“Are you sure that won’t just set them even more against you?” said Flora. “Especially Reverend Anderssen. He’ll want to make a point about not being corrupt.”
“A man who thinks so much about his belly, being sent a huge pie. Yeah, all right, whatever.”
“Everyone will see straight through it,” said Flora.
“Come on!” said Colton. “I’m employing half the town here. I’m asking for an extra couple of hundred yards. Which, by the way, will easily be paid for with all the tax dollars I’m about to start handing over because I employ people. Did you know your country has maternity leave?”
“I know, we’re psychos,” said Flora.
“Not that you need it,” said Colton.
“Shut up!” said Flora.
“No, I mean it. What happened to that nice guy who kept coming to see you?”
Flora sighed. It had been awkward, to say the least, just as she thought she’d finally stopped being the focus of all gossip on Mure.
The day after her father had vanished, Charlie had turned up at the Café by the Sea for the last time.
His bulk had filled the doorway and she’d looked into his kind face and blue eyes, nervous and worried all at once.
Charlie was not a flame that burned hot, that would scald her and go out as quickly as it had lit. He was a slow burn, an ember. Something she could keep close, that would smolder for a long time. She moved closer to him.
“Teàrlach?”
Then she saw it in his face. And appearing behind him, the little crocodile—different children, she supposed, although the pale, haunted faces remained the same. They pressed sticky hands up against the windows of the pink house in awe.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What?” said Flora, shocked. “You were going to talk to Jan.”
“I did.” He smiled weakly. “She was going to get her father to withdraw . . . I mean. We’d have had to fold the business. Everything we’ve built and worked for.”
Flora nodded, aware of Isla and Iona pretending not to be eavesdropping from the kitchen.
“It would be a lot to give up,” she said softly. “I understand. Of course.”
“You don’t,” said Charlie sadly, raising his huge hand and gently touching her hair.
“No, I do,” said Flora, finding it difficult to swallow. Of course. She wasn’t worth it. She knew that. How many times did she need to be taught the same lesson? She wasn’t needed. Never enough.
Charlie shook his head vehemently.
“No,” he said. “You don’t. I would have done it in a heartbeat. Started over straightaway.” His voice sounded strangled.
“So why didn’t . . .?”
“Because none of that matters if you don’t feel about me the way I feel about you. And you don’t.”
Flora flushed, startled.
“What? But . . . but we could . . .”
Charlie smiled sadly.
“No, Flora. I tried . . . I hoped. That you might like me better than him. But there is always someone else behind your eyes. You’re not hard to read.”
“That’s bollocks!” said Flora crossly.
“And also Jan told me.”
“Oh, good. Right. I’m glad she knows,” said Flora bitterly.
“And I saw him in your house.”
“But he’s gone! It was . . .”
She was going to say it was nothing, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t say that. It might have been nothing to Joel. To her it had been everything.
“Oh, Flora,” said Charlie, looking into her face. “Better a cold bed than no bed at all.”
Flora just stared at him.
“Good luck with everything,” he said. Then he rounded up his little gang and prepared to lead them away.
“Wait!” said Flora. “Wait!”
She brought out the entire tray of little pastries they’d tried that morning, and put them in a large bag.
“Here,” she said to the children. “Please. Have a wonderful visit to Mure.”
And the children, suspicious for a moment, gathered round the bag, chattering excitedly, and Charlie stood there watching as she retreated back into the shop.
Iona and Isla were standing at the back twisting their aprons, although Flora was too caught up in herself to pay them much attention until Isla stepped forward.
“Um, Flora?”
“Mmm,” said Flora, still trying to process what had just happened. Whatever spark there might have been between her and Charlie had been snuffed out, and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he wasn’t the man she’d hoped he was, that he wasn’t brave enough, in the end, to give it a shot. To risk it. Damn it, damn it, damn it all.
“Iona and I were talking, and, well . . .”
“I mean, it’s only health and beauty, my course,” said Iona. “It’s not like I’m learning anything that I couldn’t learn here. I mean, about how to run a business and handle things and bake and cook and . . . Well.”
“We were thinking,” said Isla, the bolder of the two. “If you wanted to stay. I mean. We would stay. If you wanted to run this place not just for the summer.”
“Also Ruaridh MacLeod’s staying,” said Iona pertly.
“Shut up! That’s got nothing to do with it!” said Isla crossly.
“It’s got a bit to do with it.”
“He’s got a job working for Colton Rogers. Running his gardens,” said Isla proudly. “It keeps him in amazing shape.”
“Well . . . that’s nice,” said Flora, flustered. “But . . . I mean . . . I have to go back to London, but I could talk to Fintan for you. I mean, you might be able to run it by yourselves.”
The girls looked panicked, and Flora remembered they weren’t out of their teens yet.
“I mean, with some help,” she said.
“Aye,” said Iona. “From you.”
“I’ll be up more often now . . .,” said Flora weakly.
“Town’ll be sad if the pink house is empty again,” said Isla.
“Yes, they will be,” said Flora. “But . . .”
The girls looked at her expectantly.
“I can’t,” said Flora. “I’m sleeping in a single bed in my dad’s house. Come on. Can you get to it, please?”
And now it was nearly the meeting.
“IS GOOD BOAT, UNCLE COLT?”
“Uncle Colt?” mouthed Flora to Innes, who simply shrugged.
Colton looked down at the now mud-spattered shoe, which had taken off down the filthy rivulet.
“Oh good,” he said. “At any point, if every single individual on Mure wishes to stop draining me of every cent I have, I’d be extremely grateful.”
“Well, it’s still worth having,” said Flora. “Give the kitchens a chance to show what they can do.”
Colton looked at her.
“You’re so good at this, you know? I mean, who knew?”
“I’m not,” said Flora, blushing. “I’m not half the cook my mother was.”
“It’s not just about that,” said Colton. “It’s about organization and management skills and being able to finish things. You’re thorough, like a proper lawyer. I can depend on you. She raised you well.”
Everyone went quiet for a moment, and Flora thought she was going to cry. But fortunately Agot, chasing the shoe, went sprawling head over heels among the chickens, with a considerable amount of caterwauling from both her and the chickens, and Flora was able to distract herself.
“Who else is coming into town tonight?” said Colton, and Flora smiled and sighed.
“Everyone,” she said.
Then she corrected herself.
“Almost everyone.”
Chapter Forty-eight