“And Dad complains that I’m work shy.”
“Do they really not know what you’re doing?”
“They don’t care, do they? It’s just Funny Fintan, doing his thing.”
He sighed. Flora looked at him.
“Families aren’t easy,” she said.
“No,” said Fintan. “They fricking aren’t.”
“You can swear in front of me,” said Flora, almost laughing.
“Oh, is swearing cool in London, then?”
Flora looked longingly at the cheese.
“Let me have a little more?”
Fintan half smiled.
“Really?”
“Yeah! I want Agot to try it. Does it melt?”
“Should do, it’s a hard cheese that tastes soft.”
Flora picked up a hunk.
“I’ll say I bought it in London.”
“Then they’ll never try it.”
Flora turned on the grill and heated the cheese up on top of the bread until its edges had turned a delicious aromatic brown with a slight crust, and the pale yellow middle was bubbling. The bread was fresh and just a little scorched round the edges, and Flora ground some black pepper on the top and passed it to Agot, who wolfed down the whole thing as soon as it was cool enough to eat.
“YUM!” she said, rubbing her tummy approvingly. “THA’S GOOD.”
Flora smiled, pleased. It was fun, feeding other people. Everyone ate their fill, and she exchanged smiles with Fintan at how appreciative they all were, even for something as simple as toasted cheese, and for once, the evening was calm.
Chapter Eighteen
This is total and utter BS.” Joel was grouching around the office and Margo was trying to placate him again, without much success. “Why hasn’t he seen her already?”
Margo shrugged. “Busy. Or just thinks she’s too junior.”
“She’s not too junior to be kicking about there on holiday at his expense. This could be a big client for us and she’s listening to local gossip . . . doing God knows what.” He grimaced. “Oh God. I’m going to have to go. How the hell do I get to this godforsaken place anyway?”
“You can take the train overnight, then a ferry . . .”
“Screw that. Seriously. You can’t fly?”
Which is how, furiously, Joel found himself on the tiny prop plane taking off from Inverness with a handful of bird-watchers and oilmen, staring out the window at a white sky and feeling entirely frustrated at the whole ridiculous business. He disliked the sucking-up-to-clients part of his job, especially for something so trivial. He liked the cut and thrust of the courtroom; he thrived on the tense all-nighters that made his staff miserable, the tough negotiating, and, above all, winning.
He looked down. Whoever knew this tiny country could go on so long? They were flying over endless sea. It had been vastly colder than London as he’d walked across the tarmac and boarded the little twelve-seater Loganair plane. He was going to turn this around, do the charming thing, which he didn’t enjoy, set the girl in the right direction then get back to London as soon as he could. She’d sounded absolutely startled to hear from him that morning. Had probably forgotten how to work already.
The sun broke through the clouds as they started to circle down toward Mure, the fishing trawlers plashing out across the wide blue waters; but Joel was deeply engrossed in briefs for other jobs, and saw nothing until they landed in front of the unprepossessing shed that passed for an airport, bumping and jolting along the ground.
After the calm evening, Flora had been unutterably panicked by the phone call. She’d expected to hear from Colton’s office; she’d expected to hear from Margo, snootily asking her why the hell she wasn’t getting more work done. Kai had suggested it might happen, but when she’d seen the unfamiliar number come up on her handset, she hadn’t been thinking much at all.
Stuttering “good morning,” she’d caught sight of herself in the mirror above the old dressing table in her little room. Surrounding it were the rosettes from her Highland dancing. Her mother had carefully kept them all, them and the cups. She’d shaken her head, half embarrassed, half pleased.
Her hair was sticking out at all angles. It was 8 A.M.; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late. It was all this fresh air; it was knocking her out. It was only since she’d gotten back that she’d realized how sleep-deprived she actually was. It felt like she was catching up on years of light London sleep, always half awake, waiting to hear burglars, or returning flatmates, or police helicopters, car chases, neighborhood parties.
Here, apart from the occasional barking seal and scuttling wildlife, there was nothing, nothing at all, just fresh air and the distant lulling of the waves if you really listened hard, and she had been completely and utterly knocked out every night.
“Did I wake you?” said the dry, laconic voice, and Flora had leaped up as if he could see her.
“Um, hi, Mr. Binder.”
“Joel is fine.”
“Um, I’m just . . . I’m waiting. I’ve been making calls but I keep getting put off and I’m not sure whether I should stay here or . . . I mean, I’ve been keeping on top of my paperwork.”
This was a stone-cold lie, and Flora wondered if he could tell over the phone line that she was blushing. She cursed herself. Bramble woofed encouragingly from next door and she could hear Hamish hollering and looking for his shoes. This place was a madhouse.
“I’m arriving today.”
At first Flora didn’t understand what he was saying. It was noisy and confused and seemed so very unlikely.
“You’re what?”
Joel sighed with frustration. “I’ll get Margo to send you the details. You haven’t seen him at all? I thought it was small where you are.”
“No,” she said. “Nobody sees him, as far as I can tell.”
“What else do you know about him? Have you spoken to everyone? Don’t tell them what you’re doing.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
There was a pause, and Flora swore to herself for saying something so stupid. He let out a weary sigh.
“I’ll get Margo to send you the flight details.”
There was only one flight a day, but Flora didn’t bother pointing that out. Nervously, she headed to the kitchen. Maybe she could dig out another recipe . . . make something to calm herself down.
Flora made the five-minute drive to the airport in the farm Land Rover. She hadn’t driven in so long, she had to refamiliarize herself with the heavy gears. Also, policing was light on Mure, always had been. Nobody was ever terribly concerned about kids driving without a license at fourteen or so; they were needed to help out on the farms and that was that. As a result, Flora had more or less bumped through her driving test with a very distracted examiner in Fort William, and then proceeded not to drive at all for ten years. It was a challenge, to say the least.
“Where’s he staying, this posh boss of yours?” Fintan had asked as she left, genuinely interested. “You’re not bringing him here, are you?”
Flora spluttered.