‘A member of staff?’
‘She doesn’t work for me, if that’s what you’re implying.’
‘I’m not implying anything. I’m merely curious. I had a feeling something other than sightseeing was keeping you here. You’re not the outdoor type.’
‘Actually, I am.’
Another raised eyebrow. His mother’s eyebrows could hold a conversation all by themselves. ‘You’ve never shown any interest in the past.’
‘Not recently, but the last eight years have been rather hectic.’ By ‘hectic’, he meant that both he and Beverly had worked flat out to keep the business afloat after his father died. And they’d achieved it – the company wasn’t just floating, it was positively buoyant.
His mother studied him over the rim of her cup. He met her gaze head on.
Eventually, she said, ‘Is that why you’ve been so tardy about wrapping this up? Because you’ve discovered a sudden passion for hiking?’ She drew out the word ‘passion’, the double entendre obvious.
Rocco refused to be drawn. His love life was none of her business.
He changed tack. ‘Do you begrudge me a holiday?’
‘Not at all. But this—’ her gaze swept around the dining room ‘—is hardly a holiday.’
‘Think of it as a holidayhome,’ he quipped, rather unwisely, admittedly, but she was starting to annoy him.
It looked like they were about to butt heads. Beverly was a control freak, and she liked things done her way, and Rocco was looking forward to the time when he was running the company and could do thingshisway. Unfortunately, his mother was only in her late fifties and was showing no sign of wanting to take a step back. In some ways, shewasthe business and the business was her, so what she’d find to do with herself when she did eventually retire, he couldn’t imagine. At this rate, she’d still be at the helm at eighty. And he’d still be her second-in-command. The thought made him wince.
‘Holidays, by their very nature, come to an end,’ Beverly pointed out. ‘As do holiday flings.’
He was well aware of that, unfortunately, and a sharp pang of misery lanced his heart. He couldn’t stay, yet neither did he want to leave. An old song by The Clash drifted into his head. If he stayed, the trouble would most definitely be double.
His mother reached across the table and put a hand over his. ‘I understand, truly I do. And I’d love nothing more than for you to remain on Skye and hike to your heart’s content. But I need you in London.The businessneeds you. It can’t function without you playing your part, and your absence is already having repercussions. You being here is creating more work for everyone, me and Claire especially. Claire has been a godsend these past two weeks, but it’s not her business:it’s ours.Yourinheritance, everything your father worked for.’ She removed her hand. ‘Get this wrapped up, Rocco. You’ve had your holiday; it’s time to put it behind you.’
The sick feeling in the pit of Giselle’s stomach earlier this morning had driven her to seek solace in her favourite place on the shore of the loch, and she’d left her sandals at the edge of the beach and had walked barefoot across the damp sand. The mist rising from the water was otherworldly and beautiful, and it had made her heart ache to see it, but not as much as Rocco’s betrayal. That was an ache no amount of morning sunlight could drive away.
Then Rocco had emerged out of the mist to join her on the jetty, and her world had shifted again with the knowledge that hehadn’tspent the night with Claire, that the woman wasn’t his girlfriend.
The panicky sickness and the pain in her chest had evaporated like the mist itself when he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her. But when he’d told her he was leaving tomorrow, she thought her heart might break, and now she was sitting in her studio, misery wrapping her like an old blanket.
Needing to keep busy, but not in the right frame of mind to make any more pictures, Giselle was relieved when a delivery driver poked his head around the door and left a rather large box on the counter. Her latest purchase of frames had arrived.
It didn’t take long to frame up a few of the finished pictures, and she was soon ready to carry them over to the gift shop. Giselle always loved visiting the shop, although she tried not to pop in too often because of the temptation to buy something gorgeous. It was a treasure trove of everything the crafters made, and a few more things besides. The most noticeable were Tara’s doll’s houses. Three of them made an eye-catching display in the centre of the shop, and Giselle always had an urge to sit on the floor and play with them.
Jinny was her usual effervescent self, exclaiming in pleasure when she saw her. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘Another Highland coo, with three more in the studio when this one is sold; a rock pool scene; a—’
‘Ooh, let me see!’ Jinny demanded, holding her hands out as Giselle placed the pictures on the counter, one at a time. ‘It’s lovely. Look at the starfish!’ She held up the picture, turning it to the light. ‘Are you going to make another large picture? I know it took a while to sell the last one, but it was such a great central piece. It always received loads of lovely comments.’
‘I might.’ The large loch scene had been one of her favourite pictures. No two sea glass pictures were ever the same, although some might be very similar, like the seagulls or the shaggy cows, for instance. And she only ever had one of each design on sale in the shop at any one time because she didn’t want her work to look as though it was mass produced.
‘I’ve put the island one in its place,’ Jinny pointed out.
‘So you have. It looks lovely.’ Jinny had rearranged the wall to show it off to the best advantage. Bless her, Jinny was always having to move things around because business was brisk. Few people could resist taking home a little handmade souvenir of their time on Skye.
As Jinny priced up Giselle’s newest stock, she said, ‘I hear Rocco’s got a couple of visitors.’
‘Um, yeah. His mother, who’s also his boss, and one of his colleagues.’
‘I’m not sure I could work withmymother.’ Jinny shuddered. ‘And it would be even worse if she was my boss. Can you imagine? I wouldn’t get a minute’s peace. No wonder he hasn’t been in any hurry to go home.’
