Page 72 of Surprises on the Scottish Isle

Tara was used to fiddly things and she’d always been good with her hands. Nevertheless, she was pleased when she managed to tie it correctly the first time.

‘Brilliant. Now we have to cast the line.’ He showed her the proper technique, and she followed suit. ‘We let the lure sink, then retrieve it slowly, reeling it in steadily,’ he explained.

‘How do you know whether there are any fish down there?’ she asked, getting into the rhythm of cast, reel in, and cast again. It was surprisingly hard work.

Cal laughed. ‘You don’t. Not until you catch one. But this has always been a good place for me, although late summer and early autumn are the best time of year for pollack.’

‘Why do you bother, if you don’t keep your catch?’ She knew why he spent time on the water, but the fishing part was beyond her.

‘I enjoy the challenge.’

‘Outwitting a fish?’

‘You’d be surprised. They can be canny creatures.’

They fished in silence for a while, the peace of the late afternoon settling over them. There wasn’t a breath of air, and it was so warm Tara didn’t need the fleece she’d brought.

‘It truly is lovely and peaceful out here,’ she said after a while.

‘Make the most of it. It won’t last. It never does. You rarely get two days the same on Skye.’

Tara grinned. ‘I’ve noticed. No wonder you’re all obsessed by the weather.’

‘Summer in the morning and winter in the afternoon,’ he agreed. ‘I love the unpredictability. It makes life more interesting.’

Tara reeled her line in slowly and steadily, the way Cal had shown her. ‘How long do we give it, before calling it a day?’

‘Bored already?’

‘No, but I am hungry.’

‘Ten more minutes?’

‘OK.’

It turned out to be fifteen in the end because, on what was supposed to be her very last cast, Tara felt a tug on the line. Amidst her squeals of excitement, Cal helped her reel it in. The pollack wasn’t a particularly large specimen, but Tara was proud anyway, and held it whilst Cal took a photo. Then she gently released it over the side of the boat and watched it disappear into the depths.

‘That was brilliant!’ she cried. ‘NowI get it. I want to do this again.’

‘We will, I promise. But not today. Do you, or do you not, want a slice of quiche?’

‘I do,’ she said, and when Cal laid out their picnic, Tara was impressed.

It was quite a spread. As well as the quiche, there were cherry tomatoes, a potato salad, crispy chicken and smashed avocado sandwiches, a couple of herb and feta pastry parcels, plus scones and flapjacks to finish.

‘Did you make all this yourself?’ she asked, as he poured bubbly Prosecco into plastic champagne flutes.

‘I would like to say I did, but I can’t lie. I asked Gillian to put a picnic together.’

‘She’s done a fantastic job. This is delicious.’ The flavours of the pastry parcel exploded in her mouth, and Tara closed her eyes in bliss as she chewed.

When she opened them, it was to find Cal gazing at her. ‘I love you, Tara. I always have.’

His words made her heart melt. ‘I love you, too.’

She thought he was going to kiss her as he leant forward, but it was to brush a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

‘Eat up,’ he urged. ‘I want to get you back home and make love to you.’

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