Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  Ryanair’s staff invited the next lot of people to board.

  “Off to Scotland, then?” he said, moving with her towards the queue.

  Hampshire, or Hereford, Katya guessed—a home counties chap for sure, his English plummy and privileged, whatever the scruffy chinos and dog-hair-covered fleece said about him.

  “Yes. You?”

  He reached over and took the rucksack from her hand. “Allow me. I am. I hate flying. Do you promise to sit by me and hold my hand when the turbulence hits? I’m Zachary Cavanagh, by the way, though everyone calls me Zac.”

  “Katya. What if there’s no turbulence?” she said, as they walked down the hallway that led to the plane. “Or we land up in the hands of Ryanair’s best pilot, a flight so smooth he or she sends us to sleep the instant our bottoms touch the seats?”

  His eyes sparkled. “I’m gutted you think me so cheap I sleep with a woman on the first date.” He turned his head back so he could look behind her. “Even one with an arse as perfectly rounded as yours.”

  She rolled her eyes. It had been a while since she’d encountered someone as full on as this. On the other hand, the over-the-top flirtation cheered her up. And he did tick a few of her ‘before Dexter’ boxes. Blonde, blue-eyed and... confident.

  Once on board, Zac persuaded the businessman who was supposed to be sitting next to Katya to swap, the incitement easier as Zac had splashed out on an aisle seat at the front of the plane. He heaved her rucksack into the overhead locker and sat beside her.

  The air hostess ran through the safety instructions as the plane taxied down the runway, ready to take off. Zac slid his head next to Katya’s. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking?” he whispered.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, betting Zac’s imagination didn’t stretch to original. “You’re picturing her standing in front of you in a hotel room, naked, as she gestures to the sides with her beautifully manicured hands and repeats the words ‘brace, brace’?”

  He laughed. “Close. But I imagined you instead.”

  He plucked at his seatbelt, hands shaking as the aircraft began to lift off.

  “Usually I cope with flying by getting blind drunk, but I’ve got to drive the other end so my usual coping strategy’s out the window. Please keep talking to me and stop me thinking about how unnatural flying is.”

  Ah—was that what the flirting was really about? He’d fixed his eyes on the seat in front, trying to avoid the window view. If you hated flying, when the plane took off a window view showed the ground vanishing under the plane, buildings, houses, roads and fields rendered tiny in seconds. Thoroughly unnerving.

  “You’re a hedge fund manager or some other equally unspeakable profession,” she said, settling back in her chair. “I’ve no idea what that is, but you work in that field because daddy and mummy paid for a very expensive education and you’re connected to all the right people. The clients trust you to do magical things with their money, multiplying it so much they can live in huge mansions and holiday in the Caribbean three times a year.

  “You’re flying Ryanair because from time to time you enjoy slumming it. Once you get to Glasgow, you’re off to the Hilton where you will meet your chums for a stag party which will involve three days of macho-style trips to the surrounding countryside where you will shoot things and then drink too much in stately homes. How am I doing so far?”

  Zac, his face still sheet white, nodded slowly—a small smile escaping.

  “Mmm. Not bad on the distraction front. Hopelessly wrong on everything else.”

  She’d done it deliberately, so no surprises there, but she still reckoned the guess about his education was spot on.

  The plane levelled off and he let out a sigh of relief, reaching for the rucksack in front of him.

  “Do you want to share my crisps?”

  He plucked the bag from his rucksack and rattled it at her, eyebrows raised.

  “No thanks.”

  “No? Don’t you like the flavour? Or are you worried it commits you to something—such as me taking you out for a drink when we get to the other end to thank you for saving me from turning into a blubbering wreck when the plane took off?”

  The single Katya wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d met plenty of Zac types before. “A drink? Don’t be silly. What you mean is to get me tipsy enough that I say ‘yes’ to your later suggestion we go to bed together when I don’t believe in wasting time and money, so I suggest we skip the drink bit altogether. Right?”

  The woman prepared to uproot herself from one country and move to another to take her closer to her man, didn’t bother.

  She took the bag from his hands, turning it so the ingredient list faced them. “I’m a vegan,” she said. Well, ninety percent of the time. “Salt and vinegar crisps almost always have flavouring in them that’s made from milk powder.”

  “Do they?” he asked, examining the ingredient list in turn. “You don’t mind if I eat them, do you? No lectures about my questionable ethical choices?”

  “Nope. What you eat is up to you.”

  “Up to me?” he said. “I might change my ways if a good woman suggests I do so.”

  Another sly wink. The obvious, flirty reply would be. “Shame you’re sitting beside a wicked one, then.” Again, she held back, the flirtation suddenly distasteful. If Dexter’s LA flight included a glamorous actress who simpered and smiled at him (as she suspected they already did) and he responded, Katya would want to cry.

  Still, Zac didn’t give up. The questions came thick and fast. Where was she from? Was she off somewhere on holiday or was it a business visit?

  Was she seeing anyone? She chose not to answer that one.

  “Is Glasgow your final destination?” he said, as the plane began its descent. The plane tilted from side to side as it dropped height and he grabbed her hand. “Please, please keep talking.”

  “No it isn’t. I’m moving somewhere you won’t have heard of. It’s this tiny little place in the Highlands.”

  “Oh? What is it called?” The question came through clenched teeth.

  “Lochalshie.”

  At that, his face relaxed and he grinned, the smile showing off white teeth and a slight overbite—the contrast to Dexter’s perfectly straightened American ones.

  “How fabulous. That’s where I’m heading too. Are all the residents as gorgeous as you?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The delectable and desirable Dexter—who never applied those words to thoughts of himself—took in the flat and smiled at Marcia, another Texan.

  She shivered. “I promise it’s got an amazing heating system. Only takes half an hour to warm up.” She pulled her coat around her and folded her arms. Like Dexter, adjusting to the British weather was an ongoing process. Blissful Beauty’s Yammer site included plenty of tips on life outside the company’s LA home. Getting used to UK weather, she told Dexter, was meant to take a year. Dexter kept his thoughts to himself—A year? You’ve gotta be kidding.

  Used to American spacing where people got much more bang for their buck, the flat felt cramped. But, all things considered, he liked it. Two bedrooms, one of them en suite, the other right next to the bathroom, a dining kitchen and a huge living room with a bay window. The high ceilings intrigued him. Coving joined the walls to the ceiling, the plaster work intricate and delicate. In the living room, a once-upon-a time old fireplace that had been boarded up was now a feature, its centre taken up by a convincing fake wooden stove.

  He took a photo with his phone almost automatically. He should send it to Katya, who would... No.

  Marcia shivered once more. “I send thanks to the Lord Almighty, Dexie,” Marcia had picked up Caitlin and his family’s name for him, something Dexter wasn’t comfortable with, “that our CEO wants to move the British operation to London. Can you beat it for convenience?” she said, sticking her arms out and pointing downwards. Under the flat was office space. Below that, Blissful Beauty’s only UK bricks and mortar shop.


  “You’ll be the only guy in this city whose commute is less than five minutes!” she added.

  True. Dexter knew about working here. He’d done the research. Thanks to exorbitant costs, most people were forced to rent flats way, way out and travel jam-packed in the Tube’s sardine tin cans to get to work. You were lucky if it only took you an hour.

  Marcia joined him at the window. They watched the queue of people waiting to get into the shop. “Does that ever go down?” Dexter asked. She shook her head. “Nope. I guess it’s great for you. If you need to do market research just pop downstairs and ask. Or get them to pose for an Instagram pic.” On cue, two girls coming out of the shop held up their pink and silver bags and posed for a selfie.

  “Still on for the Forbes list?” Marcia asked, her eyes twinkly. An old joke between them. Something he’d said at his interview, one she’d been at as the HR director for the British operation. Was it his imagination or had she moved closer? His nose twitched. Marcia always wore one of Blissful Beauty’s perfumes, this one sickly sweet. Jewel, he guessed, and the one still in development. Katya described it as the love child of vanilla, cinnamon and vomit when he gave her a sample.

  Marcia never looked less than immaculate. Katya met her once and said she must have got her ideas about what being a professional woman meant from the TV show Suits. Pencil skirts, blouses tucked in, tights all year round, red lipstick, rigid hair and stiletto-heeled court shoes. If she turned her foot up, Dexter was willing to bet the sole of the shoe would be red.

  Sure enough. He caught a glimpse of it as she headed for the bigger of the bedrooms and he followed. One of the main reasons Marcia tolerated London, she told him, was Meghan Markle—one-time Suits star and now married to HRH The Duke of Sussex and Earl of Dumbarton, otherwise known as Prince Harry. Sometimes, she headed out of the office, turned from Warwick Street onto Regent Street, and made her way to Westminster and Buckingham Palace. Where Meghan waited at the gates—“Marcia, Marcia, over here!” In her dreams. He told himself off for inner bitchiness.

  “Still got that Brit girlfriend?” Marcia asked, the question idle, her face too intent.

  “Yeah,” he said. The bed in the room was king-sized and heaped with cushions. What was it with women and cushions? You had to throw them off the bed to get into it and presumably pile them back on again the next morning. Artfully.

  “Long-distance relationships. They suck, right?”

  Super-duper did. He blew out air and regretted it. Marcia’s expression changed from sympathy to predatory. Scarlet lips licked. Eyes boring into him.

  He pushed a hand through his hair and took a step back. “Who knows? So, gonna show me the office, Marcia?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Zac was on a mission, he told Katya as they headed for Lochalshie in his rented car.

  Gaby’s call came through as soon as Katya turned flight mode on her phone off. “I’m so sorry. I know we promised to meet you but Jack’s mini-bus has broken down. There is a bus you can get to Lochalshie. It, er, takes a while.”

  Shamelessly ear-wigging as they headed inside the terminal, Zac offered her a lift. She wasn’t sure spending any more time with him was a good idea, but he insisted. If she went for the bus option, it would take her twice as long to arrive.

  “And you can tell me all about the village, seeing as I’m heading there to start a business.”

  Outside Rent-a-Car, she opened the Audi’s passenger door. Zac hadn’t bothered looking at any of the cheaper option the hire company offered, opting for the boy racer red Audi TT Coupé straight away.

  “You flash git,” Katya remarked, eyeing the car. “Just don’t break the speed limit, right? The road to Lochalshie bends and twists a lot, as I remember. I don’t want to end up another road casualty.”

  He drove fast anyway, taking every corner as if it presented a personal affront to him. Fear of flying didn’t translate to caution in any other area. Katya’s mind kept flashing up images of those bunches of flowers people left on the hedgerows of country roads marking the final resting place of an unfortunate motorist or passenger. The drivers they overtook must have called him every name under the sun as the car sailed past. A few times, she spotted them flicking him the V-sign and worse.

  “What’s the business?” she asked, hoping conversation might distract her and slow him down.

  “I’m planning to set up an online food business, offering local produce to high-end hotels and restaurants, and the public. I’ll sell oysters, langoustines, venison burgers and that kind of thing. And I want to scope out the place for future restaurant possibilities. The place is crying out for decent food.”

  What might the locals say about that assessment of their foodie charms? As part of her ‘please come to Lochalshie’ pitch, Gaby had told Katya the village’s Lochside Welcome was number one on TripAdvisor for restaurants in Lochalshie. Fair do’s it was one of only two places where you could eat out in the area, but its wood-fired oven pizzas and chocolate decadence dessert were divine.

  And Katya had fond memories of the place. The first night she’d spent with Dexter was in the Lochside Welcome’s rooms. They’d finished off an... energetic evening with room service, the food as sublime as what they’d just done. Almost.

  She found herself drifting back to the first time she’d met Dexter, at the Lochalshie Highland Games that summer. She’d experienced something she didn’t believe in—instant attraction. Usually it took intelligent eyes, an intimate stare and a conversation where the guy made it clear the look in his eyes wasn’t the only bit of him that was smart. This time, the universe placed Dexter in front of her. Her body responded and when the games finished, they took advantage of the rooms Blissful Beauty had booked out at the Lochside Welcome to drink, chat and do what they’d both spent the afternoon fantasising about.

  Afterwards, she lay in his arms and wondered if she’d ever been this happy. And she, who billed herself as a wordsmith, copywriter extraordinaire, SEO content marketing expert or whatever else, didn’t think such statements lightly. Dexter said ‘beyond awesome’ and ‘utterly amazing’ a lot that night. She took him at his word.

  “When can I see you again?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow so he could tilt his face towards her. He put out his hand, using one finger to gently brush the hair from her face, fanning it out on the pillow.

  “Chocolate,” Gaby said, “that’s what Dexter’s voice sounds like. It’s a lake of the stuff that washes over you. A girl can forgive him anything for that voice, even when he is telling her for the five hundredth and fiftieth time to re-do the already perfect designs she’s given him.” At the time, Gaby had been working on Blissful Beauty’s UK website. Dexter’s pickiness was legendary.

  “Tomorrow!” Katya told him and laughed. Tomorrow was already here, seeing as it was three minutes past midnight. He bent to kiss her, soft and lingering.

  “Can’t.” Regret, sorrow, pain. “I’ve gotta get back to Glasgow for tomorrow afternoon. But in the meantime, do you wanna to stay up all night?”

  And they did, Dexter dragging himself into the shower at five to twelve the next day as a maid banged on the door and reminded them the official checkout time was eleven o’clock. He handed over the £50 extra without a quibble and promised they’d meet up as soon as possible, even though that involved a four-hour-plus trip for him and two hours for her to meet in London for less than one day.

  “An online business, then. Will enough people buy that kind of food? Isn’t it awfully expensive?” Katya asked Zac, snapping out of pleasant memories.

  He met her eyes in the mirror. “What did you say earlier about mummy and daddy ensuring I had an expensive education? I know a lot of people I can target—those eager to shell out for top-of-the-range meat and seafood.”

  “Why Lochalshie?”

  He fingers tapped the steering wheel. “A friend recommended the place—said you could find great local suppliers and the start-up costs would be minimal. I’ll do th
e set-up work now and hopefully the online business will be ready by the New Year.”

  Katya checked her phone discreetly, hoping for something from Dexter—a text, a WhatsApp message or even a photo on Instagram where Dexter had tagged her. “Missing you, LA terrible without you”, or something. Nothing. If the Katya of a few months ago had known that heady excitement would tail off so quickly, would she have bothered with him in the first place? And now she had moved to the opposite end of the country (felt like) to be nearer him. The ‘this is a mistake, mistake, mistake’ chant in her head grew ever louder.

  The car ate up the miles. The enveloping darkness of the October night meant the glorious countryside that marked the way to Lochalshie wasn’t visible. Gaby often sounded as if she worked for VisitScotland when she talked about the place to others. The habit was contagious. Katya wanted Zac to be impressed, to see the village and stare in awe at the gently lapping waters of the loch, the hills and mountains that encircled it and the hundreds of shades of green you could pick out in the fields, trees and bushes.

  Eventually the headlights caught the sign—Welcome to Lochalshie! We love careful drivers. “Ahem,” Katya volunteered. Zac barely slowed, the villagers’ safety on the streets saved by the lateness of the hour.

  “Where can I drop you? A nice little cottage somewhere a weary traveller can grab a cup of tea and a sandwich?”

  “Nice try. Here will do. I’m staying with my best friend this evening and she’s only five minutes away.”

  He’d stopped outside Kirsty’s house. Otherwise known as Christina the Dating Guru, the famous YouTube star (and former resident of Lochalshie) owned a big house next to the Lochside Welcome and right on the shores of the loch. Thanks to disappointment in love—the irony!—she’d left the place months ago, and the house was now on the market.