Not yet, though. Surely not yet. Well. She’d start small and see how she got on.
It was just as she remembered from playing with it as a child. A bright peacock-feather brooch, blue and green feathers set in a dulling silver filigree, woven in and out. There was no such thing as a peacock on Mure, so heaven knows where it had come from originally: perhaps some wealthy distant relative in Edinburgh, or one of the cousins who had moved away to Newfoundland or Tennessee, wanting to show off their success.
Wherever it was from, it was beautiful. Her mother never wore it—she would have seen the colors as too flashy, and she thought it fragile too, and possibly valuable, although Flora didn’t know about that. But what a shame, she thought now, gently lifting it out. What a shame to own something so very beautiful, and to have spent an entire lifetime keeping it for best, a best that never came.
Her mother and father would go to the town ceilidhs; everyone did, it was part of your job if you lived in Mure. Her father would line up with all the other farmers at the bar and drink local ale and talk about feed prices, while her mother, unusual looking in lipstick, would stand with the other women. Flora couldn’t remember her parents ever going out to dinner, doing anything just to spend time together. She had absolutely no memories of that ever happening at all. So there was never a reason, never an occasion quite good enough for the brooch.
She picked it up, looking in the mirror, and placed it on the top right-hand side of her dress.
At first she was worried it would look a little Highland chieftain, but as she inspected herself more closely, she saw that the green of the feathers made her eyes look greener; the blue was just such a pretty color that it drew the eye anyway, and the entire thing lifted the plain dress and made all the difference.
Smiling cheerfully, she headed into the sitting room. Her father hadn’t moved.
“Dad, do you . . . do you mind if I borrow Mum’s brooch?”
He barely glanced around, just waved his hand. Innes and Hamish were standing at the stove, looking confused.
“Come on, you two,” she said. “Shepherd’s pie. Here. I’ll leave the recipe. Ground beef. Potatoes. Fintan’s cheese. Nothing too tough.”
“Oh God, look at the pair of you,” said Innes. “You look like the town parade. La-di-dah.”
“Shut up,” Fintan said.
“Don’t listen to Innes,” said Flora. “Why are you even listening to him? He’s being a divot.”
“I’m not a divot!”
“You’re being a divot, stop it.”
“You stop it!”
“Dad!” shouted Fintan. “Everyone’s having a go.”
“Tell Innes to stop being a divot,” said Flora sulkily.
“Everyone stop being a divot,” said Eck from behind his paper.
Innes stuck his tongue out at Flora.
“Right, we’re out of here,” said Flora. “Good luck with the shepherd’s pie.”
Hamish turned round as she got to the door.
“You look nice, Flora,” he said.
“THANK YOU, HAMISH,” she replied loudly, to make the point.
Colton had said he’d send the boat to bring them round to the Rock. Flora was excited.
She and Fintan walked down to the harbor, enjoying the soft light on their backs, past the lush fields where the cows were lying, post-milking. Fintan looked smart in his suit, but nervous, which made Flora slightly irritated, because she didn’t want to appear to be nervous too, even though she was; she felt the need to be playing the grown-up, in-control London employee.
The evening air was clear and fresh and tasted as clean as a cold glass of water. The sea was like a millpond, reflecting a little stream of white cloud above it across the flat horizon. It was truly very beautiful. Flora felt smugly glad that Joel was visiting now and not in the depths of winter, when the rain swept in and out, to be caught up in a quick, dashing rainbow and a crack in the clouds before descending again. Not that he appeared to have noticed his surroundings at all. The weather could be so changeable, but tonight everything felt quiet and still, and there was a sense of absolute timelessness about the place as they turned in to the main street and the same old colored buildings sloped down toward the harbor wall. Flora counted them off as she used to as a child—purple for the baker’s, yellow for the butcher’s, orange for the doctor’s, blue for fish and chips. Nothing in the pink house, not anymore.
Bertie Cooper, who was running the boat, was standing by the dockside, his cap off, waiting politely. He thought Flora was absolutely tops, but felt too shy to ask her for a drink, especially if she was cavorting about with posh blokes from out of town, and Colton Rogers of all people. He sighed. Probably for the best.
“Hello,” he said shyly. “You look nice.”
Flora smiled, which did make her look prettier. She realized as she did so how long it had been since she’d smiled properly, not business grins or consoling brave smiles when people asked how she was getting on, and not nights-out-with-Kai smiles, when she finally had enough wine to forget about everything that was going on. A proper, happy smile and the unusual sensation of having something to look forward to.
She had Snapchatted a selfie to her friends, just to make them horrified and amused on her behalf. Kai had gotten back saying that if she slept with Joel he would never speak to her again, ever. Lorna had asked, quite reasonably, if her boss had turned any nicer since he’d arrived, and by the way, if he looked like a moose nobody would ever let him get away with his behavior. Flora smiled to herself yet again. There was, she’d come to realize, absolutely no chance that anything was going to happen between her and her taciturn, self-obsessed boss.
But that didn’t take anything away from the fact that it was a beautiful evening. They were going to a proper grown-up restaurant. She was accompanied by a handsome man—okay, he was her brother, but who cared about that?—and it was going to be lovely. She stepped lightly into the boat with an unusual air of confidence about her. Perhaps it was the brooch.
Chapter Twenty-five
Flora enjoyed watching Fintan’s reaction as they approached the Rock. It was even more impressive arriving by sea than by road. The idea of spoiling its idyllic outlook with vast metal structures did seem terribly wrong.
Although it was still light, the lanterns on the jetty were all lit, and Bertie helped her off the boat with a wide smile.