‘I’d forgotten how quiet it is here. I slept like the dead, and your bed is so comfy.’ She stretched, then curled up in the chair next to Giselle, tucking her feet underneath her.
Giselle envied her twin. She wished she’d slept as well. ‘Why haven’t you got a hangover?’ she grumbled, noting how fresh and rested her sister looked.
‘We only had a couple of glasses,’ Izzy replied. ‘Then again, I probably drink more than you, so I’ve got a higher tolerance. Wine with dinner seems to be a given in Italy. I draw the line at wine with lunch, though, otherwise I wouldn’t get any work done. Speaking of work, are you going to the studio today?’
‘No chance! I’m not slaving away over a hot glue gun while you’re swanning about enjoying yourself.’
‘In that case, could we go to a mill? I have an urge to buy some Skye tweed. And then I want to visit the loch, and pop into the craft centre to see what you’ve been working on. And we could—’ She stopped, and Giselle laughed, the first laugh she’d uttered since Rocco left. ‘What’s so funny?’ Izzy demanded.
‘You. You’re like a whirlwind.’
‘I’m only going to be here for a couple of days,’ Izzy protested. ‘I don’t want to waste a minute.’
That was how Rocco had felt, Giselle remembered. He hadn’t wanted to waste any time, either. It struck her that Izzy and Rocco were so much alike in their spontaneity and their zest for life. Unlike her own boring, predictable, introverted self. No wonder she’d fallen in love with him, and no wonder he hadn’t felt the same way about her.
An Aston Martin DB9 isn’t the roomiest of cars if you have a lot of luggage, Rocco mused, as he pulled into Tebay services on the M6. He’d been on the road for around six hours and had reached the halfway point in the journey, so it was time for a break. It would have been far quicker to fly to Inverness, as he’d done previously, but this wouldn’t be a flying visit. This time he intended to stay for good. Which was why the car was jam packed with everything he thought he might need. Including a couple of suits, because one never knew when a suit might come in handy – when he had to beg a local council for something, perhaps?
His stomach rumbled as he entered the restaurant area and smelt coffee and bacon. He was starving, having not eaten much yesterday evening as he’d been too busy sifting through the boxes from the castle. He’d have to arrange for those to be sent back at some point, along with the rest of the things that he hadn’t been able to fit in the car. And at some juncture, he’d have to decide what, if any, of his possessions he wanted to bring to Skye with him. There was a lot to consider and a lot to sort out. And there was also his mother; she wouldn’t be pleased, but this was his life, not hers, and he had to live it his way.
While he waited in the queue for food, he checked his phone. No messages and no emails of note. He’d shot off an email to Nora before he’d left London, informing her that something had come up and he wouldn’t be in the office today, so that if anyone asked, she wouldn’t be put in an awkward position. He’d speak to her later today, or first thing tomorrow, and explain,afterhe’d spoken to his mother. He wasn’t looking forward tothatconversation. Not wanting to risk having to speak to his mother before he was ready, he put his phone in airplane mode and concentrated on choosing the items he wanted for his breakfast: bacon obviously, eggs, grilled tomato, a sausage. This meal would have to sustain him until dinner because he had another seven hours to go, longer if he hit roadworks or traffic. He wouldn’t arrive in Duncoorie until three thirty at the earliest and he wasn’t going to be thinking of food at that point. His mind would be on Giselle, as it had been ever since he’d set eyes on her at the kirk.
He hoped she’d be pleased to see him. If he was honest, he hoped she’d be more than just pleased, but what if she wasn’t? She might want nothing more than the brief fling they’d had. It was a fear he’d been grappling with ever since he’d made the impulsive decision to return to Skye last night.
However, the fear hadn’t held him back. Mhairi’s words had continued to play on his mind:I don’t regret loving you. How could I ever regret that? But I do regret not being by your side every minute of every day when I had the chance.
He had to try to make Giselle fall in love with him, because he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t. His future happiness depended on it.
The mill was a small one, run and owned by the same family for several generations, and a forty-minute drive from Duncoorie. Against a backdrop of green hills, it nestled between a rocky outcrop and grazing land dotted with sheep. Built of weathered grey stone, with a roof studded with moss, and ivy completely covering one side, it had a permanence about it, as though it had grown out of the landscape.
A wooden sign saying ‘Viewing Platform’ hung above a door, and Giselle followed Izzy inside.
She was immediately struck by the noise. Gosh, it was loud, with several enormous machines clattering away, the shuttles snapping back and forth with dizzying speed. A barrier separated the working area from the long viewing gallery, and at several points along it, information boards described the looms and the weaving process.
A pile of raw wool was in a box near the entrance, and Giselle gently stroked the fibres as she read about how the fleeces were graded, carded, then spun into yarn.
She was fascinated as she watched a length of cloth slowly grow before her very eyes, but although she enjoyed finding out about woollen cloth production, she was far more interested in the finished products in the onsite shop. Cushions, blankets and even curtains were on display, as well as scarves, shawls, bags and hats. The colours were fabulous, reflecting those of the natural world outside, and there were also the most wonderful tartans.
At one point, Giselle leant close to her twin and whispered, ‘This is lovely! I can imagine most of these being sold in Coorie Castle’s gift shop. I’ll mention it to Mhairi…’ Then she trailed off. She’d been about to say, ‘the next time I have tea with her’, but there wouldn’t be a next time. And neither would there be any point in mentioning it to Cal, since the future of the castle and its craft centre was so uncertain.
Giselle’s mood plummeted, and once again she had a sick feeling in her tummy.
Izzy was busy choosing a throw, and didn’t notice, so Giselle had time to gather herself. She didn’t want to spoil her sister’s day with her glum mood. There would be time enough to be miserable after Izzy left.
Purchase made, Izzy linked arms with Giselle as they wandered back to the car. ‘Where shall we go for lunch? My treat.’
‘No, Izzy—’
‘Don’t argue.’ Izzy pouted, so Giselle didn’t, despite not feeling particularly hungry.
She could do with a sit down and a cup of tea, though. The hangover she thought she’d vanquished was back in the form of a sudden depletion in energy. Hoping food might help perk her up, she suggested the pub she’d been to with Rocco. It was halfway between the mill and home, and she knew the food was good and plentiful. And it was better than attempting to cook at the bothy. She wasn’t the most domesticated person in the kitchen, and it wasn’t fair on Izzy to have to cook for them. She was here to keep Giselle company, not to slave over a hot stove, even if she was good at cooking and professed to really enjoy it.
After lunch, during which Giselle suddenly found she was absolutely ravenous and hoovered up every last crumb of her Jamaican jerk chicken with salad and chips, Izzy drove them back to Duncoorie.
‘It’s a lovely afternoon,’ Izzy observed, as they approached the outskirts of the village. ‘How about we walk off that rather fabulous lunch and go for a stroll by the loch?’
‘I’m game, if you are. You can help me look for sea glass.’
‘Only if you let me make a picture.’
