Saving our trio of sudden silence is Nat, brandishing a box of tinting foil.
‘Here. You left it in the kitchen.’ She passes it into Ivy’s hands, neither of them making to move from the reception area, which suits me. I shouldn’t be left alone with him.In fact, it might also help if he’d stop looking at me like that. I dip my head, letting the curtain of hair shield my face, forcing my gaze to remain fixed on the appointment book as Natasha exclaims,
‘You’re fair drookit!’ Even with my limited vision, I can see her observing him—up then down—without an ounce of restraint. ‘Absolutely drenched!’ As he pushes off from the counter, he shivers slightly from the cold.
‘I’ll survive. Any idea where I’ll find the tide timings for the causeway?’ he asks, sliding an iPhone from his pocket. It’s not an unfriendly tone, but definitely a little brusquer than when we were alone. And the delicious hint of his accent has almost gone. ‘I can’t seem to get a signal anywhere.’
‘You’re off to the big house?’ Nat asks, without a hint of flirtation, I note, her accent rendering the wordhoose. ‘I can’t help with the signal. We all have the same issue, but the tide times should be posted on the road. Unless the sign has blown away again.’
Thebig hooseis what locals call the stately manor sitting about half a mile out from the mainland on a tiny island accessible only by causeway. The sandstone house was built around the beginning of the last century by a local family of standing, now long gone. There’s just the house and a couple of cottages. It’s pretty, but remote.
Nat goes on to discuss the tide times and hell knows what else while Ivy loads her foil onto one of the mobile stations, very obviously listening in. Me? I stay where I am, basically just moving stuff around.Paperclips. Appointment cards.But even keeping my gaze low, I can’t help notice Rory’s gaze following me.
Shouldn’t notice. Don’t look up.
As the door chimes again, I suffer a small wave of disappointment, my eyes all but glued to his wide back as he leaves.But it’s for the best.
‘He was watching you like a cat eyeing a tasty wee mouse.’ Nat rests an elbow on the high reception desk in the space where Rory just stood, propping her chin onto one fist. ‘Did you notice?’
‘Nope.’ My hands tidy and straighten, my gaze therefore busy, too.
‘I think someone needs to climb that lumberjack,’ she says, slapping the counter in an exaggerated motion. ‘Tim—berrr!’
‘Natasha, can you show me where you found the foil?’ Ivy interrupts, slamming the now empty box on the desk.
‘It’s in the—’ One look at her expression and Nat makes a very Scottish noise from the back of her throat. ‘Come on,’ she adds. ‘I’ll show you.’
Ivy takes a last look out the window, her gaze lingering on the cold, wet day.
‘Sorrow and ill weather always comes for unsent,’ she says, her dour gaze following Rory’s form through the rain.
