Beatrice thought how he couldn’t be more wrong on that score. The first she’d heard of Port Willow was around about glass number three yesterday. Atholl was still talking and his pale, freckled cheeks were still flushing a rather lovely, livid pink. ‘You need to stop gazing into yur phones and start looking about you.’
‘I get the impression you’re not just referring to me here?’
‘You, the other visitors, you’re all the same.’
‘That’s a fine attitude to have when you run a hotel.’ She felt her hands ball up tight, her chin jut out, and the angry agitation rising in another wave, bringing her close to tears yet again. She always hated how confrontation did that to her. No matter how convinced she was she was in the right, if she had to put up a fight there was always too much adrenalin and a shake in her voice and a loud heartbeat in her ears. Every time this made her even more cross until her only recourse was bursting into tears and accepting her defeat or retreating into silence, avoiding the fight altogether.
‘This isn’tmyhotel, and I don’t run it,’ Atholl was insisting. ‘At least, I’m no’ supposed to be running it.’ His own jaw was jutting now.
‘Either way, can you afford to be rude to your guests like this? Hoteliery is a tough business to be in right now, you know?’
‘Ye don’t say?’ Atholl snapped back before pulling his lips tightly closed and lowering his eyes for a brief moment, long enough for her to catch his frustration, not just with her, but with himself. He seemed to think for a moment before huffing, ‘There’s a pay phone in the bar corridor.’
Silence fell between them and Beatrice fortified herself not to utter the apology on her lips even though her legs were trembling and she was suddenly mortified to think how she must look, wishing more than ever that she could just slip invisibly away from everyone’s prying eyes and hide out in peace.
Yet she held firm on her spot. Atholl had been rude and didn’t deserve an apology, but from the way his blazing eyes lifted again to meet her own she knew she’d riled him too. She had been snarky and that wasn’t like her at all, not usually anyway.
The old Beatrice Halliday would never behave like this, but then again, the old Beatrice hadn’t been anywhere near as brittle and bitter and bashed about by life as this, and she wouldneverhave hightailed it to the Highlands without thinking through just exactly what she’d do when she got there. She didn’t have a list, or a plan, or anything. She hadn’t even told anyone she was leaving.
A creak on the stairs helped fracture the tension in the air. Gene Fergusson was at last making his way one slow step at a time, the teapot rattling on a tray as he climbed.
Atholl held Beatrice’s gaze as though he was going to say something else, but when he at last opened his mouth, a loud call came out that startled her.
‘Echo!’
He turned sharply and marched along the corridor before calling out again. Beatrice watched on as a shaggy black and white collie bounded up the stairs to meet him, his tail swinging wildly, knocking on the oak spindles.
As Atholl passed his brother, Beatrice heard him say, ‘I’m getting away from this confounded inn for the rest of the day.’
The dog followed in his master’s wake as Atholl crossed the threshold of the inn and strode into the cool of the summer rain. Beatrice wasn’t aware that she was still staring at the space on the staircase that Atholl had occupied until Gene shuffled awkwardly past her into the room with the towering bed at its centre, the scent of freshly made shortbread piled high on a dish at last stealing her attention from the infuriating red-headed Scotsman.
Chapter Three
Telling Angela
‘You’rewhere? Look, Vic’s home from work, we’ll come and get you, just stay put.’
‘I’m fine, honestly, Angela. And don’t be daft. You can’t bring baby Clara all this way in the car. Anyway, by the time you get here it’ll be morning and the trains will be running again.’
‘Well… if you’re sure? Is it really so bad that you want to leave right away?’
‘It’s all right…’ Beatrice stared at the framed picture above the payphone of a grinning, rain-soaked Gene Kelly swinging himself round a lamppost. ‘It’s just a bit… eccentric. I’ll be OK for one night. Can I,uh, come over for dinner tomorrow? I’ll pick up some nice bits from M&S on my way?’
‘Of course you can, and you don’t need to bring anything. But, Beatrice…whyare you there? The last thing I heard you were planning on clearing out your spare room and suddenly you’re in… where are you again?’
‘Port Willow. Oh, I don’t know, I just felt the need to get away. I do deserve a summer holiday, don’t I?’
Beatrice knew her sister would also be thinking of the Greek island summer holiday that she and Rich had booked earlier that year, before so much had gone wrong between them. They’d have been there today, in fact, and she’d probably have been throwing on a nice dress right about now and getting ready for dinner after a long day at the beach. But Rich had said he couldn’t face it, ‘not with things the way they are’, and Beatrice had made the decision to cancel the whole thing.
‘But Scotland? Alone? And on a whim? Bea, why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve planned it properly, come with you, maybe?’ said Angela.
Beatrice shrugged, cradling the receiver to her ear and twiddling the curled cable. Angela knew the heart of her sister better than anyone. Hiding her sadness from Angela had been next to impossible, but Beatrice had done her best over the past few months. Angela couldn’t have anticipated this desperate dash to the Highlands. Nobody could.
‘Is this because of Mum?’ Angela prodded.
‘What?’
‘Well… you ring me up out of the blue saying you’ve suddenly signed yourself up for Gaelic lessons in the Highlands, and I’m just wondering why? You know, you could have picked cookery lessons in Florence, or, I don’t know, pottery painting in Delft?’
