‘A fox,’ she echoed flatly. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘A poor one,’ he sighed. ‘The scenery is stunning, and I haven’t had a holiday in…’ He struggled to remember.
‘Nora tells me you’ve asked her to arrange online meetings; I’m assuming you’ll still be doing some work, so it’s hardly a holiday.’
‘It never is.’ He recalled a two-week vacation to the Maldives, where he had to pack a suit in his luggage because he’d still had to work. On his top half, the visible-on-a-computer-screen half, he’d been wearing a shirt, a tie and a jacket, while the bottom half had been sporting swimming shorts and flip-flops because it had been so hot, and all the while he’d been trying not to stare longingly at the swim-up bar just outside his chalet.
At least if he was halfway up a craggy mountain, there would be little chance of a conference call. Mind you, knowing his mother…
Mhairi’s rooms no longer felt like Mhairi’s. Her presence, which hadbeen so prevalent the first time he’d entered them, was no longer there.Rocco concluded it was partly due to all her personal things having beeneither removed or boxed away – the boxes were still stacked neatly inthe little sitting room, ready to be transported to London – and partlybecause he’d spent a considerable amount of time there already. And oncehe’d hung his new clothes in the wardrobe and placed his toiletries inthe bathroom, it felt more like his – albeit his in the way that a hotelroom felt like his after he’d checked in: impermanent, but his for theduration of his stay.
However long that might be.
But rather than the sense of duty that had hung over him since his arrival on Sunday, he now felt as though he was on holiday. This time, he wasn’t here to sort out the castle: he was here to explore the island. He would have to do some work, but wherever he vacationed, he invariably ended up working – that was a given. But with little to do in the evenings, he would fire up his laptop then. As far as possible, the days would be for fun.
He had no intention of working this evening, though. He was going to go to the pub and eat there. He hadn’t been to a proper British pub since he was a student. Trendy bars, clubs and restaurants had been his thing, not traditional pubs, and he was intrigued. And he was going to walk to it, so he could have a pint or two. Real ale, preferably. If they had it. Or cider. He hadn’t had cider in years. And sod cordon bleu cooking – he wanted pie and mash, or steak and chips. Not haggis, though, assuming the pub served that kind of thing, as he didn’t like the sound of it.
Rocco had a quick shower, changed into one of the new T-shirts and with his recently purchased hiking boots on his feet to break them in, he set off.
The early evening was pleasant, and he enjoyed his stroll, the path already familiar from his run this morning (had it only been this morning?), and soon he was in the beer garden with its picnic benches and view of the loch.
Deeming it too nice an evening to sit indoors to eat, he grabbed a bench and perused the menu. Gammon and chips, he decided, and ordered a pint of Feral Fox to go with it, only because it reminded him of his foxy encounter earlier.
Unsurprisingly, the pub was busy, and he people-watched as he ate. Most customers appeared to be tourists, he surmised from the snippets of conversation he overheard, as they chatted about where they’d been and where they were planning to go next.
And then he spied a familiar face heading for the pub’s open door. It was Jinny, accompanied by a man he didn’t recognise. Shortly after, the two glass brothers (as he thought of Fergus and Shane) arrived and went inside, then the woman who made silver jewellery, followed by Cal and his fiancée, Tara.
None of them noticed him as he sat there nursing his pint, but Giselle did.
As soon as she came into view, her gaze locked onto his and his heart faltered, missing a beat before catching up with itself in a double thud that reverberated through his chest.
Her eyes were guarded as she walked towards him.
‘Care to join me?’ he asked.
‘No. Would you care to joinme?Us, I mean. A group of us meet for a drink most Friday evenings.’
‘Did Mhairi ever—?’
‘God, no!’
Her shock at his question made him laugh, but he quickly sobered. ‘Perhaps I’d better not. If she didn’t…’
‘You’re not Mhairi.’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s not meant kindly,’ he teased.
‘You can take it whichever way you like.’ She glanced at the open door, then her gaze settled on him again. ‘Why have you come back, Rocco? Have you forgotten something?’
‘Unfinished business.’
‘Have you got a buyer for the castle already?’
He was dismayed by the worry on her face. ‘No, it isn’t on the market yet.’ It would be soon, but he’d wait until he returned home to start the ball rolling. Besides, he needed to speak to his solicitor and accountant before that could happen, because there was the little matter of probate to sort out. However, he didn’t want to think about such weighty matters right now.
‘It’ll be a while yet,’ he added, hoping to reassure her. ‘If I can’t persuade you to join me, can I at least buy you a drink?’
‘Not unless you’re prepared to buy the rest of your workforce a drink as well.’
