She grinned even though inside she felt a little sick, and held up her hands. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going.’
Once upstairs in her room, having showered and washed her hair quickly, she stared at herself in the mirror. If she were being practical, she’d tie her hair up but vanity dictated otherwise. Normally she left her hair to dry naturally, or scrunched it up in a ponytail, but if she was vain about anything, it was her auburn curls, so she spent some time blow-drying her hair into soft, feminine waves.
She wasn’t one for make-up but tonight she wanted to make a good impression. With a big, fat blusher brush, she dusted pale bronze powder over her cheeks, adding a touch of highlighter to define the bones. She picked neutral shades of eye shadow that emphasised the hue of her green eyes and a smoky green eyeliner that made them pop a little. When she came to apply her mascara with a slightly shaky hand, she smiled at herself, pleased with the transformation. For once she looked pretty and feminine. Xanthe would approve. She had a feeling that John Stewart might too. She definitely hadn’t mistaken those flirty vibes from him and they’d given her a much-needed boost after Philip taking her for granted for so long.
Although she opted to wear a flouncy, tiered dress – it could get very warm at a ceilidh – she still wore her faithful Converse because she knew from experience that they also got very energetic and some people could be very enthusiastic about flinging their partners around. With a final glance in the mirror, she gave herself a nod of approval. The deep green of her dress was perfect with her colouring.
A half hour before John was due, she went downstairs into the living room rather than the kitchen. Given her slightly jittery state, she’d likely find something to do and end up splashing her dress and ruining her make-up.
Someone had lit the lamps in there – probably Xanthe – and the room glowed with the patina of the love and care that had been recently bestowed on it. Her mother really had done a wonderful job.
Izzy had walked into the room planning to pick up a book, but she realised there was already someone else in one of the armchairs by the fire, which was burning low in the grate.
‘Ross, I didn’t see you, there.’
‘No,’ he said, rising slowly to his feet. His voice was soft and he looked a little confused … or even lost. She couldn’t quite fathom the expression in his eyes but there was a gentleness she’d not seen before in them.
‘You look…’ She saw him swallow as his pause lingered in the air. As she waited for him to finish the sentence there was an odd bursting sensation in her chest.
He was still staring back at her and then with a start, as if coming to, he said, ‘You look very nice, McBride.’
Her mouth twitched. It sounded as if the compliment had been forced from him. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded and shifted awkwardly on his feet. ‘What time are you off?’
‘Seven.’
‘Well I hope you have a nice time.’ He made to make a move and suddenly Izzy didn’t want him to go, not when he looked at her like that.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. I was just about to.’
‘I made a smoked haddock fish pie. There’s plenty left if you want it.’
Now his mouth twisted in wry amusement. They both knew she was talking for the sake of it – there was always plenty for him.
‘Duncan said it was very good. Just like his mother used to make. I believe that’s high praise indeed.’
Izzy laughed. ‘Apparently so, but’s that’s usually what he says when he wants seconds. Why don’t I heat a plate up for you?’
‘Not in that pretty dress but you can supervise, if it makes you feel a better hostess.’ He winked at her and she followed him into the kitchen, where they found Xanthe and Duncan lightly bickering about tartans.
Her phone pinged as she pulled the pie from the fridge and she took it from her pocket, giving the message a cursory glance and then winced as the words sank in.
Huge apologies Izzy. Something has come up, I can’t make it this evening. But why don’t I take you out to dinner tomorrow to make up for it? John.
Damn. She looked at Duncan’s ruddy face. He was already wearing his kilt in anticipation of the night out and Xanthe had been primping for the whole afternoon.
‘Change of plan, folks. John has had to cancel.’ Both their faces registered disappointment and she put on a brave smile. Somehow she didn’t think suggesting an evening of Scrabble or a card game was going to cut it but going to a ceilidh with her mother and their geriatric estate manager – lovely as he was – wasn’t terribly appealing. Now it had been snatched from her, she realised how much she’d been looking forward to this evening.
Duncan’s mouth folded in an uncharacteristic straight line as he sat poker-straight in his seat. Guilt nipped at Izzy. He’d been so looking forward to the evening. She caught Ross’s eye and couldn’t quite tell if it was disapproval or sympathy in his expression. Either way, it made her feel worse about letting Duncan down.
‘Tell you what,’ she said overbrightly. ‘I’ll drive us there. We’ll go in ten minutes. I just need the loo.’
She dashed off before she gave herself away and ran up the stairs cursing herself. Fool. John’s flirtation and attention at the farm shop had been a welcome sop and she’d actually been looking forward to their date. Since Philip she’d avoided going on dates and this was the first time she’d let down the barrier, but look what had happened. He’d cancelled on her at the very last minute, which had also been Philip’s favourite MO. The number of times she’d been all dressed up with nowhere to go… She sighed. She couldn’t let Duncan down. Nor her mother who had been dancing around the house all day; quite a few ornaments had come to grief as she’d flung her arms about.
When she returned to the kitchen ten minutes later, her teeth gritted and her hands clenching and unclenching, it was empty and for a minute she wondered hopefully if both Xanthe and Duncan had changed their minds about going. A sound behind her had her turning.
