by Alice Ross
‘He’s a good bloke, your Joe,’ he remarked.
Causing all Flora’s showering thoughts to whoosh down the plughole.
‘H-he is. One of the best.’ She blew out a silent breath of relief, congratulating herself on neatly wrapping up the topic. Now, how to seamlessly manoeuvre the chat onto potatoes…
Noah, however, evidently had no intention of talking about potatoes. Or vegetables of any kind.
‘All this wedding stuff …’ He twisted round to her.
Flora’s heart skipped a beat. ‘‘W-what about it?’
He pulled a face. ‘It’s a bit… serious, isn’t it? I can tell Joe’s really up for it. But you… I get the feeling you’re not quite as into it as he is.’
Indignation wiped away Flora’s nerves. What right did this guy – who’d known her all of five minutes – have telling her she wasn’t ‘into’ her own wedding? Even if she wasn’t – which she wasn’t – it had nothing to do with him. ‘Actually,’ she retorted haughtily, ‘I can’t wait to marry Joe.’
‘Really?’ bat back Noah, the look in his turquoise eyes leaving her in no doubt that he didn’t believe a word of it.
The two other locations on the photography itinerary were equally as stunning as the first – a loch carved from ancient glaciers, and a gorgeous glen - home to wildcat. Yet, despite the outstanding natural beauty about her, Flora couldn’t muster an ounce of enthusiasm. And when she eventually parked up outside Glenduff Castle and switched off the engine, she could have cried with relief. Not least because it meant she hadn’t killed anybody and the car was still in one piece. The only notable incident on the return journey had been a fight to find the squirter for the windscreen, after a bird had pooped on it.
Noah hadn’t bothered to conceal his humour that time, roaring with laughter as she’d pressed various buttons, causing lights to flash and some obscure foreign language to blast out from the radio.
‘You can drive if you want to,’ she’d sniped.
‘Can’t,’ he’d informed her between snorts. ‘No licence.’
Which had only added to Flora’s irritation. Now back at Glenduff, she could at last put some space between the two of them. Thank goodness. His scarily astute observations about the wedding had been enough to unnerve her. But that wasn’t the only thing. Being around such an adventurous, roving, free spirit, listening to tales of his travels, hearing about his adventures, made her feel like the most boring twenty-two-year-old on the planet.
All such thoughts of her uneventful life exited the building, however, the moment she set foot in the castle and sensed the sombre atmosphere.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked Amy, whose usually rosy cheeks were ashen.
‘Oh, Flora. It’s Colonel Dunlop,’ Amy whimpered. ‘He’s dead.’
Chapter Six
‘Poor Colonel Dunlop,’ puffed Morag over her chicken casserole that evening. ‘Still, at least he died in a place he loved. And doing his beloved exercise.’
‘Sit-ups. He was working on his abs,’ muttered Flora, swirling a piece of chicken she had no intention of eating around her plate, and omitting the part about the colonel being in the buff. Somehow she didn’t think Morag would be able to steer her head around that one.
‘Does he have any family?’
Flora gave up on the chicken and set down her fork. ‘A son. He lives in Rome. He’s on his way over.’
‘That’s nice. Well, not nice, obviously. Not given the circumstances. I mean it’s nice he had someone who cared for him. And talking about people caring for one another, are you seeing Joe tonight?’
Flora’s already low spirits dipped a shade further. Following the day with Noah, she’d fully intended having The Chat with Joe this evening. After all, if a relative stranger like the Australian had detected her negative vibes, it would only be a matter of time before someone else did. Precisely why it was only fair to tell Joe sooner rather than later.
But, completely knocked off-kilter by Colonel Dunlop’s demise, she really couldn’t face it tonight.
The loss of such a fun and loveable character had cast a shadow over all Glenduff, Flora discovered the following morning. Even the weather had come out in sympathy - the clear blue sky of the last few days replaced with one of gunmetal grey. In the staffroom, normally abuzz with chatter and laughter, there was nothing but long faces and weary sighs. Indeed, the only person who seemed unaffected by the old man’s death was Mrs Mack, who’d taken it upon herself to deal with the undertakers and the necessary authorities, going about these new duties with obvious relish.
Flora was making herself a coffee she didn’t really want when an Australian voice, laced not with amusement this time, but with concern, drifted over her shoulder.
‘You all right?’
She managed a noncommittal shrug. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Of course you are. That’s why you’ve just put the empty milk carton in the microwave.’
Flora’s head snapped round to him. ‘I haven’t.’
‘You have. But don’t worry. I removed it before anyone saw.’
‘Thanks.’ She mustered a feeble smile.
He returned it. ‘Look, if you’re not up to this photography jaunt today, we can do it another time.’
The offer came just as Mrs Mack launched into great detail about a documentary she’d watched on embalming. Making up Flora’s mind for her.
‘Actually, I’d prefer to be away from here.’
‘OK.’ Noah nodded understandingly. ‘But only if you let me drive.’
She puckered her brow. ‘But you said you didn’t have a licence.’
‘Oh yes. I did, didn’t I? Which was actually a tiny fib. Only told because I was enjoying your driving so much.’
Flora punched him lightly on the arm. ‘You—’
He held up a hand in apology. ‘I know. It begins with B.’
Flora had to admit – though not to Noah obviously – that his handling of Amanda’s zippy little convertible was significantly more proficient than hers. And he located the button to reinstate the roof with no fumbling at all. Minus any stand-offs with stubborn birds, or any expletives uttered at inconveniently placed potholes, he effortlessly transported them to a moor acclaimed as a ‘place of pilgrimage for photographers’. In a repeat of the previous day he erected his tripod and began shooting away, while Flora once again struggled with the lens cap on the two-thousand-pound camera. Not that she felt like taking any photographs. She didn’t feel like doing anything. Other than sleeping for the next six months. The colonel’s death had hit her harder than she’d expected, stirring up memories of her father’s passing, and serving – as most deaths did - as a depressing reminder of human mortality.
‘It’s raining.’
Wrenched out of her maudlin reverie, she jerked up her head as a drop of rain landed on her nose, to find Noah striding towards her.
‘Get in the car. Quick!’ he commanded.
Mindful of the equipment dangling around her neck, Flora did just that.
As did Noah.
He slammed the car door shut and peered out at the foreboding sky. ‘Well, as this looks set for the day, I suggest we find a nice cosy pub and have an early lunch.’
Flora didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. Without her uttering a word, Noah seemed to instinctively recognise that she needed to be away from Aberboyne; away from folk desirous of more details about the poor colonel; and away from any references to her increasingly pending wedding.
He drove to a pub on the edge of a glen popular with climbers, where they found a seat in a little snug, next to a roaring fire.
Flora requested a coffee, and Noah loped off to the bar, returning with a huge glass of wine for her.
‘I can’t drink that,’ she protested. ‘It’s the middle of the day.’
‘You can and you will.’
‘But I have to go back to work.’
‘No you don’t. Amy’s covering reception because you’re booked out to sp
end the entire day with me. Pretending you’re a paying guest on my photography course. And if you were a paying guest on my photography course and it was chucking down outside, I’d insist you spent the whole afternoon drinking wine. After all, it’s not like you’re driving.’
Despite her waning spirits, Flora laughed. ‘OK. But just one.’
‘Too late. The second’s already on order. Along with a bowl of soup and a mountain of sandwiches. You look like you need a good feed.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
It wasn’t until the bowl of steaming vegetable soup sat in front of her, along with the platter of sandwiches, that Flora realised she was ravenous. Hardly surprising given she’d barely touched her chicken casserole the evening before, and had managed no more than a few sips of coffee at breakfast. And Noah had been right about the wine too. For all she could count on one hand the number of times she’d supped alcohol on a lunchtime, today it was exactly what she needed to dull the edges of her razor-sharp tension.
‘See. I can spot a hungry Scot a mile off,’ Noah chuckled, as she helped herself to her fifth sandwich.
With her free hand, Flora reached across the table and gently whacked him on the arm.
‘Ouch. That’s the second time you’ve hit me today,’ he exclaimed, feigning pain.
‘Good. It’s the least you deserve. And if you think soup and sandwiches can make up for yesterday’s fib about you not having a driving licence, you are sorely mistaken.’
He laughed. Then, raising his glass of orange juice and eyeing her over the top of it, said, ‘You know, you’re not half as uptight as I thought you were when I first met you.’
Flora’s eyes saucered. ‘Oh really. And what exactly did you think of me when you first met me?’
He took a sip of juice, lowered his glass, then placed a finger on his lips as if awarding the matter serious consideration. ‘I thought you were a bit… cheeky.’
She grimaced. ‘Ugh. Thanks for bringing that up yet again. I’m seriously considering therapy to wipe away the reminder of my trousers falling down in front of a complete stranger.’
‘Well, I have no intention of wiping away the memory.’
At the wink that followed, Flora almost choked on her egg mayonnaise. Blimey. Did he…? Did that mean…? Could he possibly… fancy her? But of course he couldn’t, she assured herself. A guy that good-looking would have girls tripping over one another to go out with him - gorgeous international types he met on his travels. All totally irrelevant anyway given she was spoken for. A circumstance he was all too aware of. Suddenly feeling ridiculously self-conscious, and not having a clue where to look, she focused on a slice of tomato on her plate.
‘So, this wallpaper,’ Noah piped up, the absence of humour in his tone now causing Flora’s already jangling nerves to jangle a little more. ‘Joe tells me it’s going on the chimney breast in your new living room.’
Gaze still glued to the tomato, Flora set down her sandwich, scooped up her wine glass and knocked back a huge slug. ‘That’s right.’
‘Hmm. And are you really sure about all this?’
With great reluctance, she raised her eyes to him, her heart bouncing as they fused with his. ‘Yes,’ she replied levelly, knowing perfectly well what he’d meant but pretending she didn’t. ‘It’ll look nice. Especially if the other walls are neutral.’
She watched a wave of annoyance flicker across his face, informing her that he was well aware she knew he’d been referring to the wedding. He snagged his bottom lip between his teeth. The lip that suddenly looked incredibly kissable. God. What was she doing even thinking about kissing him? She was an engaged woman, for heaven’s sake. It must be the alcohol.
Breaking the moment, she snatched up her glass again and downed another mouthful, before clearing her throat, refocussing on the tomato, and saying, ‘So, tell me more about your travels. Where have you been and where are you going?’
His ensuing sigh told her he wasn’t impressed at the blatant change of subject. But, to his credit and Flora’s relief, he went with it, regaling her with all sorts of hilarious tales about his adventures. ‘And when I finish here, I’m heading to South America. Via a few days in New York,’ he concluded.
Mopping up the dregs of her soup with the last sandwich, Flora blew out a sigh of her own – one of envy. ‘New York and South America. It sounds like a dream trip.’
‘It is. You should try it. You could come with me.’
His expression told her he wasn’t joking.
‘I- I couldn’t,’ she spluttered.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m supposed to be getting married.’
Flora had no idea why she’d added ‘supposed to be’ to the reply to Noah’s travelling invitation. She hadn’t meant to. Nor had she had any intention of revealing her true feelings about the wedding to him. She’d only known him five minutes. And it would be disloyal to Joe to discuss their relationship – and the rest of their lives – with anyone, never mind a virtual stranger. She had, however, come dangerously close to doing so. Something about Noah today, the way he’d been so caring; the way he’d instinctively read her mind – about her wanting to be away from claustrophobic Aberboyne and, more worryingly, about her lack of enthusiasm for the wedding and her need to spread her wings, had all conspired to weaken her defences.
Once the rain had stopped, they’d quickly scouted around the other two sites on the proposed itinerary, agreeing it would make a perfect activity for Glenduff’s photography-mad guests. Which meant, much to Flora’s relief, that she wouldn’t be forced to spend more time in the man’s unsettling company.
By the time Noah dropped her at home, her head was spinning – which she attributed to the alcohol. All she wanted to do was slink off to bed and sleep. But before she could do that, Morag appeared to have some news to share.
‘Ooh,’ she prattled, the moment Flora entered the house, tripping over the front step and landing on her face on the Hi. I’m Mat doormat. ‘Amanda’s been on the phone. The caterers for your wedding are dropping off some samples at the castle tomorrow and she’s invited me to come along and try them with you. Isn’t that lovely?’
‘Fantastic,’ uttered Flora – to the doormat.
Chapter Seven
‘Flora, can I introduce you to Kenneth Dunlop, Colonel Dunlop’s son,’ announced Amanda over the reception desk the following morning. ‘Kenneth, this is Flora Hamilton.’
A tall, handsome man in his mid-fifties, with sparkling blue eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and the same straight, smooth nose as his father, extended a hand. ‘Ah, the famous Flora Hamilton,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘My father often spoke of you. And never in a less than complimentary way.’
‘That’s lovely to hear,’ said Flora, shaking hands with him. ‘And I’m so very sorry for your loss. Your father was a lovely man. We’re all going to miss him.’
‘Thank you.’ Kenneth’s smile dimmed and his eyes misted over. ‘I’ll miss him too. Very much. But if it’s any consolation, he died in a place he loved. And I can see why. It’s stunning here.’
‘Thank you,’ said Amanda. ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Mrs Mack has been dealing with all the necessary paperwork and will be only too delighted to help you with anything else you need.’
‘Delighted,’ confirmed a dour voice, the woman herself appearing like an unpleasant apparition and making them all start.
‘Er, quite,’ blustered Amanda. Then, to the visitor, ‘Have you had any thoughts about what you’re going to do?’
Kenneth nodded. ‘I have. Dad has a house in Buckinghamshire but he never really settled there. Never really settled anywhere in fact, until he came here. Which is why I’ve decided to leave him here. Have a church service and a private cremation. Then scatter his ashes on the loch. If that’s all right with you, of course.’
‘Absolutely,’ confirmed Amanda, brushing a tear from her eye.
Flora hadn’t been expecting this either. When Amanda had said the caterers were ‘dropping off a few samples’, she’d imagined just that – a few samples. Not a full-blown buffet. The intimate room with its bouncy tartan carpet and view of the loch, looked more sumptuous than ever, dazzling sunlight making its buttery-cream walls appear golden. A table had been laid out in the centre - bearing a veritable feast.
‘I thought we could all do with a little treat,’ said Amanda. ‘So I requested a few more samples.’
‘It looks amazing,’ exclaimed Morag.
‘It does,’ agreed Flora, doing her utmost to inject some enthusiasm into her tone. Were the buffet not connected to her wedding, she had no doubt she’d have been equally as enthusiastic as her mother. She still, however, hadn’t quite recovered from spending the previous day with Noah. And now the appearance of Colonel Dunlop’s son had made her feel even weirder. The only saving grace was that Joe wasn’t there to join in Morag’s gushing. He’d been called out to help with a burst pipe emergency twenty-miles away. Flora imagined she was the only person on the planet who’d ever been grateful for a burst pipe. But that evening she was absolutely definitely going to have The Talk with him. Because if she didn’t, she would burst too.
‘We’re going to need some serious help to shift this lot,’ chuckled Morag.
‘Precisely why I’ve called in reinforcements,’ tittered Amanda.
As Noah and Kenneth Dunlop appeared in the doorway.
Blaming a headache, Flora opted for water rather than the champagne flowing around the room. The last thing she needed after yesterday was more cracks appearing in her defences, through which her true feelings could seep. Particularly with Noah in the room. She’d hoped to avoid him today. But there was no chance of that when he was loping over to her with a glass of bubbly in one hand, and a laden plate in another.