Page 20 of One Perfect Day in Lovely Bay
Cally beamed. ‘I’m enchanted already, just by the train journey and the station.’
Angus's smile widened. 'Aye, it's a special place right enough. Has young Logan here told you about its royal connections?'
'He has,' Cally nodded. 'It's fascinating. I can't wait to learn more about it.'
Cally climbed into the back seat of the Land Rover as Logan and Angus popped their bags in the back. As the Land Rover pulled out of the station road, she gazed out the window while Logan and Angus chatted. In between chatting, Angus pointed out various landmarks and shared snippets of the little town’s history as they made their way through the main street.
'And over there,' Angus gestured to a hill, 'that's where the old clan battles used to take place. They say on a quiet night, you can still hear the echo of the bagpipes carried on the wind.'
Cally leaned forward. ‘Really? It's hard to imagine battles taking place in such a peaceful setting.’
Angus nodded. 'Aye, but that's the thing about this land. It's seen its share of troubles, but it endures.’
As they drove through a small town, Cally's eyes darted from one quaint shop front to another. Stone cottages with colourful gardens lined the streets, and everywhere she looked, there were reminders of the deep-rooted Scottish heritage. 'This is so nice.’
Logan smiled. ‘It's a great place for a wander. There are some excellent little cafés and shops.’
As they left the town behind and the road began to wind its way into the countryside, the scenery got more and more majestic. Rounding a tight bend in the road, the main house came into full view. Cally swallowed. She really had moved up in the world. It was even more impressive in real life than what she’d seen via her laptop. A magnificent grey stone building withturrets reaching skywards sat on vast grounds. ‘Wow, it’s much bigger than I thought it was going to be.’
Logan chuckled. 'Wait till you see the inside. Thank goodness we're staying in one of the cottages.'
'Aye, a good thing too. The big house can be a bit draughty even at this time of year. The cottages are much cosier, in my humble opinion, but don’t tell anyone I told you that. I saw you’d bagged the wee cottage, Logan. Well played.'
Cally tried to take it all in, not quite believing it was real. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Angus chuckled from the driver's seat. 'Aye, it's not a bad view, is it? When you see it at dawn, though. That's when the Highlands really show their true colours.'
As Angus brought the old Land Rover to a stop in front of a stone cottage, Cally snapped her seatbelt off and hopped out. Standing with her hands on her hips she took in a huge deep breath of crisp Highland air. The scent of pine and heather filled her lungs and she shook her head in disbelief. The air was incredible, the scenery mind-blowing, and the house in front of her was not what she would have called a “wee cottage”. It was a substantial stone building with weathered grey walls speaking of centuries of history. Large windows reflected the lush greenery surrounding them, a dark slate weathered roof sloped overhead, and a door in the centre held a huge wreath woven with blue tartan and heather.
‘This is what you call a cottage?’ Cally laughed.
Logan chuckled. ‘Welcome to the Highlands. They do everything differently up here.’
Gravel crunched under Cally’s feet as she made her way to the front door. She put her hand on the stone wall and took in the patchwork of greys and soft browns. Little patches of lichen here and there added muted pops of pale green and yellow, and ivy climbed one corner of the building. Wide sashwindows, painted a brilliant white, stood out against the rugged stonework. Gabled porches covered each of the doors, little fences lined a lush sloping lawn, and two gigantic potted plants sat on either side of the front steps. To the far left of the cottage, a white picket fence guarded a glass conservatory greenhouse which was nearly as big as the cottage itself. Beds lining either side of the conservatory door showcased flowers nodding their heads in the breeze, a plethora of lavender and rosemary bushes rustled to themselves, and in the far distance, ancient trees towered over the whole scene. Cally was a long, long,longway from the horrid '70s housing estate she’d once called home. She was never, ever,evergoing back.
Leaving Angus and Logan chatting, Cally followed a path to the side of the house where she came to a small cottage garden with shrubs, beds and hedges on land gently sloping away in the direction of the main house. A small loch glimmered in the distance and a smaller conservatory sat just to the right. Taking a few stone steps down to a terrace surrounded by old walls where despite the cool air, the sun warmed Cally’s face. She’d be having a glass of wine and taking in the view from the little spot, that she knew for a fact. The air in the garden seemed even fresher than when she’d first stepped off the train. She could taste it on her tongue, clean and pure. She took another deep breath, feeling as though she would never get enough of the Highland air. Her weekend away was looking up.
For a bit, she just stood very still, listened, and vacuumed up the view. A few birds sang here and there, leaves on the huge old trees rustled, there was a faint bubble of a stream somewhere and a hoot of an owl came from the direction of the forest. Unless she was imagining it, the scenery, sounds, and smells had already softened her edges.
She continued her circuit of the cottage, stopping here and there until she was back at the front where Logan was justfinishing unloading their luggage from the Land Rover. He slammed the car door shut and smiled.
Angus came out of the cottage. ‘Everything to your liking?’
Cally nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes. Absolutely. Thank you. It’s exceptional.’
‘It's a special wee place, right enough. Wait till you see it in the morning light. That's when it really shines. Sit out the back there with a nice tea and watch the whole place come to life before your eyes.’
Cally smiled. She would be doing that with Scottish bells on. She picked up her bag and nodded. She could get used to the Highland life.
12
Cally stepped into the front entrance, slipped her shoes off on the mat, and popped them in a panelled closet-cum-boot area directly to her right. Walking over the hallway, she pushed the door open to a sitting room and didn’t quite know where to look first. She did know she wanted to hibernate under a tartan rug with a book and not come up for air for a very, very, very long time. Maybe for her whole life. A rich, earthy scent of wood and smoke mingled with beeswax, lavender, polish, and pine circled her. The smell seemed to whisper history and care and made her feel instantly at home.Come to Mumma.A beautiful old fireplace with an ornate wooden mantelpiece intricately carved with Scottish motifs dominated the far wall. A slightly wonky model sailboat with delicate fabric sails sat on top next to a carving of a deer’s head. Beautiful old navy-blue tartan wallpaper lined the walls on either side of the fireplace and framed sketches of local scenes were dotted all over the place. A little Tiffany lamp to the left of the mantelpiece glowed, an ancient, slightly drunk-looking chandelier hung from the ceiling, and somewhat worn velvet cushions appeared to have been plonked on top of anything and everything that didn’t move. Cally was in decorating and for that matter, life, heaven.
Moving further into the room, she stepped over a beautiful old rug and stood for a minute, taking in all the bits and bobs on the shelves beside the fireplace. Neatly stacked piles of leather-bound books, an old clock ticking away to itself, a variety of glass cloches displaying finds, an old bamboo birdcage, and depression-era glass scattered here and there. Overstuffed leather armchairs were perched on either side of the fireplace, and a deep peacock blue, slightly faded velvet sofa adorned with muted colour cushions beckoned for guests to sit and relax. She looked around with her chin dropped and counted five neatly folded tartan rugs in various blues and reds on the backs of chairs. The room spoke of heritage, Scotland, and comfiness all at the same time.
'Oh, my,' she whispered to herself. ‘I could get used to this.’
She ran her fingers along the mantelpiece and looked up at an imposing stag portrait hanging above. Its antlers reached towards the ceiling, and she wondered who had painted it. Oh, to be able to paint.
