He handed her a dram of Mure single malt, and she drank it, rather too quickly, feeling it going straight to her head, mixing with the adrenaline.
“A desk at a firm that will be working on all your requirements,” she pointed out.
Colton, who was, Flora noticed, quite drunk, flung out his arm.
“This kind of thing is hard to find, kiddo. Harder than you’d think.”
Flora smiled as he refilled her glass.
“Come on, you’re working. Let’s get you round the entire council.”
Colton sighed.
“This is worse than pitching my first start-up.”
“Yes, it is,” said Flora, smiling. “Because now you know what you have to lose.”
She didn’t mention that she was a little nervous too. People had long memories. But she had a job to do. She squared her shoulders.
“Flora.”
“Maggie!”
Maggie Buchanan sniffed.
“That was not bad. Not bad at all.”
“I realize that. You’ve met Colton.”
“Thank you for the party,” said Maggie drily. “With such noble and selfless aims.”
Colton smiled.
“Please,” he said, through gritted teeth.
A Dashing White Sergeant had just started up in the next room. Maggie, who although nearly seventy was still incredibly light on her feet, thanks to her habit of cycling everywhere on rocky terrain through terrible weather, actually took Colton’s hand.
Well, thought Flora. That was a step forward.
Also, she realized, looking on and laughing, Colton had learned all the dances. He wasn’t a natural ceilidh dancer, as the boys and girls of the island were, keeping up this side of their Scottish heritage: everyone danced at weddings and parties and celebrations from as soon as they could walk, and it was as natural as breathing, or singing if singing was required.
Colton, Flora soon figured out, was quite different. He kept referring to something in his pocket—at first she thought it was a hip flask, but then she realized it was a tiny book of ceilidh dancing. He was checking the figures and the moves, all of which he executed with exaggerated care, unlike the general flinging that was going on in other directions, smiling at everyone as he did so.
He was a much more interesting, thoughtful man than she’d assumed, that first morning she’d seen him, brashly making noise about how crap London was in the conference room.
She looked around for Fintan, and saw him tinkering with the cheese plates, looking full of pride, while actually following Colton’s progression round the dance floor with more than passing attention.
She turned and went into the main crush of the room, away from the tables.
“That baking,” said an ancient woman Flora dimly remembered from the post office. “That baking . . . oh, it was like having Annie back.”
Flora blinked.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re like her—she was a proper selkie girl.”
Sometimes there was no point in fighting it.
“I know,” said Flora.
“There’s a lot of her in you.”
“I’m glad,” said Flora. “I’m so glad.”
“Welcome home,” said the woman quietly, and many of the older people sitting there echoed the sentiment. “Velcom, velcom” echoed around the table in the local accent, and her glass was refilled yet again.
Charlie appeared at her shoulder.
“Come and dance with me; you promised,” he said, even though he was still forking large pieces of pie into his mouth.
“You’re eating!” she said.
“Yes.” He smiled. “I thought I’d better book you before you got too popular. And it’s utterly tremendous. Try it!”
Flora had been too wound up to eat, but she tried a mouthful. It was the cherry, and it was indeed pretty good. She smiled.
“Yes, it’s true, I am fabulous,” she said, teasing.
“It’s your night, Ms. MacKenzie,” he said, putting down his empty plate and proffering his arm.
“Where’s Jan?” she asked suddenly. This was absurd: he was definitely flirting with her, and if he was in a relationship, it wasn’t fair. Because, undeniably, she liked him. He didn’t make her heart leap and her pulse race like Joel did. But that was stupid, because Joel was unattainable. Charlie was right here. His large, broad solidity; his bright blue eyes and open face. The opposite of Joel. But if she was going to get to know him better, she had to know.
Charlie blinked.
“Oh, she’s around,” he said vaguely.
Flora caught sight of her then, going at the dessert display with great gusto.
“Are you two . . .?”
“Separated,” said Charlie quickly. “We’re separated. I’m amazed you didn’t know. I thought everybody did.”
“Well, I’m not everybody,” said Flora brightly.
“You’re not,” agreed Charlie.
She wished she’d had a chance to get changed. Although in fact, what she was wearing suited her far better than the slightly too-small Karen Millen dress she’d bought the previous year for a wedding and that wasn’t repaying its investment at all.
“But you still work together?” she went on.
“Oh yes. We run the firm together. She’s a decent sort, Jan.”
“So why—?”
“Are you dancing?” said Charlie. “Or do we have to stand around here discussing every element of our lives like we’re on some mainland reality show?”
Flora smiled.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have had much time to be watching that kind of thing,” she said.
“Oh yes, because you know everything about me.”
He took her hand and led her into the dance. Colton was now dancing with two old ladies from the curling society, in a move that involved two girls for every boy and vice versa, and they looked very pleased to have gotten him. Charlie happily whirled her in and round with Bertie on her other side, and they joined the throng.
Flora gave herself over to the music, dipping and spinning at high speed without pause, the men’s kilts whirling and her twirling herself in and out of them. She felt so free suddenly.
Behind one of the heavy curtains, deep in shadow, Joel watched her laughing with that big man who followed her around everywhere as far as he could tell, watched her with a hungry look he recognized in himself, and despised.
He cursed and left the room.
Giggling at the end of the dance, Flora realized she hadn’t checked on how Joel was doing, which was utterly remiss of her considering he knew hardly anybody there. She had to introduce him to people and look after him, seeing as Colton was busy. Also, she realized, while she’d been dancing with Charlie, she hadn’t thought of him at all.
“Excuse me,” she said, looking around the room, but there was no sign of him. “I have to go. Can you ask Mrs. Kennedy to dance?”
“No,” said Charlie. “She’s terrifying.”
“Yeah . . . but she’s on the council.”
Charlie rolled his eyes as Flora slipped away from the dance floor.