by Alix Kelso
She fell silent, contemplating the worst-case scenario she’d sketched in her head.
“I’m terrified that Alison and Gregor might split up and she’ll be left to raise Poppy alone. I always thought Gregor was a good young man, and in truth I haven’t learned anything to convince me otherwise, but…”
Chrissie gazed out at the passing scenery, thinking.
“No relationship is ever guaranteed, I know that. But I’d hate for Alison to find herself alone. I raised her by myself, and although I had my mother to help me, it was still a hard job. I don’t want my own child to have to go through that.”
Keith nodded, his eyes on the road. “Have you spoken to Alison about any of this? Or Gregor?”
“Alison just bats me away any time I ask if something’s troubling her. I ought to ask Gregor if there’s a problem, but that would seem odd, asking him when my own daughter won’t give me a straight answer.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t help that you’re all cooped up together. Maybe once you’ve had a break from each other, it might be easier to talk to them.”
“Maybe.”
“And if Gregor’s working all hours, well, that’s not bad. He wants to provide for his family. And you won’t know for sure what’s going on until you ask. Once your head’s been cleared by a night away, maybe that conversation will come a little easier.”
Chrissie blew out a breath. “Maybe you’re right. But this day away was supposed to be about us having fun, and all I’ve done so far is whine.” Rolling down the window, she enjoyed the cool spring air whipping into the car. “Let’s blow away the cobwebs,” she said and turned up the radio. “And let’s have fun.”
“Sounds good to me,” Keith said as the road and the hills opened up before them.
24
The hotel was exactly as Keith had imagined it – old stone walls and tall bay windows; spacious and luxurious, but still cosy. As they checked in, he enjoyed watching Chrissie wandering around the small reception lobby and peering into the wood-lined bar and airy restaurant, gasping when she saw the views beyond. He let out a gasp himself as he took in the magnificent hills rising in the distance. Later, when their day was done, this would be the perfect place to relax with a meal and a few drinks.
Refusing to leave anything to chance, Keith made arrangements at the reception desk to reserve the best table in the restaurant. He wanted Chrissie to enjoy those views once evening came and they’d settled back at the hotel for the night, and didn’t want to risk missing out on the best spot from which to do it.
After freshening up in his room, Keith met Chrissie downstairs, where the receptionist informed him that the courtesy car from the distillery was on its way to collect them. Soon they were back on the road, winding their way around the edges of a loch that reflected the green shoots of the new growth heather and the dappled blue sky overhead. Within minutes, the whitewashed distillery building came into view, nestled into the sides of the spring-green hills.
“I’m looking forward to this,” Chrissie said, peering out the window. “I’ve never been to a whisky distillery before.”
Keith smiled to see the excitement in her eyes. He’d feared she might only tolerate this part of the trip, preferring instead the comforts of the well-appointed hotel and, of course, the glorious Highland fresh air. But as she got out of the courtesy car and looked around at the distillery and the grounds, he saw that the smile on her face was genuine. He didn’t expect Chrissie to enjoy the tour and the whiskies the way he would, but her goodwill and enthusiasm for what lay ahead counted for a lot.
A man emerged from the main building and introduced himself as Jim, the tour manager. “Welcome to the Glenhannah Distillery!” he said, beaming. “Our other VIP tour guests are already waiting, so follow me inside and we’ll make you comfortable.”
Inside, the distillery opened up into a large visitor space with gift shop and cafe to one side, and a small museum to the other. Jim talked as he led them through the space, pointing out some of the old distillery equipment that was on display and chatting about the history of the building, sharing stories of reputed ghost sightings on the grounds and romantic tales of the family-owned distillery.
“Once you sample our amazing whiskies,” Jim told the group, “you’ll understand why our single malts are amongst the most coveted in the world. They’re unlike anything you’ve ever tasted before.”
Chrissie turned to Keith then, and the smile she gave him – filled with such fun and joy – speared straight to his heart.
“I think I’m going to enjoy this,” she said.
Keith spread his arm in the direction Jim the tour guide had taken, and watched Chrissie walk ahead of him, watched her ask questions about the building, and watched her smile as Jim introduced them to the other folks on the tour. To think he would’ve been on this trip by himself had he come last weekend. And yet here he was with Chrissie, a woman whose smile lit up the entire room.
Funny how things turned out sometimes, he thought as he took his seat. Chrissie’s hand brushed against his as he made himself comfortable, and the touch of her skin felt like a jolt of electricity that turned into a slow-burning hum as she unexpectedly threaded her fingers into his.
Keith looked down at her hand, curled into his palm, then back up at her face. She smiled and her expression was questioning, as if silently asking if this gesture was okay.
It was okay, as far as Keith was concerned. In fact, it was absolutely brilliant.
Jim talked about the distillery production and the maturation process and the whisky barrels and the Scotch style and all the things that Keith had been excited to learn. But he hardly heard a word of it because all he could think about was how wonderful Chrissie’s hand felt tucked into his and how he knew this was going to be a great day.
The distillery tour was everything Keith had hoped for. Jim led them through the place with skill and humour, talking about the history of Highland Scotch whisky and the distillery’s place in it. As they stood beside the steaming mash tuns from which escaped the heady scent of hot malted barley, Jim explained the technicalities of the process, and talked them through the bespoke engineering of the pot stills in which the distillations occurred. Keith thought Chrissie would have been bored by all of this, but she seemed to be enjoying every minute.
“Take a picture of me next to this big pot still,” Keith said, handing his phone to Chrissie. “Now that I’ve got the social media stuff set up for the pub, I want to start sharing some photos from this trip. I plan to do some tweeping while I’m here.”
“Tweeping?” Chrissie said, her eyebrow arching in humour.
“Aye, tweeping or twerping or whatever it is we do.”
“Tweeting,” Chrissie said and snapped the shot.
“Let me get a photo of the two of you,” Jim said, coming forward and taking the phone.
Chrissie stepped closer to Keith and wrapped her arm around him. Feeling her so close, her hair tickling his neck as she leaned in, made him feel as light as a feather.
“One, two, cheese!” Jim said and then checked the photo he’d taken. “Lovely, you should have that framed.”
Keith took his phone back and looked at the screen with Chrissie.
“That’s a nice photo,” she said.
“We don’t look half bad together.”
Chrissie studied the photo for a few seconds. “You’re right, we look pretty good.”
Once they’d been shown around the distillery and spent time in the blending room and inspecting the whiskies ageing in their barrels, they finally got to the good part – the tastings. Jim led them into a special bar tucked on the second floor with a bank of windows giving stunning views out across the hills. The tables were already set out with whisky glasses and the bottles they’d be sampling.
“Now I’m in my element,” Keith said, rubbing his hands together.
Jim talked for a few moments about the whiskies that had been selected for the VIP tour, and Keith w
as impressed that the range included a twenty-one-year-old single malt, one of the priciest the distillery carried. Jim began with an entry-level three-year-old, talking about the colour and the aroma and the taste they could expect on the palate. Keith watched Chrissie speculatively sniffing the sample in the glass.
“I enjoyed the tour,” she said. “I’m not sure if I’m going to enjoy this.”
“You’ve had whisky before, surely?”
She shrugged. “I’m a wine girl, you know that.”
Keith gave her a look. “You’re kidding? You’ve never had whisky?”
Another shrug. “I don’t much like spirits. And besides those Irish coffees we drank last week, I don’t remember having whisky before.”
Keith remembered how she’d hardly touched the vodka that Janice had forced on them that night of their first botched date together. If she didn’t enjoy these whiskies, he’d feel a bit daft sipping away while Chrissie drank nothing at all. It was time for a quick whisky tutorial.
“Okay, the first few whiskies we try will taste a bit sharp and bright, but that’s because they’re young,” Keith said. “We move on to the more mature whiskies as we progress, and our palate adjusts as the complexity increases. Actually, it’s no different from a wine tasting. As you move through the samples, the flavours deepen and become mellower and more unctuous.”
“Unctuous,” Chrissie said, her lips twitching. “Are you going to put that in your tweet?”
“I might,” Keith said, enjoying her gentle mockery and raising his glass. “To your good health.”
They sampled the whisky. While Keith let it roll around his mouth for a moment, Chrissie winced and swallowed almost immediately.
“Ouch,” she said. “That’s sharp.”
“I’d never usually drink a three-year-old,” Keith said and gestured to Jim, who was chatting with the other visitors. When the man arrived at their table, Keith spoke in a low voice. “Can we skip the young whiskies and move straight to the twelve-year-old?”
“Ah, I’m supposed to talk you through each one, but…” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t like the younger whiskies, either. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
A moment later, Jim returned and laid new glasses on the table. “This is the twelve-year-old,” he said, pointing to the two glasses side-by-side. “But I’ve also brought you the port cask aged and the marsala cask aged. You’ll enjoy how different these taste on account of the cask flavours. Next is the eighteen-year-old single malt. And finally, the jewel in the crown, the twenty-one-year-old. You’re going to love it.” He laid down a pamphlet on the table. “Here are the tasting notes for you to enjoy while you sip. I can talk you through it if you’d like—”
“I think we’d like to savour these by ourselves, Jim, thanks.”
Jim nodded and returned to the other visitors, who seemed eager to have the man to themselves as they worked through their samples.
“Okay, let’s try this port cask whisky,” Keith said, picking up the glass. “See the colour, how the whisky has a reddish hue? And you’ll taste sweetness from the port that was aged in the cask before it was used for the Scotch. That’s the wonderful thing about whisky, just the same as with wine – the aroma and the taste depend on the water, the climate, the grain, the distillation and the casks. All these things give a whisky its distinctive flavour.”
He looked up to see Chrissie watching him, a soft smile on her lips. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”
“Hopefully once you’ve tasted all of these, you will too.”
“If I taste all of these, I’ll be a puddle on the floor.”
“They’re not full measures, just enough to give you the flavour.” He raised his glass once more. “Cheers.”
This time, he watched Chrissie’s face as she sipped the ruby-tinged whisky, and was relieved to see no wincing. A few seconds after the liquid hit her tongue, her eyes widened.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s amazing. Sweet and smooth, but with an edge.”
Keith laughed. “You might turn out to be an expert at this, after all.”
“I’m surprised how much I like this one,” she said, rolling the whisky around in the glass. “But I like the sound of the marsala cask even more.”
She moved to pick up the next glass in the line. It made sense to finish sampling the two flavoured cask-aged whiskies before diving into the prestige single malts. But even though he’d just explained that the idea was to move up through the whiskies in terms of age, Keith found himself wanting to go directly to the best malt on the table.
“Let’s try this one next,” he said, pushing the twenty-one-year-old single malt towards her.
“I thought we saved the best until last?”
Tilting his glass, Keith enjoyed how the glorious amber liquid caught the light. “Maybe I don’t want to wait.”
He watched her reaction, her eyes searching his. The violet sparks had returned, flickering in the green of her irises. Chrissie picked up the glass he’d pushed towards her. She inhaled the scent, her eyes closing for a moment, before tapping her glass against his.
“What shall we drink to this time?” she asked, her eyes as mysterious as her smile.
“How about we drink to us?”
She held his gaze. “To us.”
The aroma hit him as he raised the glass to his lips: dark chocolate and even darker spice. When he tasted the whisky, there was a perfect blend of sweetness and sharpness, and the taste of fresh fruit quickly mellowed into deep tones of ginger and citrus and vanilla. It was pure nectar and it rushed through his blood in an instant.
Chrissie’s eyes were on him, and he could see she’d discovered the same flavours and that they’d had a similar effect. Whisky glistened on her lips and Keith found himself leaning forward, wanting only to press his mouth against hers and taste and—
“Okay, folks, I think we’re ready to move on to the gift shop,” Jim announced from the other side of the tasting room.
Keith moved away from Chrissie, surprised to remember there were other people in the room. She gave him an inscrutable smile as she rose.
“I think we should buy a bottle of this twenty-one-year-old,” she said as they followed Jim and the rest of the group towards the gift shop.
“You read my mind.”
In the gift shop, they loaded up on purchases – whisky-flavoured marmalade, whisky-infused chocolates and fudge, and assorted souvenirs and knick-knacks. Keith bought two bottles of the twenty-one-year-old single malt, refusing to hear Chrissie’s protests when she spied the price tag.
“I’ll buy my own bottle,” she insisted, trying to seize it from him at the payment point.
“Don’t be daft,” Keith said, running his card through the machine before she could stop him. “You enjoyed this whisky and I’d like to buy you a bottle to take home.” He gestured to her armload of purchases. “You’re about to buy half the shop as it is.”
Chrissie glanced at the things she’d chosen. “It’s just a few gifts for my family.” She picked up a stuffed teddy bear wearing a cute tartan hat and holding a set of furry bagpipes. “Poppy will love this. I can almost hear the squeal she’ll let out when she sees it.”
While the shop assistant bagged her items, Chrissie checked her phone and peered at a message before tapping at the screen.
“Everything alright back home?” Keith asked.
“It’s fine. I’m just reminding Alison that… oh, never mind,” she said, and deleted what she’d written. “They’re fine. I need to leave them alone.”
Keith smiled. “It’s hard leaving people to get on with things. I’ve already sent half a dozen messages to my bar manager, Sophie, reminding her of any number of things I’m sure she knows perfectly well.”
“If I’d had time to plan this trip, I probably wouldn’t have been so edgy about leaving everyone behind. I’m a planner. I like to know that everything’s organised and everyone knows what they’re doi
ng.” She picked up her bag of gifts and looked at Keith. “Speaking of which, what are we doing next?”
“VIP tour of the local scenery,” Keith said, gesturing towards the distillery exit. Beyond the windows, he’d spied a minibus pulling up and the other members of their small group piling on board. “Ready to see glen and hill and loch and deer?”
“Lead the way.”
The tour of the surrounding area was gorgeous and Keith knew they were lucky to be enjoying it on such a bright spring day. Clear skies framed stunning views of the Highland landscape that could so easily have been obscured by the low cloud and drizzling rain that was more likely at this time of year. As they trundled along in the minibus, with a new tour guide up front talking them through the surrounding sights and providing a taste of some of the history, Keith relaxed into the journey, enjoying the feel of Chrissie in the seat beside him, her arm pressed against his.
The conversation was easy as the bus made its way around the twisting roads. They didn’t even talk about anything in particular. It was just chatter, and it was simple and comfortable – Chrissie pointing out the remains of a gnarly black rowan tree by the edge of a loch; Keith spying a golden eagle circling overhead and showing her where it was in the sky before it swooped out of sight. Even as the peace of the journey enveloped him, aided no doubt by the whiskies he’d sampled, he couldn’t help but feel the tingling excitement that came with being so close to Chrissie, and as the soaring hills and dark lochs passed by outside the window, Keith marvelled that he’d only known this woman for a week. Sitting beside her, absorbing the glorious scenery while steeped in this heady mixture of contentment and desire, he felt like he’d been turned upside down and shaken.
For so long, he’d believed these feelings and emotions were gone from his life. That they now burned inside him with such luminosity, causing his blood to turn so hot, was nothing short of amazing.
When their tour ended and they returned to the hotel, Keith was shocked to discover it was almost six in the evening. As he changed for dinner, expectation tingled in his stomach. He couldn’t wait to be seated across from Chrissie in the soft candlelight of the restaurant as twilight fell across the hills. They’d eat and enjoy wine and talk. He loved to hear her talk, and what he’d discovered today was that the sound of her voice was like a balm to his soul.