‘They told me to mention they’d come to your room before the ceilidh to do your hair and make-up.’
At this, Mrs Mair, who had been pottering at the bar, announced that she had a dress and dancing shoes for Beatrice to wear. They had been her daughter’s but since she was in South Africa now, she wouldn’t mind her borrowing them.
Delightedly, Beatrice noted all this down, and everyone raised their drinks to toast a very successful meeting. Soon she was asking if anyone had any other business and getting ready to draw the meeting to a close.
Gene interrupted her closing remarks. ‘Whit aboot the caller?’
‘The what?’ said Beatrice.
‘A caller tells everyone on the dancefloor what to do next… for the uninitiated,’ Kitty added. ‘And the ceilidh band are supplying their own.’
‘For the Sassenachs like me, you mean?’ said Beatrice. ‘Ooh, there’s an idea!’ All eyes were upon her as she spoke animatedly. ‘If you had a dance teacher, your guests could do their craft lessons during the day then there could be lessons here in the bar after dinner in the run up to future ceilidhs.’
‘She’s got a point, Gene,’ said Kitty. ‘There could be lessons in the summer before Harvest Home and at Christmas leading up to Hogmanay.’
Gene thought deeply. ‘There was a dance teacher staying here for a while, a Scottish wummin. Do you mind her, Atholl? I forget where she was from. She’d ken the steps. What was her name? Maggie something, was it? You must mind her…’
A heavy thump resounded from under the table somewhere in the direction of Kitty’s boot and Eugene’s shin.
‘Oh, sorry, Atholl,’ he said hurriedly, before clearing the empty cups back onto the tray.
In the sudden air of awkwardness Beatrice realised he had been talking about Maggie, the married woman who’d neglected to mention her husband and, who had at best, embarrassed Atholl, and at worse, broken his heart. She didn’t dare glance up at him to see how he’d taken this reminder of how he’d unwittingly played the other man in this Maggie’s marriage, but she saw his knuckles blanching white and heard the glasses rattling on the tray as he took it from his brother. And so the meeting ended, the committee left the bar and Beatrice went back to her room more than a little disappointed that Atholl hadn’t glanced over at her as she walked past the sink where he rinsed the glasses in silence.
Chapter Nineteen
A Package Arrives
‘Special Delivery!’ Atholl called from behind the princess room door half an hour later, and his voice was so warm Beatrice felt sure he must have recovered from the shock of everyone hearing Eugene talk about Maggie whatever-her-name-was at the meeting.
When she opened the door, Atholl was smiling and holding out two postal packages. ‘Well, I know what’s in this one, Beattie, because I took the liberty of ordering it for you,’ he was saying, handing her the plastic-wrapped box.
She didn’t know what was more astonishing; the fact that he’d bought her some kind of gift or that he was now, apparently, intent upon always calling her Beattie. Both made her smile.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I,um, do actually know what that other package is.’
‘You do?’ Atholl handed it over too.
‘I popped in to the café in Mr Shirlaw’s shop yesterday to use one of their computers. I wanted to contact my sister and tell her I was OK, and I ended up buying something online, had it sent here, next day delivery. I’m amazed it’s made it to be honest. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all, this is your home while you’re here, Beattie.’ He’d said it again, soft and lyrical in his deep Highland burr.
‘Come in for a sec, if you’ve time? Are you going out?’ she prompted.
‘Only to dig out the bunting from the inn’s store room. I hope Gene didn’t chuck it in there all in a tangle last year.’
He stepped inside and let the door close as Beatrice excitedly tore open the result of her online shopping spree. It had been so long since she’d seen a high street shop – the Port Willow general store may have everything needed for village life, but it was lacking in the fast fashion department – the temptation to treat herself had been too much to resist.
‘It’s this!’ She held the bikini against herself, smiling a little awkwardly. It was skimpier than she remembered it looking online.
When she glanced up, Atholl was smiling too, with the familiar closed lips drawn a little to one side to hide his sudden bashfulness. She’d seen that smile a few times and each time it melted her a little more. His eyes were shining in spite of the flush on his pale cheeks.
‘Very nice. But if you’re planning on wearing that to the ceilidh I’m afraid to say you’ve got our Highland customs all wrong. It’ll be more of a kilts and tartan sashes kind of thing.’ His eyes crinkled at the sides.
‘Have you got swimming things, Atholl?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well then… will you take me to the coral beach later today, once the water’s warmed up a little with the sun.’
