His gaze roved over the room behind her, now ready for any visitor who liked to be welcomed by pretty Christmassy things. ‘Very nice.’
Ezz thanked him with a smile, pretty sure he hadn’t come back to praise the Christmas garlands.
He hadn’t. ‘There’s something else I’m hoping you can help me with. A favour.’
She hesitated. A favour? She was an employee. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? She fell back on, ‘Of course.’
That silvery gaze rested on her as if detecting her reserve. ‘It’s nothing onerous. Josefin has been very good about spending a protracted time here, including Christmas, but there’s not much to entertain her. Would you take her to the village pub? From the couple of times I’ve been, it’s a friendly place.’
Ezz froze. He wanted her to take Josefindrinking?
Frowning when she didn’t reply, he added, ‘In working hours, obviously. I’m not asking you to give up your time off.’
‘Of course,’ she repeated, summoning her professional smile, though her lips had dried. Should that have beenOf course not? She hesitated, feeling a hot rush of anxiety.
‘I’ll send her out to you.’ He glanced at his watch; a big-faced black smartwatch that screamedexpensive.
‘Of course.’ Ezzie maintained her smile, not wanting her off-balance moment to be construed as prickliness as he turned to leave, and she prepared to carry boxes up to the public rooms upstairs. Well, actually … she did feel a smidge prickly at being sent to the pub – not because he was disposing of her time as that was what she was here for, but because a person’s relationship with alcohol could be tricky. No doubt he’d assumed that hers was healthy. Or, more likely, hadn’t considered it at all.
She tried hard to be the perfect employee, but now she was dealing with Mats Larsson rather than his straightforward parents. When she’d helped Grete and Erik through the formalities of the old manager’s resignationand then been offered the job, she’d felt she’d received the seal of employer approval. But Grete and Erik would tell you if you displeased them. What you saw was what you got: a self-made couple who loved their family and the business they’d built.
Their son Mats was different. She couldn’t read him, yet she didn’t feel she’d handled the last few minutes to his satisfaction.
Her job, which only days ago had felt both fun and secure, suddenly seemed a bit less of each.
The Jolly Abbot Inn looked like a big white cottage with a slate roof. The tables that stood outside in summer had been stowed away and a Christmas tree twinkled beside the black-painted front door. Most people would think the pub was a pleasant place to spend Sunday lunchtime, especially in working hours and at someone else’s expense … but Ezz was the only person in a suit. Rosamund behind the bar wiped her hands on her jeans and pushed up the sleeves of her knitted top as she teased Ezz. ‘My, we don’t get many office clothes in here.’
As Rosamund and son Brodie were Ezz’s neighbours, living as she did across from the pub here in Chapel Road, Ezz joked back, ‘I’m raising the tone. This is Josefin, the nanny from Rothach Hall.’
Rosamund beamed all over her round face. ‘Welcome, welcome, Josefin. What would you like to drink?’
Josefin chose wine, fitting right in in jeans and a marmalade-coloured jumper that went with her short salt-and-pepper hair, rosy cheeks and ready smile. ‘I like it here,’ she pronounced, nodding approvingly at the red banquettes that lined the white walls and the wooden tables and chairs in the centre. Christmas lights had beentwined around the optics, so the ambers and auburns of whisky and brandy lent their glow to the clear liquids of vodka and gin. Josefin pulled a wry face, fingering the cutlery rolled up in napkins that was a precursor to the Sunday lunch they’d ordered. ‘But I do not understand what everyone says.’
Ezz tried to relax. The nanny seemed friendly and keen to make friends, which Ezz was too, now she thought of it. It certainly wasn’t Josefin’s fault that Mats had asked for her to be brought here. ‘Some people are speaking in Gaelic, that’s why. I understand that about forty per cent of the island is Gaelic-speaking, though I’m afraid I’ve never tried to learn. Your English is excellent, and everyone on Skye speaks that as well.’ Josefin had a Swedish accent, but otherwise spoke English perfectly. ‘Ah, here are my sister’s neighbours, Maisie and Fraser.’ Ezz waved at the octogenarians who’d just entered, rubbing their hands and well wrapped up against the cold, pausing at the bar to order drinks before ambling over.
‘May we join you?’ Fraser had abandoned the tam-o’-shanter he wore in summer in favour of a blue woollen beanie, and his long silver hair flopped out when he removed it.
Maisie wore a red fleece hat with ear flaps. When she pulled it off, the Christmas lights shone on her neat silver bun. She’d never wear her hair loose and windswept as Fraser did. ‘Hello, Ezzie.’ Her beaming smile took in Josefin, too, and Ezz again made the introductions.
‘Where’s your wee sister?’ Fraser demanded as he lowered himself creakily onto a vinyl-covered stool, his grimace suggesting that the cold weather had got into his joints.
Josefin looked interested. ‘You have family here, Ezz,though you are English and not Scottish?’ She sipped from her large glass of red wine.
Ezzie, who’d ordered orangeade, was glad Josefin was chatty, making her easy company. ‘Yes, Thea’s the head gardener at the hall so you might meet her there, even if she doesn’t come to the Jolly Abbot today. She usually works Monday to Friday in winter, when the grounds staff don’t need seven-days-a-week coverage. She lives at the top of the village in Loch View.’
‘I like this village.’ Josefin sipped from her wine glass again and smacked her lips appreciatively. ‘The houses are so many pretty colours.’
Maisie lifted her gin and tonic. ‘You’ll not find that commonly on Skye, because most of the houses are white. So far as I’m aware, only Rothach and Portree have the colours. My cottage is lemon yellow,’ she added proudly.
The level of Skye Ale in Fraser’s glass was going down rapidly. ‘Ach, it’s daft,’ he said irascibly. ‘My house is white, as tradition intends. And white’s cheaper than colours.’
‘Mine’s a sort of gingerbread colour. I’d probably choose pale green, if I owned my own house.’ Ezzie felt almost relaxed as their delicious-smelling Sunday roast arrived. As they ate, Maisie and Fraser set about educating Josefin on ‘Sleat’ being pronounced ‘slate’ and that Rothach was ‘Rotharsh’, thechnot getting caught in the back of the throat as in so many other Scottish words.
‘I’m from the south of Sweden, and we have a similar sound in words like “usch”. It means “yuck”,’ Josefin volunteered between disposing of bites of roast potatoes and beef.
Ezz enjoyed her meal while Maisie and Fraser told Josefin about Fairy Glen at Balnaknock. ‘They say it’s where the fairies hide in the dells,’ Maisie expounded mysteriously.
‘Och, it’s a landslide that left a funny-looking landscape,’ Fraser contradicted.
