Page 3 of Cooking Up a Christmas Storm
Jodie must be dreaming. A job offer with a place to live from someone who had no idea what Gemma Bryant looked like.
‘So it is a yes?’
What did she have left to lose? ‘Yes.’
‘That’s brilliant. When can you start?’
Well, given that Jodie was being evicted in six days… ‘As soon as you like?’
‘Seriously? Like Monday.’
‘Monday.’
‘Fantastic. Can’t wait to welcome you to the Highlands.’
Jodie froze. Welcome her to the where now?
Chapter Two
Pavel Stone grabbed the barbell Anna Flint was unsuccessfully trying to lift from the chest-press stand. ‘I think this is maybe a wee bit heavy for you, pet.’
‘Nonsense.’ The woman lying on the bench was seventy-five if she was a day. ‘I’m lugging boxes in that shop morning, noon and night. And Darcy did a talk at Ladies’ Group about how important strength training is if you’ve been through…the change.’ She mouthed the last two words theatrically as if saying them aloud might summon dark forces.
‘Well, strength training is a good idea at any age, but…’ He carefully removed the 120 kilos he’d been lifting before Anna arrived. ‘You’re starting out. Try with just the bar until you’ve got the movement.’ He leaned slightly over the rack and held the bar until Anna had it securely in her grip. ‘OK. Hands a little bit further apart, bring that down to your chest and press up, palms to the sky, and repeat.’ He watched Anna through five more repetitions. ‘How did that feel?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good. So next time we can pop some more weight on.’
‘I should think so. I didn’t come here to just twirl that wee stick about.’
Pavel laughed.
‘It’s very good of you to open this place up,’ Anna added as she pulled herself up to standing. ‘It’s a long way to Lochcarron for them Zumba classes and whatnot. Although…’ She dropped her voice. ‘You know they’ve got a gym and pool up at McKenzie’s place now.’
Pavel nodded. The McKenzie estate was a forty-minute drive from the village and was, according to their own publicity, the epitome of modern Highland aspirational eco-tourism. He was supposed to go over there with a mate from Strathcarron to bid for the contract to build their all-new spa complex, and from the brief he’d read he didn’t think there was anything very eco or aspirational about the way McKenzie did business. But it was a mate asking and he needed Pavel’s help, so he’d agreed. It wasn’t a decision that sat quite right with him.
He took Anna through the rest of her workout – keeping things suitably simple. ‘So what does your mother lift?’ she asked.
Between them, Anna and Pavel’s mum, Nina, pretty much ran Lowbridge village. They were great friends and also engaged in a long and hard-fought competition for the position of top dog. ‘No. She’s a Pilates woman.’
Anna frowned. ‘Should I be doing Pilates? I’d probably be great at Pilates.’
Pavel knew better than to get into the middle of this argument. ‘Maybe focus on one thing at a time. I mean, you’re already lifting way more than her.’
Anna nodded, apparently satisfied – for the time being at least – with this conclusion.
He waved her off, pulled the shutter on his garage gym half closed – closed enough that anyone unfamiliar with the set-up wouldn’t feel like they could just wander in, but not so closed that his regulars would be discouraged from their workout. It wasn’t as though anything was likely to be stolen. His weight set was, by definition, heavy to move, and the last time anything had been nicked in Lowbridge was a cauliflower from the front of the village shop, and after much Miss Marple-ing by Anna and Pavel’s mum the conclusion had been that Queen Latifah – Anna’s husband’s West Highland terrier, not the global music and movie star – had been the culprit.
He strolled along the main road through the village, past the string of houses on one side and the shallow gravel beach that went down to the loch on the other. He paused, as always, to check his granddad’s boat, beached on the shallow strip of shingle. There were plenty in the village who called it Pavel’s boat now. That didn’t quite sit right either.
Pavel stopped outside the Weatheralls’ house. Gareth was standing at the bottom of a stepladder eyeing the guttering above him. ‘You all right there, mate?’ Pavel called.
‘Aye. Gutter’s overflowing. Probably just leaves, but it needs clearing out.’
Pavel was expected over at the castle but ‘a friend in need…’ had been one of his granddad’s favourite sayings. ‘Let me give you a hand with that.’ It was no bother and jobs like this were always quicker with two. Afterwards he got cleaned up at the Weatheralls’ kitchen sink, refused the offer of a cup of tea for his trouble and went back on his way.
By the time he reached the Low Bridge that connected the village to its namesake castle, he’d also offered to walk Mrs Timberley’s dachshund later, run a couple who were staying at the pub over to Skye on his boat the next morning, and reassured Mrs Taggart that he’d be back in plenty of time to open the pub up before lunch.
