Driving over Skye Bridge was like driving over the edge of the world. The road rose up in front of Rocco, soaring into the sky like a rollercoaster, the ground dropping away as the bridge arced over the open water of Loch Ash below.
A song he’d heard recently came into his head, and when he uttered a command, the haunting music of the ‘Skye Boat Song’ filled the car.
He glanced to his left. The sea was grey under the shade of a scudding cloud, a shaft of sunlight illuminating one of the many low islands. And then the bridge crested, the road now falling away, and his jaw dropped. All he could see was water, sky and the distant mountains.
Even as he was leaving, the beauty of this part of the world conspired to make him want to stay.
‘All that was me is gone…’
As the lyrics washed over him, his heart felt heavy. He didn’t want to leave. There was so much he wanted to see: Flora MacDonald’s grave, the Quiraing, Brothers Point…Giselle.
The bridge had now become dry land; Skye was behind him, the road to real life ahead. Through the open car window, a familiar vanilla and coconut fragrance from a bank of yellow gorse wafted across his face, and he inhaled deeply. Then, an image of the fox’s wild amber eyes flashed into his mind, followed by Giselle’s fathomless blue ones, and he didn’t pause to consider what he was doing.
Braking hard, he pulled into a layby, checked his mirrors then hauled on the wheel, executing a swift and probably illegal U-turn.
He was going back.
Rocco’s spirits lifted instantly, and not even the thought of his mother’s displeasure could dampen them.
‘Call Nora,’ he instructed, and his phone immediately obliged.
‘Calling Nora,’ the disembodied voice informed him.
‘Rocco!’ Nora sounded pleased to hear from him. ‘Giles Wiltshire called; he—’
‘I’m not going to make my flight this afternoon,’ he broke in, cutting her off. Giles Wiltshire was always calling. The man could wait.
There was the briefest of hesitations and he guessed she was mentally working out what she needed to do to rearrange his travel schedule before she said, ‘Leave it with me. I’ll check out the next available flight and book you on it.’
‘I’m not coming back today.’
‘Oh? Tomorrow, then.’
‘I won’t be back tomorrow, either. Don’t book anything for now; wait until you get confirmation from me.’
Another hesitation. ‘How long do you expect to be away?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘No, no problem. Got a few things to sort out, that’s all.’
‘OK. I’m sure I can rearrange your Monday meetings.’
‘Better rearrange all next week,’ he said. Nora’s silence was telling. ‘I’llspeak to Beverly,’ he told her, and he didn’t imagine her sigh of relief.
‘I’ll get onto it,’ said his PA, with her customary efficiency.
‘Thanks, Nora.’
He ended the call and was about to make another, this time to Beverly – who wouldn’t be thrilled that he wasn’t flying back to London today – when he thought,Sod it. He’d speak to his mother in a ‘wee while’, as they said in these parts. Right now, he needed to let Cal know what was happening. And he needed to find out where he could purchase some more clothes!
Portree, the largest town on Skye, had its fair share of tourist typeshops, but it also had the gems Cal had mentioned: a couple of outlets,one selling clothing suitable for the great outdoors and the otherselling clothes for a more casual lifestyle than the offices andboardrooms that usually made up Rocco’s day.
It had taken him around fifty minutes to get there, and several more to park and find the first shop, and he was currently standing in front of a rack of hiking trousers, wondering which pair to go for. Would one pair be enough? He supposed it depended on how long he’d be in Duncoorie, a question Cal had also asked, and one Rocco couldn’t answer. He simply didn’t know. Three days? A week? Longer?
Boots! He needed boots. And more socks and boxers, and he was running out of shower gel. Cal had assured him that Mhairi’s suite would be ready for him by the time he arrived. Rocco had a vision of waking up tomorrow to that glorious view, and he was filled with an inexplicable contentment.
