She went back up to their bedroom, which served as her office too, and lowered herself carefully into the bed.
Deb wanted to cry, but she choked back the tears. She wasn’t about to let Dan hear her, and she wanted to act on this decision now – tostrike while the iron was hot, as the phrase went.
Dear Hal. Thanks for your email. I’d be delighted to take the job, if accommodation is included.
She continued the email, giving a breakdown of her fee, which was double her normal charge, and pressed SEND.
Apparently, she was going to Loch Cameron.
THREE
Deb thought that if she’d searched for “cute and cosy cottage” on the internet, then she couldn’t have found a prettier and more typical little house than the one she walked up to a week later.
The cottage was painted white like the handful of other cottages up on Queen’s Point, a promontory that overlooked Loch Cameron, the glinting, tranquil lake that the small village of Loch Cameron sat alongside.
Deb had done some research, and she’d learnt that Queen’s Point was named because of an old legend that said Mary, Queen of Scots had met her lover there for secret romantic trysts. There didn’t seem to be any actual historical proof for the story, but Deb rather liked the idea that she might be walking in a queen’s footsteps.
Of course, the cottages hadn’t been there in Queen Mary’s time, but there had apparently been dwellings of some kind there. Something that made Mary and her lover, Lord Darnley – who she later married, and then had killed – seek out the romance of Loch Cameron for their meetings.
Queen Mary had the right idea, Deb thought offhandedly as she walked up the little garden path to the front door of the cottage. The front door, which was painted blue, just like thewindow frames, was framed with a small porch over which grew a profusion of pink roses. Not that she wanted Dankilled– that would have been a stretch. More that she appreciated Mary’s decisiveness in the matter.
The Laird had put Deb in touch with a lady called Gretchen Ross who had sent Deb directions to the cottage, which was where she would be staying while she was organising the Loch Cameron May Day party. Gretchen had explained on the phone that she had once lived at the cottage and now resided in a care home a few villages away. The Laird trusted her with managing the property, as he didn’t have time to do things like organise the front door key and putting milk in the fridge.
Sure enough, as Deb pushed a large lilac hydrangea in a terracotta pot with her foot, a fob and a couple of attached keys revealed themselves underneath it, enclosed carefully in a plastic bag. She stooped to pick up the keys and let herself in.
Inside, the cottage was bright and clean, and Deb immediately felt at home in its cosy ambience. She left her wheelie suitcase in the hall, hung her jacket on the row of ceramic coat hooks by the door. She kicked off her trainers and left them next to a white painted shoe rail, where someone had left a handy pair of green wellies. Deb wondered if they’d fit her, in the event that there was a rainstorm – which was extremely likely in the countryside. Not that it wasn’t likely in Glasgow, where she’d always lived. She was rather looking forward to the slower pace of life in a village as opposed to the city: it would be amazing to be somewhere peaceful for a change. Somewhere she could heal.
At the end of the hallway which was, like the exterior of the cottage, painted white, Deb found a sweet little sitting room on her right. As she walked in, she let out an exclamation of admiration at the décor.
Deb’s eyes were drawn to the antique Victorian fireplace in the centre of the room, which featured light green tiles with a pink rose pattern. The room had been wallpapered with a pattern of wildflowers, just like the ones that Deb could see in the cottage garden through the window.
A comfy-looking upholstered chair with a hydrangea pattern sat on one side of the lounge alongside a vintage velvet pink chaise longue. A plain cream sofa sat opposite, and a couple of thriving tall ficus plants stood in the corner, housed in copper coloured pots. There was a brass standard lamp in another corner, and a small coffee table on which there was a stack of interior décor and fashion magazines. The cosy décor gave Deb a feeling of homeliness. She realised that she hadn’t felt that for a long time: this cottage was, at least temporarily,hers.A girly, comfy space where she could just be. Not a shared place with Dan, which she had tried to keep nice against the onslaught of his dirty tea cups, his propensity for hanging towels over doors and the piles of auto magazines that seemed to multiply around the flat, despite her efforts to tidy them away.
She took in a deep breath and felt herself relax, a little. It would take a while, she knew, for her toget therefully – it had been a long drive, and she was stressed about Dan. But, she also gave herself a mental pat on the back for making the break, for moving away at least for a while, and for ending up somewhere as peaceful and pretty as this.
Deb walked through an arch that joined the lounge to a small but charming kitchen, her smile becoming wider as she explored the cottage. In the kitchen, a blue leather chesterfield sat by a blackened fireplace, and a wide window opened onto the cottage garden which was a riot of colour. Deb could see more roses, tall lupins, a couple of violet hydrangea bushes, foxglove and fuchsia bushes.
Deb sat down on the leather sofa and leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. The chesterfield was very comfortable, despite the fact it was losing some of its stuffing.
It had been a long drive to Loch Cameron, first leaving the city and then following the satnav along increasingly narrow country roads. She had been cleared to drive six weeks after her operation, but even now, her middle felt tired and sore from having to sit in one position for so long.
Deb laid down, resting her head on the arm of the sofa and putting her feet up at the end. From her position lying down, she surveyed the rest of the kitchen: a Welsh dresser at the far end of the kitchen held a charming collection of mismatched china, and a long wooden kitchen table held a vase of flowers and a basket of fruit with a little hand-written sign that saidWelcome, Deb!
She smiled, closing her eyes for another moment. That was a really nice touch.
I could really do with a cup of teashe thought and, though she could have lain on the sofa a lot longer and gradually let her middle revive, she got up with a sigh. She opened the little fridge that sat next to a small dishwasher under the worn wooden worktop. Inside the fridge was a pint of fresh milk from what looked like a local dairy, a packet of butter with the same logo, a punnet of tomatoes, a lettuce and a small organic-looking cucumber.
She took out the milk, amazed that Gretchen had organised groceries for her at all. Deb made a mental note to say a big thank you to her host for such lovely hospitality.
After some thought, Deb realised how to light the flame under the old-fashioned kettle that sat on the wide, old-fashioned stove, and set it to boil after half-filling it with water. She found mugs in one cupboard, and canisters containing tea bags, coffee and sugar in another. She dropped a tea bag intoa mug and inspected the fruit basket while she waited for the kettle to sing.
In fact, as well as fruit, the basket contained biscuits, a fruit loaf cake, some bread rolls and a jar of locally made honey as well as apples, peaches, bananas and some golden yellow pears that made Deb’s mouth water as soon as she saw them. This was above and beyond what she expected from a holiday let.
Picking up the note, she unfolded it and realised that there was a longer note inside.
Dear Deborah,
I do hope that you had an easy journey to the cottage and that you’re settling in well. I’ve arranged a few groceries for you so that you don’t walk straight into a “cupboards were bare” situation, but of course you will need to arrange groceries for yourself over the weeks you’re here.
