Tall, Dark and Kilted Page 6

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ Fliss swallowed her reservations, knowing this was a dream opportunity. But was it sensible to become further involved with the Urquharts? So far, they’d brought her nothing but trouble. ‘I simply meant that it’s too much,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh, no worries on that score,’ Isla brushed away her concerns. ‘Mumma’s bankrolled by Aberdeen Angus - one of her love-struck, ancient boyfriends - all of whom are desperate to be the next Mr Mitzi Urquhart.’

  ‘Hims ancient and modern, we call them,’ Cat added, heaping sugar into her coffee.

  ‘I’d take too long to explain everything. But don’t worry; it’ll all make complete sense once you’re in Kinloch Mara. Anyway,’ Isla continued, surprising Fliss by being suddenly practical, ‘You’ll need a decent salary if you’re going to sub-let your flat … or keep it on. To return to? In case things don’t work out? You might not like Mumma - or she might not …’

  ‘Isla, stop - or Fliss will change her mind,’ Cat laughed.

  Fliss took a deep breath knowing that she’d do well to give her answer right away. Isla’s attention span was notoriously short and she might move onto another topic - or even another candidate - while she dithered at the kitchen table. Curling her fingers round the scrap of paper, she let out a long breath.

  ‘Very well. Scotland here I come.’

  ‘Yay!’ Cat and Isla performed a mini Mexican Wave.

  ‘Will you be going home to Wester Ross soon? I’m anxious to make a start if we’re to capitalise on the summer visitors and …’

  ‘Oh there’s no rush; a couple of weeks, maybe?’

  ‘A couple of weeks?’ Fliss protested, frustrated by the vagueness of Isla’s reply. ‘But, that’ll take us to the middle of June and …’

  ‘No one returns to the highlands until then - and often not until after Wimbledon,’ Cat was quick to reassure her. ‘You’ll love it in Wester Ross. During high summer the days last forever, and at night is barely gets dark. Then there are the highland gatherings in the autumn. You’ll be there for the Urquhart Ball in late September. And,’ her voice dropped to a reverential whisper,’ if you’re really lucky, you’ll see the northern lights shimmer across the loch.’ For a brief moment Fliss allowed herself to picture the romantic scene before continuing more prosaically.

  ‘Won’t you have to run this past your stepbrother, first?’ She didn’t want to look in a gift horse’s mouth, but - wasn’t there a saying that if something sounded too good to be true, it generally was? She wondered briefly about the advisability of bearding the lion - or in this case, the wolf - in his den.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. You won’t see much of Ruairi. He’s hardly been home since he was dumped by his fiancée a year last Christmas,’ Cat said, and another telepathic exchange passed between the sisters.

  ‘One thing you need to know about Ruairi,’ Isla explained further, as if reading her mind, ‘is that you could go mad trying to second-guess what he will - or will not - approve of. Don’t stress over it. We don’t jump every time he barks. Besides - he’ll be abroad until the end of the summer. By the time he returns home you’ll have the centre up and running and we can present him with a fait accompli.’

  ‘Fait accompli,’ Cat echoed. ‘Besides, Mumma won’t be back from India before the end of June, either.’

  ‘Well …’ Fliss pushed all her reservations aside. Probably when she met Ruairi Urquhart, he would turn out to be as fluffy and adorable as the Andrex puppy. Nothing like the big bad wolf his stepsisters made him out to be.

  ‘Good. I’ll ring up the estate office and ask them to book another seat,’ Isla rushed on, clearly thinking that she might change her mind if given too long to think about it.

  ‘How much will the airline ticket cost?’ Fliss asked, calculating if she actually could afford to fly up with them or would be following later, courtesy of National Express.

  ‘Sweetie - you’re doing us a favour so it won’t cost you a bean.’

  It seemed like she’d been presented with a fait accompli, too. With nothing more to say, Fliss took the packet of drugs out of her handbag and left it on the table along with her well-rehearsed speech.

  ‘Better be on my way. Things to do. People to see. You know?’ She gave her most casual shrug as mixed metaphors about beggars having little choice but to grab luck by the throat played through her mind.

  ‘It’ll be great fun, you coming to deepest, darkest Wester Ross. We’ll be able to hang out together.’ Cat surprised Fliss by walking her to the front door and giving her a quick kiss on both cheeks before closing it behind her.

  Standing on the top of the flight of steps that led down to the pavement, Fliss acknowledged that she’d achieved everything she’d set out to accomplish that morning - and more. Okay, so she hadn’t given the sisters a piece of her mind, not to mention a lecture on loyalty - but she was in paid employment and the manageress of a holistic therapy centre.

  She’d been given her passport out of Pimlico.

  Now all she had to do was break the news to Becky.

  Simples.

  Chapter Eight

  Three weeks later the flight from Gatwick to Inverness began its final descent. Fliss could hardly contain her excitement at the thought of finally seeing Kinloch Mara and the unfinished therapy centre, having dreamed of little else. She glanced across the aisle at Cat and Isla, hoping to share the moment with them, but they were squabbling over elbow room and the remains of a large bag of M&M’s. In fact, they’d been crabby for most of the short flight, seemingly put out at being summoned home by their stepbrother and the reckoning that lay ahead. To add to their sense of injury, a large contingent of their friends was headed to Ibiza for the summer - arriving roughly about the time they were due to touch down in Scotland.

  The hydraulics whirred beneath Fliss’s feet as the undercarriage was lowered. As the fasten your seat belts sign was illuminated, she ran through the events of the previous hectic three weeks and ticked them off in her mind in an orderly fashion.

  Flat sublet [tick], new therapy equipment following by carrier [tick], bank account more or less intact [tick]. Old life left behind and fully committed to making the therapy centre a success? Yes!

  The engines slammed into reverse, and as the rubber wheels smoked on touch down she felt as if she was being propelled forward towards a new life - a new beginning. Fancifully, she imagined the wheels’ skid marks forming big black letters on the runway: NO TURNING BACK

  Not that she wanted to turn back. She wanted to go forward, make a success of her life and break free of the image people had of her. Sensible, hardworking Fliss - the girl who didn’t take risks; who always looked before she leaped. She didn’t know what she was capable of, but she knew it was considerably more than she’d achieved so far. This move to Scotland symbolised a new chapter in her life - who knew where it would lead?

  Her heart gave a joyous little leap and she pushed away any doubts that had travelled north with her. Slipping her hand into her bag, she curled her fingers round the rolled up contract and business plan which had received Angus Gordon’s approval a week earlier. Her first task upon arrival at Kinloch Mara would be to thank him and Mitzi for giving her this chance. Then they could go over the plan in greater detail and draw up a timetable for what needed to be done to get the centre up and running. When they’d talked via SKYPE, Angus and Mitzi had been so enthusiastic over her plans for the centre that she’d liked them immediately and she gained the impression they felt the same way about her …

  ‘Get off my toes, Cat. I’ve probably developed deep vein thrombosis because you’ve hogged all the room,’ Isla whined, breaking into Fliss’s reverie. Since entering Scottish airspace she’d become increasingly argumentative and sullen, as though she’d left her real self behind in London and taken on a new persona. One that didn’t sit easily with her - laird’s sister, brought home to be grounded.

  She and Cat had overdone the whole Goth look with pale fac
es, spiky black hair, kohl-rimmed eyes and multiple face piercings. Twin versions of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo in matching biker jackets, skinny black jeans and studded belts. Fliss glanced down at her summery Capri pants, t-shirt and sandals - guess that left her to play Flora MacDonald, then!

  ‘You great greedy pig - you’ve had more than your fair share of the room all the way from London, and eaten all the M&M’s,’ was Cat’s response. ‘Shuddup.’

  Fliss sighed. She hoped things would settle down once they reached Kinloch Mara; she didn’t think she could take much more of their bickering without saying something she might later regret. The thought encapsulated her last niggling doubt … where exactly did she stand in the Kinloch Mara hierarchy? Was she a friend of Cat and Isla’s who was helping out for the summer to get Mitzi’s centre up and running? Or was she an employee of the Kinloch Mara estate - albeit it on Angus Gordon’s payroll?

  Used to fighting her own corner, she didn’t want to lose control over any aspect of her life. The arrangement, as it stood, left her feeling a little uneasy, given what she’d learned of Mitzi Urquhart’s capricious nature. What if she lost interest in the therapy centre before it was even up and running? Or, if Angus withdrew his financial backing and …

  As the plane taxied round to the terminal she made herself stop worrying. She’d been paid a generous retainer, and had a watertight contract and comprehensive business plan in her handbag. She’d always wanted to be her own boss, to be in charge and this was her chance to prove what she was made of. The therapy centre might not belong to her but it was a million miles from Pimlico Pamperers and the humiliation of being dismissed without a reference.

  She should enjoy the moment and leave all negative thoughts behind. She had a tendency to overthink things, so she stifled her misgivings; there was no place for second thoughts in her life.

  Ten minutes later and laden down with luggage, she followed the squabbling sisters into the arrivals lounge where Cat spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

  ‘Murdo! Murdo!’ She waved her hand in the air and in her excitement dropped magazines, mobile phone and handbag at her feet. Smiling, Fliss picked them up and encountered Isla’s furious expression as she scowled at Cat, and then at the crowd. Surely, Fliss thought acidly, the whole airport couldn’t have earned her displeasure.

  ‘For God’s sake, it’s only Murdo bloody Gordon not the sodding Dalai Lama,’ Isla pulled Cat’s arm down to her side with unnecessary force. Fliss searched for the man who warranted such a reaction, expecting an aged retainer along the lines of Private Frazer in Dads’ Army. Old, bent over, crusty and speaking in a broad Scots’ brogue.

  ‘Isla, Cat - good to see you both,’ they were greeted in an accent that was pure English public school. ‘And you must be Miss Bagshawe?’ Fliss did a double take as an attractive six foot two Highland god in kilt, T-shirt and belted leather Belstaff shook her hand. ‘Welcome to Scotland.’ His hand was warm, firm and slightly calloused, presumably from working the land.

  ‘Fl -Fliss, please,’ she smiled, taking in his blue eyes, close cropped strawberry blond hair and healthy tan. Wow, she thought, her stomach giving a little flip of excitement; if all the men in Wester Ross looked like Murdo Gordon - then bring it on! Murdo gave her a quizzical look and Fliss realised that she was still holding his hand. Flushing, she released it and he was immediately set upon by Cat who embraced him in a fierce hug. He kissed her cheeks and then ruffled her hair in a brotherly fashion.

  ‘Murdo. It’s ages since I last saw you …’

  ‘I thought you would have forgotten me with all the fun you’ve been having in London.’ He raised a sandy eyebrow and pulled a comical face, leading Fliss to assume that news of their ‘arrest’ had travelled north ahead of them. ‘It’s good to have you back home. Both of you.’

  ‘P-ul-ease,’ Isla dragged out the word and gave him a withering look. ‘Spare me the faithful retainer routine. You’re only here because Ruairi has sent you as prison detail. So, save the Welcome to the Highlands crap, and get my bags!’ She swept out of the airport like a princess, leaving them with her suitcases and hand luggage round their feet.

  ‘Same old Isla. Sweetness and light,’ Murdo observed as he picked up her belongings. Clearly, he was employed by the estate but his bearing and demeanour suggested he was more than simply a member of staff - and most definitely no one’s servant. And that included Miss Isla Urquhart.

  Outwardly, he appeared calm and unruffled by her rudeness but it was apparent from the set of his jaw and the anger in his eyes that he was far from amused by her attitude.

  ‘Isla can be such a diva,’ Cat apologised as they schlepped the heavy pieces of luggage towards the car park where a mud-splattered Land Rover was waiting. Shadow painted on the side doors was a lion with a sword in its paw and beneath it there was the motto: Wha’ Dares Challenge Me .

  Fliss’s stomach performed a cartwheel in excitement - she was here, after all the preparation. She looked at Isla who, apparently less than charmed by the stunning backdrop, was leaning against the back wheel arch, arms folded, lips pursed. She gave them one last fierce look and then concentrated on watching the planes coming into land. Fliss thought she caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes and saw her bottom lip quiver. Plainly, she wasn’t happy and was determined to make everyone else’s life a misery, too.

  Fliss felt annoyed that her first impression of Scotland was being spoiled by Isla’s tantrum. Murdo was clearly of the same opinion because he frowned as he helped Fliss and Cat to climb into the Land Rover. Then he winked at Fliss as if to reassure her that Isla’s behaviour was par for the course.

  ‘Get in the car Isla,’ Fliss snapped as she fastened her seatbelt and Isla made no effort to join them. ‘I want to see Kinloch Mara even if you don’t.’ These past few weeks had been a trial and she wasn’t in any mood for playing games with Isla Urquhart. Typically, Isla stayed where she was until Murdo switched on the engine and edged the vehicle forward. Left with no option but to climb in or get left behind, she snatched the door open with a muttered: ‘Jeeeeze-ussss!’ and flung herself into the front seat. But not before giving them all one last murderous look.

  This behaviour seemed extreme, even for Isla, and Fliss suspected it had as much to do with her relationship with the gorgeous Murdo as it had with her being brought home to be grounded. She remembered the acronym PINTA which Becky had printed at the top of Isla’s therapy notes in red felt tip. It stood for: Pain In The Arse and summed her up perfectly.

  The Land Rover lurched forward as it left the car park and a beautiful Rough Haired Collie jumped over the back seat and sat between Cat and Fliss.

  ‘Lassie … beautiful girl, how I’ve missed you,’ Cat exclaimed. ‘Murdo - I can’t wait to see the new calves and to help you get the estate ready for the grouse shooting.’

  ‘Yes. There’s a lot to be done before Ruairi flies home. We’ve got some new retrievers - perhaps you can help with those, too.’ He cast Cat a fond look, causing Fliss to wonder what alchemy was at work here that could change the wild child of Notting Hill into a country girl.

  ‘My God now I’ve got to endure Lassie Come Home on a loop all the way back to Kinloch Mara. Don’t make me puke. And do you have to kiss that smelly mutt, Cat? Mind you, Murdo’s driving’ll probably make me sick, anyway.’ She gave Murdo a quick sideways glance look to see if he rose to the bait.

  ‘I see that your temper hasn’t improved for your stay amongst the Sassenachs, Isla,’ Murdo responded as he slipped the Land Rover into gear and checked the traffic coming from the right. Fliss sensed a quiet steadiness in Murdo Gordon that any woman would be a fool to test. She could see a muscle tensing on his jaw line, the only visible sign that Isla’s stinging darts were hitting home.

  ‘Probably suffering from PMT,’ Cat muttered below her breath, clearly not daring to antagonise Isla further in her present humour. ‘Moody cow,’ she added for good measure as she sank lower in her seat and gazed out of the
window hugging Lassie.

  Welcome to Bonnie Scotland, indeed! What had she let herself in for?

  Fliss contented herself with the thought that when Ruairi came home Isla’s behaviour would probably improve. Despite her posturing, Fliss gained the impression that Isla, more so than Cat, was dreading the arrival of their stepbrother in Kinloch Mara - and having to account for her behaviour. Fliss vowed to have the therapy centre up and running before he came home and give him no excuse to take her to task along with his stepsisters.

  It was at least a two hour journey to Kinloch Mara where, according to Cat, the Gulf Stream warmed the Loch and palm trees and old French roses grew in the shadow of the hills. Leaving Inverness they made their way across the narrow neck of Scotland - but as the journey lengthened, the atmosphere in the Land Rover became highly charged. Cat and Isla traded insults and sniped at each other - obviously, a well-established ritual of childhood car journeys. Isla kept winding her side window up and down, fiddling with the radio and putting her feet up on the dashboard.

  After half an hour Murdo pulled into a layby. ‘Okay - Out. Both of you,’ he addressed the squabbling sisters.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Isla, as Murdo leaned across her and pushed opened her door. ‘I’m going nowhere. Wh - what are you doing?’ Murdo marched round to her side of the Land Rover, the heavy pleats of his kilt swinging as he moved, giving a glimpse of tanned, muscular legs. He lifted her out of the Land Rover and deposited her unceremoniously on the ground. ‘How dare you, Murdo Gordon?’

  ‘Oh, I dare, Isla Urquhart. Now,’ he grabbed her by the wrists and held her fast. ‘Shut up - or you’ll find yourself in the back of the Land Rover and Lassie can come and sit in the front with me. She’s better behaved and has infinitely better manners. What is it to be?’

  He let go of her wrists and held her firmly by the shoulders. The look that passed between them hinted at old history, unrequited passion and unfinished business. It was such an intense look that Fliss shivered and wondered, with a pang of yearning, what it must feel like to be held by a man capable of quieting his woman with just a look.