Izzy eyed her and decided to tease the prim woman a little. ‘You really want to know?’ She filled her voice with a hint of suggestive breathiness.
‘Aye.’ She widened his eyes as though an unpleasant thought had struck her. ‘You’re no planning on turning this place into a brothel, are you?’
Izzy let out a shout of laughter. ‘No, nothing that interesting. The paint is for the morning room.’
‘I dunno, Bill had a fair few wild parties back in the day.’ Her prune-like mouth pursed with disapproval. ‘I ken some of the rooms have seen a bit of action. He was one for the ladies, was Bill, although he never married. I’m guessing you know that though.’
‘I don’t know much about him, to be honest. He was my grandfather’s brother, so my great uncle, and he was always very respectable the few times I ever met him.’
‘Hmm, well, there’s a few tales about him. But he was a good enough sort. He always liked a party.’
‘Who’s having a party?’ asked Xanthe, sweeping in wearing a jaunty red beret, a blue and white striped T-shirt and wide-legged white culottes. ‘I love a party. Hello, Mrs McP. Ooh, are you making tea, Izzy? I could murder a cup; I haven’t stopped all morning.’
‘Morning, Mrs McBride,’ replied Mrs McPherson in a frosty tone. ‘How ye going?’
‘Busy, busy. There’s so much to do. Is that my paint? Look, Izzy, the paint’s arrived.’
‘Really?’ teased Izzy, wide-eyed, glancing at the parcel as she poured hot water over the tea-bags in the tea pot she’d decided to use in honour of the post mistress’s rather uptight demeanour.
‘Young Ronald Braid could come back and do some more painting if you need it,’ said Mrs McPherson. ‘I’m guessing you’ll be needing a fair bit of decorating. Would you like me to put in a word for you? See if he’s free?’
‘That’s very kind of you but I’m going to do it myself.’
Izzy caught sight of Xanthe’s mouth wrinkling slightly.
Mrs McPherson gave Izzy a frank, assessing glance. ‘Aye, I can see you’ll be all right. You’ll no blow away in a puff of wind.’
Xanthe squealed with laughter. ‘She takes after her father’s side of the family.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Izzy gravely, figuring that the woman was being practical about her five foot eleven, sturdy build, rather than insulting. ‘But I’ve also taken on a couple of people.’
‘You have. Who?’ Mrs McPherson sounded quite put out.
‘A couple who were wild camping around here.’
‘Those two. They’ve been hanging around for a while. Very suspicious.’ She frowned. ‘Strange time of the year to be camping.’ Her expression suggested she expected Izzy to explain more but Izzy felt it was none of her business. There was a measured silence before the other woman accepted defeat and asked, ‘And what about food? Will you be wanting a chef?’
‘No, I’ll be doing the cooking too.’
‘You’re going to be a busy lass. All work and no play will make you miserable. You ought to come down to the village. There’s a ceilidh on Friday.’
‘A ceilidh!’ Xanthe clapped her hands together. ‘We have to go. I love a Dashing White Sergeant.’ She let out an extremely dirty laugh and began skipping around the kitchen with her arms above her head, kicking her feet. Izzy decided not to mention that she was doing a Highland Fling rather than a ceilidh dance. ‘Do you know, I’d love to learn to play the bagpipes.’
Izzy shuddered but not before Mrs McPherson said, ‘My son has a set of pipes but he won’t be playing them at the ceilidh as he’ll be doing the calling.’
Izzy glared at her – that sounded a terrible idea – but the woman was already saying with a malicious twist to her mouth, ‘You’re welcome to give them a try.’
Dear God, the potential noise didn’t bear thinking about. That would drive their current guest away for sure. Thinking about the professor she realised he’d been very quiet himself. In fact, she’d barely seen him over the last few days.
‘There’ll be a few young people there,’ said Mrs McPherson with an encouraging nod at Izzy. ‘What are ye, about twenty-nine? Have you a young man of your own?’
Her eyes were suddenly beady bright and Izzy had to bite back a smile at the unsubtle probing.
‘No, not at the moment.’
Thankfully Xanthe’s attention was diverted at present as she was busy attacking the box holding the newly arrived paint with Izzy’s brand new vegetable paring knife.
‘That’s a proper shame but don’t you worry yourself, lassie. We’ve plenty of fine young men roundabout here. A bonny lass like you will have them buzzing round like bees among the heather.’
