At the gym, Rocco slung his kit bag in a locker, making sure his mobile was in his pocket. Stuffing earbuds in, he found an upbeat playlist and made his way to the bank of running machines. The place was quiet: no yummy mummies, no corporate types (apart from himself), and only a handful of fit retirees, some of whom had retired well before the official age, by the look of them.
That was what he hopefully planned on doing: work hard for thirty years, then pass the business on to the next generation and kick back and relax.
That’s what his father had hoped to do, but he hadn’t got the chance.
However, with no offspring on the horizon, it would be a while before Rocco could hand over the business to a son or daughter of his own. The way things were going, he’d have to spearhead it until they nailed down his coffin.
Rocco chose a machine, set it to a steady pace to warm up and began to run. And as he ran, he thought.
Mhairi hadn’t stepped down, had she? She’d kept going to the very end. From what Cal and Giselle had told him, she hadn’t wanted to hand the reins over to anyone. But then again, who would she have handed them to? She’d had no one, which was whyhe’dinherited it.
Ramping up both the speed and the incline until he was breathing hard, he wondered whether she’d realised he would sell her beloved castle, or had she been hoping he’d keep it as a going concern?
He’d never know.
Or would he?
Two weeks ago, fourteen boxes had been delivered by courier and were now sitting in the small fourth bedroom of his four-storey town house, ready to be shoved into the attic when he could be bothered to get around to it. It didn’t matter if they stayed in the bedroom for a while, since there was no one to object. The house was far too big for one person, but he’d bought it as an investment, and also because he’d hoped to have a family one day. But even though it was a fraction of the size of the castle, he’d felt more at home in Duncoorie than he’d ever done here. Which might be why he spent so long at the office.
Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to go home and begin sorting through those boxes. It was the closest he was going to get to Skye, Coorie Castle and, in an oblique way, to Giselle.
Over the years, Giselle had become rather good at calligraphy. She didn’t always write on the pictures she created, but sometimes words were needed, and this picture needed the word ‘cheers’.
She was making a row of hand-drawn glasses in various shapes and sizes, and in the receptacle part of each glass lay a piece of sea glass depicting a cocktail. She’d even drawn a little swizzle stick coming out of every glass and was intending to put a tiny fragment at the end of each of them for decoration. For the contents, she was using a selection of blue, green and amber sea glass. And the inscription above said ‘Cheers’ in flowing, elegant cursive.
She was in the middle of choosing the final piece of sea glass and debating whether to push the boat out and use one of the rarer colours, when the studio door opened. Expecting it to be one of the many visitors onsite this afternoon, she didn’t look up. People often popped in briefly to watch an artist at work, and popped out again after a minute, therefore she’d finish picking the right piece, then she’d smile and say hello.
When a voice said, ‘I was expectingsome kindof welcome, since I’ve come all this way,’ Giselle jumped, and dropped the sea glass she was holding.
It fell to the floor, but she ignored it.
‘Izzy?Oh my God! What are you doing here?’ she squealed, leaping from her stool and knocking it over in her excitement. She launched herself towards her twin in disbelief.
The pair hugged, Giselle squeezing her sister so hard Izzy had to beg her to stop. When Giselle finally released her and stepped back, her cheeks were damp. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’ she cried.
‘And I’ve missed you.’ Izzy studied her critically. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Giselle assured her.
Izzy gave her The Look. The one that saidyou can’t fool me. ‘You’re not, I can tell. You look awful, Zelle.’
‘Gee, thanks. You sure know how to make a girl feel better,’ Giselle replied dryly. But Izzy was right; whenever she looked in the mirror she flinched at the drawn, pinched face staring back at her. It didn’t help that Izzy looked the picture of health and vitality.
‘You should have told me you were coming. I might have been away, on holiday or something.’
‘I didn’t know I was going to be here until yesterday. Anyway, I wanted to surprise you. The look on your face was priceless. Plus, you and I both know younevergo anywhere.’
‘I do, too!’
‘When was the last time you left Skye?’
‘Christmas, to Mum and Dad’s, I think…?’
‘I rest my case. I’ll be calling in to see them on the way back if you want to come with me,’ Izzy said. ‘But I wanted to see you first. I was worried about you.’
Giselle had told her about Rocco, but she’d done her best not to let her pain show when she’d spoken to her sister, trying to sound upbeat and unconcerned; clearly, she hadn’t succeeded.
‘Let me close up the studio,’ Giselle said, after giving her another hug, and very shortly they were on the way to the bothy, with a quick stop off at the shop for some supplies because Giselle didn’t have much in. With her appetite having deserted her, she’d been relying on the occasional meal in the cafe to keep her going, so the cupboards were looking rather bare.
