Page 33 of Surprises on the Scottish Isle

He chuckled. ‘You’ve got to admit it was funny.’

‘It wasn’t at the time. I honestly thought she wanted me to measure a corpse. I’ve never been asked to make a funeral parlour before.’ Tara could see the boathouse in the deepening gloaming. Her relief was profound. ‘This is me,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘Good night.’

She didn’t wait for a reply, anxious to put some space between them, but she was aware of him watching her as she walked down the track.

She didn’t look back as she unlocked the door and slipped through it, but as soon as she was inside, she hurried into the bedroom and peered through the window.

Calan had gone.

Moments later she saw a light come on in his cottage, and she let out a sigh. That had been both as bad as she’d feared, and easier. The fool she had made of herself was counterbalanced by the ice having been broken. She’d proved to herself that she could be civil, friendly even. It was the best she could expect, for the moment. Each time she saw him from now on, it should get easier. She wouldn’t try to run away a second time.

Too strung up to even think about going to bed, Tara poured a glass of milk, picked up the novel she’d been reading and curled up on the sofa nearest the picture window.

As she watched the last of the silver light fade from the sky, the novel lying forgotten next to her, Tara lost herself in the memory of her first – and possibly her only – love.

Chapter 10

How to make an eejjt of yourself in one easy lesson, Cal thought, disgusted with himself as he watched Tara flee to the boathouse.

He didn’t blame her for scurrying off. In her eyes, he was a total bawbag, a ratbag, an utter shite. Even if she’d been too polite to say it outright, her dislike of him radiated off her like heat from a stove.

Until today he hadn’t realised quite how badly he had hurt her. Yes, he knew she would have been upset, but he’d been certain she would soon get over it – that she would quickly find another boyfriend amongst the thousands on campus, someone else to cuddle up with on a dreary Sunday morning, someone else to shower with kisses, someone else’s ear in which to whisper, ‘I love you’. After all, she’d been so young and first love never lasts. They had existed in an artificial bubble of lectures and assignments, evenings at the student union, days spent being passionate about politics and good causes, and nights spent being passionate between the sheets. But bubbles don’t last forever, and theirs had burst at the end of the academic year when he’d returned to Inverness, leaving her behind in Glasgow.

Whenever he’d thought about her since, he imagined her still there. It didn’t occur to him that she would have left.

Edinburgh, Mhairi had said. Cal had confirmed it by reading the email that Tara had sent when she’d expressed an interest in renting the studio. He’d even looked up her address, feeling grubby as he street-viewed her house. It was a nice house, in a nice area.

He hadn’t been able to imagine her living there. And he certainly hadn’t been able to visualise the man she had lived therewith, the man she was in the middle of divorcing.

After watching Tara hurry inside, he hurried off himself to the sanctuary of his cottage. What must the others in the pub have made of his strange behaviour? He hoped they’d thought he was being chivalrous in walking Tara home, but Jinny had had an odd look on her face, and he suspected she guessed there was more to it.

Was the gift shop manager aware that he and Tara had history? He didn’t think so, but Coorie Castle was a small place and the news would leak out at some point. He’d already decided not to hide the fact that he knew Tara – as demonstrated by him telling Mhairi – but he wasn’t about to blurt it out to all and sundry. If it came up in conversation, or the time seemed right to mention it, then he would.

How would Tara feel about that? Did she want to keep it quiet? Should he ask her, or would that be making a meal out of it?

Gah! Cal raked his fingers through his hair. Why had his life suddenly become that much more complicated? What with Tara turning up and Yvaine taking Bonnie to live in Portree…

A groan escaped him. Why had he insisted on speaking to Tara, especially since he hadn’t had anything lined up to say to her? Telling her that he wanted to enquire about a commission had been the first and only thing that had sprung to mind. And now he was stuck with trying to get measurements and photos of the inside of his ex-wife’s house.

It briefly occurred to him that he could simply tell Yvaine what he was planning, but knowing how defensive she was about this move and realising his reaction had been less than supportive, he had a feeling she might veto the idea. Yvaine might even believe that giving Bonnie a miniature version of the house they no longer lived in was a step in the wrong direction, encouraging her to look back and not forward. It was a catch-22 situation. He couldn’t ask Yvaine for help, but neither could he get what was needed any other way.

Cal decided not to mention it again. If Tara brought the subject up, he would make an excuse. He had no idea what the excuse would be, but he was sure he’d think of something.

He got undressed in the dark, but before he slipped under the covers, he fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and noticed a soft light coming from the boathouse’s bedroom window.

It was enough to keep him awake long after he should have fallen asleep.

Cal wasn’t often completely off duty (the two weeks spent with Bonnieat his parents’ house had been a rarity), but this morning he decided toleave his mobile at home. Until he’d made the excuse in the pub lastnight that he wanted to leave because he had an early start thismorning, Cal hadn’t had any intention of going fishing.

As he’d lain awake watching the hours tick by, he still hadn’t had any intention of going out in the boat. But after finally drifting off, he’d woken up with a jolt to the unmistakable bugle calls of whooper swans overhead. Or maybe he’d dreamt it, because it would be unusual to find any here at this time of year. Most should be in their summer breeding grounds in Iceland, although a few birds had been known to nest in Scotland.

Wide awake and with little possibility of going back to sleep, he decided he might as well go fishing after all. He hadn’t been out on the loch for a while and some time on the open water would do him good.

It was close to high tide, making the skiff easier to push into the water, so he grabbed his rod and bag of tackle from the lean-to out the back, and set off down the narrow track through the trees that led to the loch.

He wasn’t the only one awake at four thirty in the morning – the birds were too, and their song accompanied him to the small crescent beach. A flock of gulls, startled by his presence, launched into the sky, their flapping wings sounding like a round of applause, their alarm calls filling the air.

Cal shot a quick look at the boathouse only a short distance away, and hoped the commotion hadn’t woken Tara. He couldn’t see any movement, so he assumed she must still be asleep.

---