Rocco knew a challenge when he saw one. ‘OK, I’ll go to the bar and—’
‘You should have a drink with us. It’ll do a lot for employee relations, even though us crafters aren’t actually employed by you. You’re more like our landlord.’
‘I don’t want to intrude,’ Rocco protested, unsure whether he’d be welcome. Beverly didn’t go in for attending staff events, claiming that you can’t socialise with the people you might have to discipline at some point. Or even sack. He could appreciate her reasoning, but this wasn’t the same, was it?
‘They’ll be fine,’ Giselle said, and he guessed she was correctly interpreting his reluctance. ‘In fact, they’ll appreciate it.’ From her mischievous twinkle, he assumed his presence would give them something to talk about for a while.
He didn’t begrudge them that. Anyway, he was curious about this ‘one big family’ thing that Giselle had mentioned at least twice. The staff at Moore Asset Management definitely couldn’t be described as a family.
Cal’s eyes widened when he saw Rocco enter the pub, Giselle by his side, and Rocco noticed several nudges and more than a few comments behind hands held up to mouths.
‘Look who I found,’ Giselle announced, and Rocco dredged up an awkward smile.
He was rapidly having second thoughts. He should’ve simply spoken to the bar staff and paid for a round, rather than endure this. For a man who was the owner of the establishment where they all worked, he felt like the outsider he so clearly was.
There was some shuffling and rearranging of chairs, but eventually two empty seats appeared.
Jinny, the woman who managed the gift shop, pointed to one of them. ‘That’s yours,’ she said, ‘but before you sit down, mine’s a Pimm’s. This lout—’ she placed a hand on the knee of the man sitting next to her ‘—is Carter, my worse half, and he’ll have a pale ale. What?’ she demanded, scanning the rest of the people sitting around the tables that had been pushed together.
Their faces bore expressions ranging from incredulity to concern.
Giselle told them, ‘Rocco has already said he’ll get a round in, so don’t be shy.’
‘And no taking advantage,’ Jinny warned. ‘I’m looking at you, Fergus.’
‘Would I?’
‘Yes.’ She addressed Rocco. ‘If he asks for a double whisky, tell him to go boil his head. He’s on lager.’
Rocco wasn’t going to remember everyone’s preferences, so he was relieved when Cal got to his feet, saying, ‘I’ll give you a hand. This lot mostly have the same drinks, week in and week out.’
As they stood at the bar waiting to be served, Cal said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you in the pub.’
‘I thought I’d get out and about a bit, since I’m here.’
The man turned to face him. ‘Whyareyou here?’ His gaze bored into Rocco.
‘I’m not totally sure,’ he admitted. ‘I was driving over Skye Bridge, listening to the “Skye Boat Song”, and I realised I didn’t want to go home just yet.’
‘Aye, that’ll do it. My heart always sinks when I go over that bridge. Skye gets under your skin and you don’t want to leave her. Mind you, I can’t say I’ve had my head turned by a song.’
‘It depends who’s singing it,’ was Rocco’s unthinking reply as his eyes flashed to Giselle before he hastily glanced away, earning himself a curious look from Cal. ‘No karaoke on this evening?’ Rocco asked, to distract him.
‘Not in the summer. Karaoke is reserved for the quieter winter months.’ Cal picked up a tray of drinks, leaving Rocco to grab the other.
Praying he didn’t slop them everywhere – or worse, drop the damn tray – Rocco carefully trailed behind him. As the drinks were distributed, accompanied by a chorus of cheers and thank yous, he was aware of the tension his presence was causing.
He could understand that; he was an unknown quantity, a stranger in their midst, and crucially, by putting the castle on the market, he could be affecting their livelihoods. No wonder they weren’t comfortable with him around. Apart from Jinny, who didn’t seem to give a rat’s arse.
Rocco made a decision. ‘Cheers, everyone,’ he said, taking his own drink – a small dram of whisky, because when in Rome… or should he sayScotland? – and downing it in one. He’d remained standing, and he placed the empty glass firmly on the table and said, ‘I’ll be off. Enjoy your evening.’
Then he was striding through the door into the evening air, the whisky heating its way to his stomach, embarrassment heating his face. He should never have allowed Giselle to persuade him to join her and her ‘family’.
It was rare he had such poor judgement. Those people weren’t his friends, and the power disparity between him and them meant they never would be.
Giselle’s voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Rocco! Wait up.’
He waited.
