Page 18 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 2
‘Well, I’m still sorry,’ Maura said. ‘And I’m sure you have loads of friends, but if you ever need anyone to talk to—’
She broke off as his gaze met hers with frank honesty. ‘That’s kind of you, Maura. But really, I’m fine.’
‘Okay,’ she said, reassured that he didn’t seem to be pining from a broken heart. ‘So, just the three of us.’
Fraser nodded. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Jamie properly. I saw him at the New Year’s Eve party, of course, but didn’t get to say hello.’
‘Probably a good thing,’ Maura said, remembering how many shots Jamie and his rugby mates had downed. ‘He’ll be much better company this evening.’
But as her watch ticked round to seven-thirty, her faith in him began to wane. He couldn’t have forgotten. She checked her phone. There was no text to say he was running late. There was nothing at all. She stabbed at the screen, calling him. Her cheeks grew hot as it went to answerphone. She hung up, not trusting herself to leave a jolly ‘Where are you?’ message.
Fraser cleared his throat. ‘We should probably go in. They won’t save the table for long.’
Maura peered down Castlehill, hoping to see Jamie’s tall frame puffing towards them, and sighed. ‘You’re right. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
The dining room was every bit as gothic as she remembered. The deep red seating was studded with brass. Each table was lit by flickering white candles in tall brass holders. Discreet wall lights added to their glow but the atmosphere was unmistakeably intimate. Carved satyrs cavorted among curling leaves across the beams above their heads and tapestry drapes hung at intervals. Their waiter led them to their table, which had been laid for three, and Maura felt a small whoosh of relief at the detail. The Witchery had a romantic reputation. If it had been just her and Fraser, they might have been mistaken for a couple.
‘So, what will you have to drink?’ Fraser asked, offering her the menu. ‘Champagne is definitely in order but we should wait for Jamie to get here.’
Maura nodded, turning her attention to the list of cocktails and trying to ignore the needle of misgiving in the pit of her stomach. Jamie would be here soon. He wouldn’t let her down.
‘How’s the preparation for ScotPot coming along?’ Fraser asked, when the waiter had taken their drinks order. ‘It’s soon, isn’t it?’
‘It opens on Friday 6th of June and runs over that weekend,’ she said. ‘I’ve still got a few things to finish off – a couple of my seasons pots cracked in the kiln – but as long as the next batch behaves then I should get everything done in time.’
Fraser looked surprised. ‘Why did they crack?’
She shrugged. ‘It could be anything – an issue with the clay, or how I’ve made the pot. They might have dried too quickly, or not quickly enough. The temperature in the kiln might have been off. Basically, it happens and there’s nothing much you can do except try again.’
‘Wow,’ Fraser said. ‘So every time you make something, there’s a chance it might go catastrophically wrong.’
‘Pretty much,’ Maura said. ‘It certainly encourages resilience.’
He laughed. ‘And I thought acting was a brutal business.’
‘At least with pots you know it’s nothing personal,’ Maura replied.
‘It usually isn’t with acting, although I admit it’s hard to remember that when a casting director suggests you lose half a stone.’
Maura gaped at him. As far as she could tell, Fraser was in great shape. ‘No. I thought it was only the women who got told that.’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. But at least losing weight is achievable, if not always desirable. I’ve been told I’m too tall, too short, too old, not old enough. Too Scottish, too hairy and too ordinary.’
The last one almost made Maura sputter with indignation. Whatever else could be levelled at Fraser, he was most certainly not ordinary. ‘How rude.’
‘But that’s just it – none of it was meant as a criticism,’ he said equably. ‘If you’re not right for a role then you’re not right, even if you think you’re perfect for it. When I was fresh out of drama school, I auditioned for the role of Dexter inOne Day. I hadn’t read the book, had only glanced at my agent’s email and thought they wanted an Edinburgh university student. It was only after that I realised he’s not Scottish at all, and that the story spans decades.’
It still felt harsh, even though she accepted the explanation. ‘I hated that film,’ she said. ‘The book was better.’
Fraser’s lips quirked. ‘Actors hear that a lot.’
She waved a hand as long-buried indignation rose inside her. ‘And Dexter was an idiot, anyway. He didn’t deserve Emma.’
‘I’ve clearly touched a nerve,’ Fraser said gravely, as their drinks arrived. ‘I’m glad I didn’t get the part now.’
Maura shook her head decisively. No matter how talented an actor Fraser was, she couldn’t imagine him playing someone as infuriating as Dexter. ‘You should be.’
He winked. ‘I would never have got my Red Rooster card, for a start.’
