Joel and Colton were already in the bar, which was on the right as you entered the grand hall, a roaring fire in the grate although it was scarcely needed that evening, or so Flora and Fintan thought. Both of them were to go through their entire lives with no tolerance for heat at all; anything over 68 degrees tended to bring them out in a nervous rash. Blowy and fresh was their default setting.
Flora tried her best not to stutter, but she felt a telltale redness rise in her face. Joel had changed his shirt to a soft pale green cotton that contrasted perfectly with his large, dark eyes. He smiled, looking at Fintan with interest, which made Flora feel even more wobbly. She knew Fintan was good looking; the girls at school had always liked both her tall brothers. Innes had the smiling eyes and cheeky ways, Fintan the curly hair and melancholic air.
Colton was wearing his standard turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers, with wire-rimmed glasses. It was such an aggressively ugly outfit, Flora wondered if he was doing it on purpose, like if you saw someone so horribly dressed, the only possible solution was that they were so rich, they never had to worry about impressing anybody.
“Hi,” said Flora, trying to sound normal and in fact sounding squeaky. Fintan was staring at Colton Rogers like he was a celebrity, which she supposed he was around here; so little seen, yet so much speculated about. “Um, this is my brother Fintan. You did say to bring someone.”
“Hi!” said Colton, smiling widely.
Joel merely gave a little nod, as if he’d expected something like this, and Flora felt a flash of annoyance that of course she couldn’t have a good-looking boyfriend, apparently. She sat down and Colton offered her a glass of champagne. She snuck a quick glance at Joel to check to see if this would be okay, but he couldn’t appear to be less bothered.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“Just half a lager,” muttered Fintan, visibly rummaging in his pockets. Flora cursed herself for not having warned him beforehand that he wouldn’t be expected to pay. Colton waved his money away.
“Shall we go eat?” said Colton, and they picked up their drinks and followed him into the restaurant. “You are my very first guests.”
“We’re honored,” both Joel and Flora said at the same time, then glanced at each other.
Here, after the cozy, gleaming bar, things were quite different. It was formal and very quiet and it felt extremely odd to be just the four of them in the restaurant. Flora picked up the brand-new, very stiff, and fancy menu.
Here at the Rock we want to give you a very special dining experience . . . a dimension of sensory explosions, the primary tastes of extraordinary love and creativity, said the introduction, which Flora correctly interpreted as evidence that it would all be very, very expensive.
Everything was “curated”: there were “orchards” of fruit and “symphonies” of vegetables, and “intensities” of oysters and sardines. Fintan looked in total agony. Flora smiled widely to help him out.
“Colton, maybe you should order for us?”
“What d’ya think, though?” he kept saying, looking around. There were stags’ heads lining the walls and the carpet was tartan.
“I’m sure it’s going to be lovely,” said Flora. “It is fancy, though. Is this what you like to eat?”
“No,” he said. “I prefer steak.”
He ordered the chef’s tasting menu, and a couple of bottles of wine Flora couldn’t pronounce, but she found she was quite happy to go along with someone else’s choices. Plus, there was always the possibility that Joel’s tongue would loosen after a few glasses. Might she get to know him a little better? Maybe that exterior was all for show, and he was one of those people who was lovely underneath. She imagined saying that to Kai—oh, once you get to know him, he’s really nice. Works at an animal shelter in his spare time, but doesn’t like anybody knowing about it.
The first thing to go wrong was the bread. It professed to be freshly baked, but patently wasn’t. And the butter came in a little floral pattern, hard from the fridge. Fintan blinked twice.
“They’ve bought in this butter,” he whispered to Flora.
“Stop whispering,” said Flora. “It’s a restaurant. Of course it’s got to buy in stuff.”
“Well, outside it looks like it pretends it’s making it. And read this guff in the menu: ‘All our ingredients are sourced as close to the very heart of our island as possible.’ There’s ten dairy farmers on Mure,” said Fintan crossly, “and I tell you what, none of them put their butter in airy-fairy little baby flowers like this.”
“What’s that, guys?” said Colton, leaning across the oversize table. The lighting was so subtle she could barely make him out. They were basically eating in the dark.
“Nothing,” said Flora quickly.
“Well—” said Fintan.
“No! Shush!” said Flora.
“So how did it go today?” asked Colton.
“Ah,” said Flora, glancing at Joel.
“You can put in a new schedule and a new proposal,” said Joel, opening his briefcase. “I’ve got the paperwork all done and ready for you to sign before I leave. Scots law isn’t much more complicated. It’s a solid proposal, just to move the wind farm behind the next island. It has some cost implications for maintenance, but ought to save on keeping the island’s unique heritage for visitors and future generations, yada yada yada.”
“Okay, good work,” said Colton, scanning it. “So I just need to get this past the council, right? And how did that go?”
Flora took another gulp of wine. It was absolutely delicious.
“Well,” she said. “There are a few issues.”
“Such as?”
“Everyone’s bothered about the pink house.”
“What’s that?”
“The pink building. On the main street. You’ve left it empty.”
Colton looked confused.
“Here?”
“Yes, here!”
“That’s mine?”
Flora looked at him, aghast that someone could buy a building and not realize they’d done so.
“Apparently so,” said Joel.
“Damn,” said Colton. “What else?”
“Staff?” said Flora. “There’s lots of island teenagers who might come home if there was more work here that wasn’t milking.”
Fintan made a sarcastic noise but Flora ignored him.
“But really,” she said, “what it boils down to is this. People don’t know you. They don’t know who you are. They think you might be Donald Trump or something, and that if they let you get away with this, the next step will be something really terrible.”
“But I’m trying to protect the place.”
“Then protect everyone here,” said Flora simply.
“Huh,” said Colton.
He turned to Fintan.
“I mean, you live here full-time, right? What do you do, then?”
“I’m a farmer,” said Fintan resignedly, knocking back more wine.
“Yeah? You don’t look like a farmer.”
“What, because I’m not chewing a stem of hay at the dinner table?”
He sounded prickly and defensive and Flora knew it was because he felt out of his depth.
“No,” said Colton. “Are you always this aggressive?”
“Seen Braveheart too many times?” said Fintan. “Scared of the violent locals?”
“Fintan! Shut up!” hissed Flora.
She turned to Colton.
“Sorry, sir. That thing they say about not being able to choose your family . . .”
“Yes, well, you certainly didn’t,” muttered Fintan, who Flora belatedly realized had drunk quite a lot of wine already.