The harbour was quiet as she reached it, but voices carried to her across the water. Three men kitted out in knitted sweaters worn under heavy-duty waterproof dungarees were hefting nets on the deck of one of the trawlers. The rest of the place seemed to be deserted. As she walked along the harbour wall towards them they looked up at her with brief nods and then away again, resuming their conversation.
‘Hi,’ Anna called. ‘Can one of you spare a moment?’
They stopped talking again, looking at her and then at each other before one of them dropped what he was holding and came closer. He leaned on the trawler’s rail with a smile. Anna estimated him to be in his late twenties, with dark hair cropped short above a tanned face and square, stubbled jaw. His eyes were the colour of a turning sea under eyebrows thick enough to make him seem intense. It was the kind of face, Anna thought, that probably got younger women into a lot of trouble: a lot of younger women, frequently.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked, as behind him the other two men finished their task and disappeared below deck.
The lack of Scots burr took her by surprise, as did the presence of a very different kind of accent.
‘You’re a long way from home,’ she said. ‘Kiwi, right?’
He smiled again. ‘Right. Good ear. Most people say Australian.’
‘I don’t want to hold you up,’ she went on. ‘Someone mentioned that you might be able to sell me some fish.’
He shifted against the rail. ‘Our stock’s all for Fraserburgh.’
‘Okay. Is there any other boat coming into the harbour that might be able to help me? I’d rather use a local supplier than schlep over to Fraserburgh to buy something wrapped in plastic.’
He turned his head and looked out over the water for a moment, contemplating. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, you could charter someone to take you out, if you wanted…’
Anna shook her head. ‘Too much money, not to mention time. I’m only looking for enough for three lunchtime meals.’
‘What fish?’
‘Whatever’s good and fresh out of the water.’
He watched her from the deck, studying her as if trying to work her out. ‘You’re Anna Campbell,’ he said, after a moment. ‘The chef that’s moved to Crovie.’
She was floored. ‘How do you know that?’
He grinned. ‘It’s a small place.’
‘Yes, but I don’t live here. I’ve never even been to Gardenstown before. I’ve only been in the area a few weeks!’
He shrugged one broad shoulder, grin still present and a glint added to his eye. He had the easy manner of a man who knew he was good to look at and had never had trouble making the most of it. ‘Very pretty woman moves in, people take notice. Very pretty woman with knife skills moves in, people talk. Very pretty woman turns up looking for fresh fish, a Kiwi puts two and two together.’
Anna narrowed her eyes, trying to stop the smile that was attempting to find its way onto her face. ‘Don’t flirt with me, Kiwi. You’re almost young enough to be my son.’
He laughed at that. ‘Not unless you’re a lot older than you look, Anna Campbell. Tell you what: I’ll bring you something from the catch tomorrow, and you can cook me one of your Michelin-starred dinners. Fair deal?’
‘No deal at all,’ Anna said, laughing too. ‘For a start, I don’t know who you are. Also, my table is already full. If you know who I am, you know where I live, and you know I’m not lying on that score.’
‘You should get a table for outside,’ he told her. ‘That’d give you more space.’
‘Yes,’ she said, wryly, ‘I can just see me wrestling a picnic bench into my car and then along the sea wall to the Fishergirl’s Luck. That’d be the talk of every town on this coast for years, wouldn’t it?’
‘You need a big strong man to do it for you,’ he suggested, with what she thought (hoped) was his tongue firmly in his cheek.
‘I’ve had plenty of big strong men, thanks,’ she retorted, ‘and in my experience they’re all a disappointment.’
He grinned again, one eyebrow cocked. ‘Then I guess you haven’t met the right one yet, Anna Campbell.’
She sighed and shook her head with mock annoyance. ‘All right. Well, thanks for nothing, Kiwi. I’ll find my fish somewhere else.’
‘Wait,’ he said, as she started to walk away. He hopped over the boat’s rail and up onto the harbour wall. ‘I can bring you some of the catch. It won’t be until about 6 a.m. tomorrow though. Will that work for you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but you don’t have to do that. I’m happy to come here and get it.’
‘It’s no bother,’ he said. ‘And it’ll be easier for me.’
Anna frowned. ‘It won’t be nicked, will it?’
She was pretty sure his outrage was feigned. ‘Do I look like a pirate?’
‘Not far off, actually.’
‘It will be completely above board. Promise. You want me to gut it for you first?’
‘I believe we’ve already established that I’m the one with the knife skills.’
‘True enough,’ he agreed easily. ‘All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, avec poisson.’
Anna was about to ask him what his name was, and then decided that it was more fun not to know. ‘Cheers, Kiwi.’
He laughed. ‘You’re welcome, Anna Campbell.’
* * *
‘Ahh,’ said Rhona. ‘So you’ve encountered the wonder that is Liam Harper. Sight for sore eyes, isn’t he?’
‘Hmm,’ said Anna, ‘and doesn’t he know it.’
Rhona laughed. ‘That he does. He’s sweet with it, though. Has a way of giving you his full attention when you’re speaking, no matter what else is going on. That’s a surprisingly rare trait, I’ve discovered.’
Anna was standing in Rhona’s workshop, having realized that since she was in Gardenstown anyway, she could drop in. Rhona owned one of the two-storey houses that stood on the village’s main zig-zagging hill street. The ‘workshop’ doubled as her showroom and was really a converted garage that opened directly onto the thoroughfare. It was perfect, as Rhona herself pointed out, for attracting the attention of passing tourists during the high season.
‘Everything is so beautiful, Rhona,’ Anna said, admiring a shallow bowl that had been washed with a pale glaze flecked in blue, ochre and sea green, recognizable as the colours of a sandy beach at low tide. ‘I can’t believe you’ve only been doing this a few years.’
Rhona smiled. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, when you find the thing you should have been doing all along? Slide right in like coming home and you wonder how you didn’t get there sooner.’
‘I’m going to have to take some of your dinner and side plates, and bowls too, if I can carry them,’ Anna decided. ‘I wish I could invite you for lunch tomorrow too, but I don’t have the room. Will you come next?’
‘Don’t fret – I couldn’t have come during the day. And of course I’ll come – I’ll look forward to it, but there’s no hurry. I think you’re doing amazingly well considering how long you’ve been at the Fishergirl’s Luck. When I moved in here I was in chaos for months.’
Anna thought about this. ‘Hmm. It definitely does feel as if I’ve been here a lot longer than three weeks. I suppose that means I’m settling in.’
Rhona smiled. ‘Maybe a sign you should stay after all?’
Anna laughed. ‘I think that’s going a bit far. But I might extend my stay for another couple of weeks. Maybe a month. We’ll see. It’s not as if I’ve got anywhere else to go.’
‘Are you in a rush to get back?’ Rhona asked. ‘Or could you stop for a gin and tonic? The sun’s well over the yardarm and I’m not driving anywhere tonight. Seems a pity not to make the most of this beautiful weather. It can change in an instant here, you know.’
‘I can’t remember the last time I had a drink in the afternoon!’
‘Then you definitely have to have one. Besides, it’s near as dammit early evening, I’d say.’
They drew chairs to the edge of the workshop, where the sun spilled over the step and onto their shoulders and laps.
‘I watched the first episode of that new Geoff Rowcliffe series,’ Rhona volunteered, after they’d been chatting long enough to be on their second drink. ‘It wasn’t bad. Pretty as he is, though, he does come across as a bit of a dick.’
Anna nearly choked on her drink and spluttered a surprised laugh.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but he does,’ Rhona insisted, laughing too. ‘And I owe you an apology. I think I probably put my foot right in it when I blathered about him that night at Frank and Pat’s.’
‘What?’ Anna asked. ‘No, of course you didn’t.’
Rhona shrugged slightly. ‘It has occurred to me since that the fact that Crovie has suddenly acquired a top chef might have something to do with another top chef where she worked before coming here splitting up with his unnamed partner of twenty years.’
Anna made a face. ‘I should call you Sherlock.’
Rhona held up a hand. ‘I don’t want to pry. Still – I’m sorry. For being so insensitive.’
Anna snorted. ‘I think if anyone was that, it was me. Poor Old Robbie, having some woman he doesn’t know from Adam slap him around the face with his wife like that.’
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘Still—’
‘In any case,’ Rhona added, ‘it’s time he moved on. He’s too lovely a man to be on his own forever. Cassie wouldn’t have wanted that. Maybe you came along at the right time, Anna.’
Anna eyed her new friend, wondering if she was really saying what Anna thought she might be. ‘Oh, hell no,’ she said, emphatically. ‘I’ve just got out of a complicated long-term relationship, there’s no way I’m getting straight into another one.’
‘It wouldn’t have to be complicated.’
‘Of course it would be!’ Anna laughed. ‘He’s got a child, he was married to someone that everyone around here knew, he’s part of the fabric of this place. I’ve recently bought a house here. What’s the saying? Don’t foul your own doorstep? We’d not be able to move two steps without everyone knowing our business. Regardless, it’s a moot point. I’m not staying, and he’s still in love with his wife. I’m not getting into the middle of that, thanks very much.’
There was a moment of silence. ‘Seems like you’ve given it some careful thought,’ Rhona said.
Anna opened her mouth and then shut it again, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘No! I—’
‘I’m only teasing, hen!’ Rhona laughed. ‘You’re right on all counts. Far more sensible than I would be if Robert MacKenzie ever looked at me across a room for a second or two longer than necessary.’
* * *
Later, Anna walked back along the coastal path with her new flatware carefully wrapped and packed in the canvas bags Rhona had lent her. The weight felt good, like anchors keeping her at rest. Shooting the breeze with Rhona, talking rubbish while the sun blazed overhead – it wasn’t something she’d done for a long time, or had ever really had time to do at all. Geoff hadn’t liked her going out without him, even on the rare occasions that she’d had an evening off, and he often hadn’t wanted her with him when he went out, either. It seemed crazy to her now, how she’d simply accepted it as the way their relationship worked. That it had somehow seemed perfectly normal that her entire life had been moulded to fit around what worked best for him at any given moment.
Never again, she thought. Whatever I end up doing now, it’ll be because of what I want, not what’s best for someone else.
Anna breathed in, a fuzz of happiness hazing around her along with the faltering light of dusk. The fishing trawlers had gone from the harbour. There was no sign of them on the horizon, either. Anna imagined what Liam Harper might be doing at that moment, and then told herself that was a gin-thought, not a real one. She pushed it back towards the nowhere it belonged, and should most definitely stay.
Ten
Saturday morning dawned fair and found Anna waiting at the pier well before 6 a.m. She wasn’t the only person up and about, either – she passed Douglas McKean coming the other way as she left the cottage. Anna risked a smile and a quiet ‘hello’, but the old man ignored her. She thought the energy required to be so contrary was probably draining for one of such advanced years, and wondered why he found it necessary to be so dour. Part of Pat’s explanation – that he was the only original Crovie blood left in the village – made a kind of sense, she supposed, but still seemed to Anna to be a spurious reason. After all, if not for those who had chosen to make a life here – even a part-time one – Douglas McKean would be alone in a village crumbling to ruins. It must be more to do with the other aspect that Pat had mentioned, that McKean somehow thought he had a claim over the Fishergirl’s Luck.
Robert MacKenzie would be the one to ask, of course, and for several reasons – not least of which was Rhona’s teasing the day before – Anna was resolved to stay as far away from him as possible.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the whine of an on-board motor, and a couple of seconds later a small rear-powered skiff took a wide arc around the promontory and slowed as it angled into Crovie’s pier. Liam Harper saw her waiting and gave a broad smile.
‘Hope I’m not late,’ he called, as he killed the engine and threw her a tether. She wound it around the nearest post and, without any idea of how to tie an appropriate knot, held the free end while he climbed out to join her, carrying a white plastic crate.
‘Right on time,’ she said. ‘Thanks again. What have you brought me and how much do I owe you?’
‘Well, I hope this is all right, but it’s langoustines, not fish,’ he said, setting down the crate.
‘Perfect,’ Anna said. ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s a relief,’ he grinned as he took the end of the rope from her and tied it off. ‘I didn’t want to be another disappointing male in your life. And I’ve brought you something else too, but you’ll have to give me a hand to get it out of the boat and down to the bothy.’
He turned and nodded at the skiff, and Anna saw that what she’d thought was an old wooden crate resting in the base of the boat was actually a picnic bench tilted on its side.
‘What’s that?’ she asked, astonished.
‘It’s a table, for your garden, like we talked about. Remember? Come on, give me a hand.’ Liam leapt back down into the boat and hefted the bench around.
‘What are you doing buying me a picnic bench?’ Anna asked, as together they began to wrestle it onto dry land.
‘Ah, well – first confession,’ he said. ‘I didn’t buy it. It’s been lying around the harbour for ages, waiting to go out with a load of scrap. I checked it over and I reckon all it needs is a good scrub. So I asked if I could take it and was told I could.’
‘And the second confession?’ Anna prompted, as she held on to the bench while he clambered out of the boat again and helped her drag it sideways onto secure ground.
Liam leaned his weight on the bench with both hands, a quick grin on his face. ‘Well, it’s kind of a bribe.’
Anna raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh? And what kind of bribe is it, Kiwi?’
He laughed. ‘I still want you to cook me dinner, chef lady.’
She crossed her arms and shook her head. ‘What if I say no and leave you here to get it back into the boat on your own?’
‘You won’t do that.’
‘Sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘You’re not the first person to say that.’
‘I bet I’m not.’
He smiled again. ‘So, what do you say? It doesn’t have to be fancy, or take forever to prepare. It could be an omelette, for all I care. And I’ll bring the wine.’
‘If it doesn’t have to be fancy, why do you want me to cook it? Cook it yourself!’
He glanced down at his hands, for a moment looking strangely self-conscious. ‘Ah well, that’s the third confession.’
‘Oh?’
He look
ed up at her, eyebrows knitting together briefly and with an expression in his eye that turned her heart over right there in her chest.
‘It’s not really about the food. It’s about the company.’
She refused to look away. He could play whatever games of flattery he liked. It probably worked most of the time. ‘You can’t cook, can you, Liam? That’s the truth.’
He grinned. ‘Someone’s been doing some research of their own, eh?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s a small place.’
‘It is that,’ he agreed. ‘Come on. Let’s get this down to the bothy. I’ve got to get back and you’ve got langoustines to cook.’
* * *
Anna steamed the shellfish, then separated the delicate flesh and set it in the fridge to chill. She put the empty shells into her pressure cooker and added onion, garlic, carrot, celery and plenty of white wine, then set them to simmer. She knocked back the soft white dough she had made earlier, shaped it into baguettes, slashed the tops with a knife and set them to prove again.
Anna made notes as she went along, listing ingredients, quantities and timings, because what she had told Cathy had been true – Anna had once dreamed of creating a cookbook of her own. She’d helped Geoff with the first of his, in fact, because he’d declared himself to be an ideas man, with no interest in the actual practicalities of how one described the cooking process so that a home cook could follow along with ease. That book had been timed to coincide with the first TV series, and it had been a lot of work that she’d had to fit in around her usual shifts at the restaurant. When the proofs had come in for them to check, there had been a note from the editor, suggesting that Geoff include an acknowledgement page. Her name had been one of the last in the short paragraph. ‘Thank you to my girlfriend Anna for her support’, was what it had said. After that, when the show had been such a success and it was clear there would be as many more books as he could churn out, Geoff had insisted that he be given a ‘proper’ ghostwriter. From then on, the publisher had paid someone to do the job that Anna had done for nothing. She had looked at the acknowledgements of the second book, simply out of interest. Her name had not appeared at all. She hadn’t asked Geoff about it, thinking badly of herself for feeling that it should have been. After all, when it came down to it, she was only his girlfriend and a sous chef at his restaurant, wasn’t she? Why should she expect any thanks?
The House Beneath the Cliffs Page 7