‘It didn’t look particularly big from what I’ve seen of it. But it does have a lovely chip shop.’
She smiled and wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, it does.’
‘If you want anything more than the occasional loaf of bread or pint of milk, where do you go?’
‘Portree. It isn’t a big town by any stretch of the imagination, but it does have a nice selection of shops. I go there a handful of times a year if I need something in particular, and for everything else I use the corner shop. I don’t need much because I eat in the craft centre cafe most days – although I have been known to dine in the parlour with Mhairi.’ Sadness swept over her. ‘We used to have tea and cake, sometimes a sandwich.’
‘What was she like? I mean, I’ve been through some of her private papers and photos – she must have kept every letter and receipt – and I’ve boxed them up to be shipped home so I can go through them when I’ve got more time, but they don’t give me a sense ofwhoshe was.’
Where should she start? ‘Mhairi was regal, determined, generous, astute, well liked and well respected. She could come across as aloof, but not once you got to know her.’ Giselle’s smile was tremulous. ‘You can tell how much people thought of her by the number who went to her funeral.’
‘I noticed that there were quite a few there. One big family.’
Hedidhave a good memory, she thought, recalling that she’d told him that very thing on the day of the funeral. ‘That’s right, we are. We look out for each other, help and support one another. We make a good team,’ she added. ‘We all pull together to make the craft centre work.’
‘I believe Mhairi was forced to open the craft centre because the money had run out?’
‘You’d have to ask her that,’ Giselle replied sharply, not wanting to gossip. Then she realised he couldn’t, and her spirits sank.
‘It’s OK; I already know the background. I was just making conversation.’
Of course he did. By now, he probably knew everything there was to know about the castle’s financial situation.
‘Tell me about the other crafters,’ he asked. ‘I haven’t had a chance to meet them properly.’
Or he hadn’t cared enough to. Swallowing her misgivings, she said, ‘I expect you’ve met Tara, Cal’s fiancée? She makes doll’s houses and all the wee furniture and things to go in them. Then there’s Fergus, who’s the glassblower, and his brother Shane, who makes stained glass. Isla does needle felting; then there’s…’ As she reeled off the names of the people she’d worked alongside for years, she wondered what they would do if the craft centre were to close. How would they manage? She couldn’t imagine it not being there, all the studios lying empty, the gift shop and the cafe silent.
The questions kept coming. ‘How long have you lived in Duncoorie?’
‘Three years.’
‘Have you had a studio all that time?’
‘Yes. It was the reason I bought the bothy.’
‘When did you move to Skye?’
‘Not long after Venice.’ She blushed at the memory the word invoked and hoped he didn’t notice. ‘I lived in Portree at first, renting a room and working three jobs to make ends meet.’
‘You must have really wanted to live here.’
‘Some of us didn’t have the benefit of working for the family firm.’
‘I’m not sure whether it was a benefit,’ he replied softly. ‘It was assumed, and then when my dad died, it was a necessity and an obligation. My mother might own the company, but I’ll be the one to carry it on when she retires.’
‘That’s quite a responsibility,’ Giselle said, softening. ‘Do you enjoy asset management?’
‘Sometimes. It has its highs and lows, like any job.’
‘Mine are mostly highs.’
‘Is that because you work for yourself?’
‘It’s because I’m doing something I love. All the crafters are. It isn’t easy, especially during the quieter winter months, but I can’t imagine doing anything else. Are you really going to sell?’ This last was blurted out, without thinking, but she had to know.
‘I am.’ His voice was gentle, understanding. But it didn’t change the fact that soon the craft centre might be no more.
‘But you could—’ She stopped abruptly. What could he do? Stay here and run it, like Mhairi? Giselle knew that wasn’t going to happen.
