‘Yes. I’ll leave it to dry, then frame it.’
‘Do you make your own frames?’
‘I buy them ready made. Carpentry isn’t my forte.’
‘Where do you get your ideas?’
‘From nature, mostly.’
‘And your glass comes from the shore around the loch?’
‘Some of it. There’s usually something to be found at every low tide.’
‘What happens if it runs out? Can you use ordinary glass?’
‘Definitely not. There are machines that will grind ordinary glass, but it’s easy to tell real sea glass from fake. Genuine sea glass has pores and a texture to it that machine-ground glass can’t mimic. Under a macro lens it’s easy to see the difference – proper sea glass has C-shaped abrasions on its surface and an uneven texture due to being worn down by different sizes of sand and gravel. Also, real sea glass is frosted, like this—’ she held up a piece for him to see ‘—caused by seawater altering the structure of the glass itself. And no, it doesn’t run out, as such. There are plenty of places to find sea glass, although some are better than others.’
‘You promised to show me Skye,’ he reminded her.
Feeling at a disadvantage now that her hands were no longer occupied, Giselle got to her feet. He was close enough to touch, if she felt the urge. Actually, shedid, but she wasn’t going to act on it. ‘Are you asking me to show you where to find sea glass? Aside from Duncoorie?’
‘Is that possible?’
It was possible, yes. But did she want him with her? Searching for sea glass was a solitary occupation, a chance to let her thoughts roam, when she let nature in and kept the rest of the world out. Which was why early morning was her preferred time, especially a wild and stormy winter morning, when most of the island’s human visitors had flown south like the swallows, or were huddled indoors.
‘I go in the mornings,’ she said. ‘Early.’
‘How early?’
‘Five a.m.’ She knew it sounded like a thrown gauntlet.
‘Sounds good to me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How do you get there, if you don’t mind me asking, since you don’t have a car? Do the buses run that early?’
‘Buses don’t run to where we’re going.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘You’ll see. Meet me on the road outside the castle and wear comfortable shoes, ones you can walk in over rough ground.’ Her gaze dropped to his feet. She’d bet her right arm that he had nothing less formal than the leather loafers he was currently wearing.
‘Like trainers? It’s lucky I brought a pair with me. A nice long walk in the fresh air will do me good. See you bright and early in the morning. Oh, and Giselle?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got paint on your nose.’
Crossly, she blew out her cheeks as she watched him saunter across the car park.Trainers, my backside. I bet he’ll be off to Portree to buy a pair the second my back is turned, she thought. And she had a feeling that Mr Moore wouldn’t know what a hiking boot looked like if it kicked him in the bum.
If Giselle thought an early start and a long walk would put him off, she was mistaken. As a matter of fact, Roccodidhave a pair of trainers with him, along with a Lycra vest and a pair of shorts, in the hope that he’d fit in a couple of runs. So far, he hadn’t managed a single one, and he was beginning to feel the lack of exercise.
Normally, he visited the gym five or six times a week, and early starts were something he was used to, as well as late finishes – Beverly expected it. A good workout on the treadmill followed by twenty minutes of weights set him up for the day. He’d hardly run a step since he’d arrived in Duncoorie, and the heaviest thing he’d lifted was a fork to his lips, so fresh air and exercise would do him good.
Rocco was waiting outside the castle as instructed, on the dot at five o’clock the following morning.
It was already light but somewhat chilly, the sun not having yet poked its head above the mountains. The air had that peculiar still quality he associated with the dawn, despite the chirping and tweeting of numerous small birds in the surrounding trees and bushes.
A slim figure came into view, striding along the road, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. He found it annoying the way it kept doing that, but he couldn’t seem to help his reaction every time he saw her. It didn’t help that today Giselle was wearing shorts, and when his eyes were drawn to her slender legs, he had a flashback of those same legs entwined around his waist. Oh, God…
‘Morning,’ he said. His voice was hoarse.
