Page 92 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Did I say something wrong?’ Mack asked.

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

‘Have I? Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

He reached for her hand again. ‘Would you like to go somewhere else? We could go to Portree.’

‘The castle is fine.’

He glanced around the room. ‘No, it’s not, if it reminds you of Hadrian.’

Surprised, she said, ‘Actually, it doesn’t. I wasn’t thinking about him. I was thinking about when I went into Portree. Dad came with me and had a cup of tea in a cafe while I had a mooch around the shops, and while we were there, we bumped into Mrs Henderson, Alice’s mother.’

‘Oh, right. Has she moved back to Skye?’ He let go of her hand and reached for his drink.

‘Only for a few days; she’s here for a visit. She said she hadn’t seen me since Mum’s funeral.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this. You’d think that after all these years…’ She blinked furiously, looking at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry. ‘I’m not like this normally. In London I—’ She stopped, swallowed and tried again. ‘That’s why I had to escape – to get away from everyone’s pity, from Dad’s grief. Fromme.’

‘So you went where no one knew you and you could reinvent yourself?’

‘I suppose.’

‘You’ve done a damned fine job of it. Alice always said you had the talent, the vision and the drive.’

‘Alice?’

‘We dated for a while, before she moved away.’

There was something about the way he said it – regret, maybe? A little spike of jealousy prodded her in the stomach.

She said, ‘Mrs Henderson reckons I’m the spit of my mother, but I don’t think I look like her at all.’ Freya certainly didn’t see any resemblance when she looked in the mirror. ‘She was so pretty.’

‘So are you.’

‘Huh! I’ve got red hair and freckles, and I usually smell of clay and paint.’

Mack leant close and sniffed. ‘So you do.’

‘Oi! I’ll have you know I’m wearing Paco Rabanne.’

‘I like the smell of clay and paint.’

‘You like the smell of diesel and engine oil, with a hint of fish thrown in,’ she shot back.

‘True.’ He paused. ‘We can leave, if you want.’

‘Oh, hell, I’ve really killed the mood, haven’t I? This is supposed to be a thank-you dinner, and it’s turning into a Freya pity-party. I’m fine, honestly. Bumping into Mrs Henderson just brought it all back for a moment: Mum being ill, and then dying. I…’ She shrugged, unable to put her feelings into words.

‘It can’t have been easy for you.’ His face was full of sympathy and understanding, and Freya felt comforted.

She liked that Mack had understood why she’d felt the need to run away and not come back, without her having to spell it out to him. She couldn’t imagine ever having this conversation with Hadrian. In hindsight, she realised she’d never entrusted her ex with her innermost thoughts or feelings. Mack, she felt, she could trust with her life. But probably not her heart.

Freya pulled her shoulders back and gave herself a mental shake – enough of this wallowing. ‘Shall we go eat? My stomach thinks my throat has been cut.’ She was telling a little white lie, since she wasn’t in the least bit hungry, but she hoped her appetite would return when she saw the menu.

‘That dressislovely on you, by the way,’ Mack reiterated, as they rose to go to the dining room. ‘It brings out the colour of your eyes.’

‘Muddy brown?’ Was he flirting?

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