“What do you mean?”
Flora had hoped this wouldn’t be so difficult. Yes, of course Mure was a small island, but this was the twenty-first century. There was gay marriage, the church seemed to have more or less given up pontificating about it . . . Just because the island was traditional, it had never been cruel.
Fintan wouldn’t catch her eye.
“Nothing. I mean . . . Just, you guys seemed to get on well.”
“So?”
“So, nothing.”
There was a very uncomfortable pause.
“I get on well with lots of people,” said Fintan.
“Of course you do,” said Flora. “I know that.”
“I’m not the one sleeping with my boss.”
“I’m not sleeping with him!”
“But you’ve thought about it.”
“Ugh, person I am related to, shut up, bleargh, yuck, not listening.”
“You have! You have! So. Don’t lecture me.”
“Shut up! I’m not listening to you!”
“You so fancy him! I’m not surprised. He’s hot.”
They both stopped. Fintan looked as if he’d been caught out in something.
“He is,” said Flora quietly.
“Who is?” came a cheerful American voice. Today Colton was wearing jeans and large boots and a massive hoodie sweatshirt that made him look like an overgrown teenager, presumably the effect he’d intended all along.
Fintan turned away, but Colton took his arm.
“Hey,” he said. “Great to see you kids. It’s going to be an awesome party and everyone is going to love me and vote for my proposal, right?”
“We’ll give it a shot,” said Fintan gruffly.
“Come on then, we’d better have an early lunch, given I have six million pies to oversee this afternoon.”
They sat out in the sun and ate cold-water oysters with rye bread. It was funny: as children they’d never liked it, the dark, solid bread, and had always moaned and whined at their mother and longed for the squishy white loaf that you got at Wullie’s and that lasted for weeks. Now, as an adult, Flora could appreciate it for the lovely, deep-flavored, evocative thing that it was. Agot, on the other hand, had declared it “ASGUSTING.”
She added some of Fintan’s butter, of course, and for the oysters some vinegar and freshly squeezed lemon juice, and they ate sitting on the extensively carved bench outside the Rock, gazing out at the great northern void, as well as peering round toward the little harbor going about its business, the boats moving slowly in and out.
“God, I love it here,” Colton said suddenly. He was sitting very close to Fintan. “No phone calls, no stupid meetings, no lawyers . . . present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course,” said Flora.
Colton blinked.
“Why did you ever leave?” he said, looking out across the bay.
“Why do you?” said Flora.
“Because I didn’t even discover it until I was forty, by which time I was a multinational conglomerate with offices and employees on four continents. Also, I asked first.”
Flora shrugged, and threw her oyster shells into the sea. They made a satisfying plouf noise.
“Because I wanted to work,” she said. “I wanted a job that wasn’t just tourism.”
“There’s plenty of jobs,” said Fintan.
“Yes, if you want to work in the Harbor’s Rest.”
“Your teacher friend Lorna does all right.”
“My teacher friend Lorna lies awake at night because there aren’t enough babies being born to make up the roll and the school might get shut down.”
“Because people like you go away and don’t have any babies.”
“You want to talk about not having babies?”
“All right, stop squabbling,” said Colton. “But don’t you want to come back now? Now that you’re here?”
Flora smiled.
“I like working for you. But my home is elsewhere.”
She glanced behind her. A clutch of men—and boys, the students back from the mainland once more—were working on the hotel, getting it ready for the night’s festivities. It was, hopefully, going to be a big hit.
“Hmm,” she said. Then she stood up. “I have to get back. Make sure everyone’s coming tonight. Get the girls on the ovens. Is the bar ready?”
“Sure is,” said Colton. “Even for Scottish people. And we have a band, pipers, dancers . . .”
“Kitchen sink,” said Flora.
“Covering all the bases,” said Colton. “Just like your boss said.”
“Is he coming?” Flora asked, too quickly.
“Oh. Wouldn’t have thought so,” said Colton. “The vote isn’t for another month.”
“No. No, I realize that.”
Flora tried not to betray how deflated she felt. She’d been sending Joel reports, but hadn’t heard from his office at all. Kai said that if she didn’t hear, that meant everything was fine, but it wasn’t exactly reassuring.
“Fintan, can you stay here and oversee?” she said.
Colton looked at him, a smile playing on his lips.
“Sure,” said Fintan.
Flora watched the Rock retreat in the rearview mirror, smiling to herself as she saw Fintan’s and Colton’s heads together. Well well well. She wondered if Innes had suspected. He must have. Should she mention it, or not under any circumstances? It was a tricky one.
Stepping off the boat, she nearly stumbled into a small elderly form, standing straight and completely ignoring her own walking stick.
“Mrs. Kennedy!” gasped Flora. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“You didn’t pay me much mind at the time either,” said Mrs. Kennedy, without smiling. Flora attempted to smile for her, but it went unheeded.
“Well,” said Flora, straightening up.
“So off you went,” carried on Mrs. Kennedy, “leaving us completely wide open, with nobody there for cover.”
“Mrs. Kennedy! I’d told you I was moving.”
“Right at the start of the Highland Games season!”
“I had to do my internship and find a flat.”
It was ridiculous, Flora reflected, how everyone on this entire island conspired to make her feel fourteen years old.
“Well, I’m back now,” she said, remembering that Mrs. Kennedy was on the council. “If there’s any way I can make it up to you . . .”
Mrs. Kennedy looked up at her with those beady, shrewd eyes.
“There might be, actually,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-one
Margo blinked.
“But there’s the Yousoff case that needs your attention . . . I mean, you don’t really have to go back there, do you? I thought it was all in hand.”
“Colton Rogers could be a massive part of our business. I want to make sure he’s happy.”
“Up in that godforsaken place? Amazing. And you should be prepping for New York.”
Joel glanced at his calendar.