Red, for Christmas.

  But there had also been the white box with the chocolatier’s name scripted on the lid with gold cursive. One hundred and two cocoa-dusted velvet truffle petit fours.

  White was synonymous with Christmas, too.

  He took them both. After all, chocolates and Christmas went together. And Skye Hunter loved chocolate.

  Temptation got the better of him while he shopped, so he bought two smaller boxes, too. He only wrapped the one for his ma. She needed sweetening. Ma wasn’t one for secrets, and she wasn’t impressed at him for changing the venue or his reason why.

  “Yir makin’ a mistake. Loadsa big oans, tae.” Ma wanted him to tell Skye the honest truth about his life. But he couldn’t help wondering if a little part of her wanted news of his success to find its way back to Australia posthaste.

  She wasn’t happy either that he’d whisked Skye away from McGuire’s last night before she or Da could say hello. But most of all, she was concerned about his decision to woo Skye, afraid he’d get his heart broken all over again.

  “She’s a bonnie lassie, Skye, but yiv hid yir chance a lang time ago. Yiv both moved oan.”

  Callum reached for the open box and pinched another chocolate between his fingers. As his taste buds wrapped around the smooth, sweet richness, he resisted the urge to close his eyes. Wouldn’t want to have an accident. Not now.

  Ma stood no chance. No chance at all. One of these sweet things in her mouth and all her resistance would melt. He should keep a few from the open box, stuff one in Ma and Da’s mouths the moment he walked inside McGuire’s tonight—sweeten any underlying bitterness they may still harbor toward Skye. For years they’d resented her for breaking Callum’s heart. But that was long ago.

  As for Tavish, there’d be no chocolate for his little brother. The memory of his audacious flirting reminded Callum that Tavish’s mouth was already far too sweet.

  Excitement and fear thumped simultaneously in his chest, each seeking entrance to his soul, both willing to share the space. What wo
uld tonight be like? Would it be the same as long ago, or a total disaster, turning sour the moment he walked through the door with Skye on his arm?

  He should’ve bought another box of chocolates.

  ~*~

  Yanking her high-heeled boots onto her feet, Skye scolded herself for oversleeping. With four gifts to buy and no idea what to get, she hadn’t done herself any favors by snoozing through half her shopping time. She’d have to skip that breakfast she’d looked forward to so much.

  She took a bite of the remaining shortbread biscuit and washed it down with a swig of coffee. She’d grab something to eat at the mall—once she’d found a gift for each of the McGuires. One small biscuit wouldn’t sustain her.

  After running a brush through her hair, Skye dabbed a little color to her face. Bag and scarf in hand, she headed for the door, retrieving her coat from the closet on the way.

  By the time Skye reached the ground floor, she had bundled up for the cold. She strode across the hotel lobby toward the tall concierge attired in a dark blue suit and burgundy tie. She hadn’t seen him when she’d checked in yesterday.

  He smiled as she stepped up to his desk. Skye returned the gesture.

  “Could you tell me where’s the best place for some last minute Christmas shopping? I imagine any mall will be a madhouse, but I only arrived yesterday and unexpectedly ran into some old friends.”

  “Of course, Miss…”

  “Hunter. Skye Hunter.”

  “Ah, yes. Our opera star.”

  “Aye.” Mr. Boyd must have briefed the concierge on her stay. Either that or, thanks to her mother, the front desk staff informed him of her arrival.

  “So, shopping it is? You’ll do well to go to Buchanan Galleries. It’s Glasgow’s top shopping destination—over ninety stores covering the best of the high street names.”

  “Is it within walking distance?”

  “On a good day, yes. But not in this dreary, wet weather. The roads are pure slush from the snow and drizzle. I’ll call for a taxi.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  The concierge nodded. “I’m here to help.”