Page 31 of Coming Home to Winter Island
‘In the distillery, giving it and the still a good clean,’ he says, wiping his hands.
‘Have you really no idea where this recipe could be?’
He shakes his head. ‘Just that it’s somewhere in the house. Hector can’t remember.’
‘And he’s definitely the only one who knows?’
Lachlan nods. ‘Yup. His father...your great-grandfather, I suppose, ran the distillery.’ He spots the photos on the table and walks to them, spreading them out. ‘They made whisky and sold it to the mainland. But business was bad, sales were dropping off. It was Hector who came up with the idea of the gin. It’s quick to make and it saved the business... for a time. But then...well, from what I gather, after your grandmother died, things went downhill, and with no one to take over the business, it just shut down.’
‘And where were you in all of this?’
He looks at me. ‘I grew up on the island. My father was the gillie here. He looked after the hunting and the fishing. He helped out on the farm here too, when needed. There’s not much farm work around these parts any more. Nowadays it’s mostly wild goats and deer.’
‘Wild goats?’
‘Local legend has it that there was a shipwreck, an Armada vessel. The goats swam to safety and have lived on the island alongside the deer ever since.’
I smile at the story, then look at the box of records and put my hand in to pull one out. I’d love to sit and go through this lot, but there really isn’t time. ‘We need to find that recipe, Lachlan,’ I say firmly. ‘I have to be gone by New Year.’
‘Hogmanay,’ he says.
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s Hogmanay. New Year.’
‘Yes. Then I need to be gone by Hogmanay.’
‘It’ll turn up,’ he says, and nods with a wink and a smile. ‘All in good time.’
My stomach flips over and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the thought of getting to Tenerife, recovering my voice, getting back to where I belong, on stage.
God, this man is so infuriating. We need to work quicker!
‘But we don’t have time, Lachlan.Idon’t have time.’ A thought hits me. Sure, he agreed to move out as soon as we found the recipe and made the gin. But he also said he wanted to keep Hector at home for as long as he could. ‘Is it possible that you’re stalling for time here? Maybe you don’t want to find this recipe at all.’ I feel myself frowning. ‘After all, once we find it...’ he ignores me, and heads for the back door, ‘once we find it, you’ll have to move on too! Maybe you want things to stay as they are!’ I shout after him.
‘Maybe I do.’ He turns to look at me. ‘For Hector’s sake,’ he says, and I smart.
‘But he would be better off in the home!’
‘Says who? You?’ He opens the door. ‘Can you keep an eye on Hector while I go to the shed again?’
‘Of course,’ I reply tightly. I mean, it’s not like it’s that hard to keep an eye on him. He’ll just be sorting through cupboards like he has since I arrived here.
As Lachlan leaves, Hector arrives in the kitchen with the dogs. I pick up the photographs and hand them to him. Maybe, just maybe, they might trigger something in his mind.
‘I thought you might like to go through these,’ I say. He looks at me as if he has no idea what I’m talking about, then goes to one of the cupboards I’ve already searched and takes everything out again. Including the bottle of gin that we drank from on Christmas Day.
I look down at the bottles and jars Hector is going through with no idea what he’s looking for. I need to speed things up. I look at the bottle of gin again and I’m transported back to Christmas morning. I can smell the clean, salty air and taste the gin on my lips. I roll my bottom lip in as if tasting it all over again. Maybe there is another way.
Chapter Sixteen
Hector is back in the front room, which is now warm and toasty. He has decided to empty the cupboards all over again, looking for the recipe. I sigh. I’ll restack the papers later. There’s no stopping him once he starts.
While I wait for him to finish his rummaging, unable to resist temptation any more, I take the record player into the living room, where the fire is also lit, and has been every morning since I’ve been here. Presumably that’s Lachlan’s doing. I pick out a record, Ella Fitzgerald, one of my dad’s favourites, and put it on the turntable. It crackles, and I wait with bated breath; then the music begins to play and the sound of her voice fills the room. It lifts my spirits and my soul, making me feel anything is possible.
I go to the kitchen and pick up the gin bottle and take it back into the living room, where Ella is still singing. I’m desperate to sing along, but I know I can’t. I open the gin bottle and smell its contents. It smells like...gin. I can’t work out what’s in it. But I’m hoping someone else might.
‘Ah, you must be the new PA.’ Hector makes me jump as he comes into the room behind me. ‘I’m Hector Macquarrie,’ he says, sticking out a hand. ‘Thank you for coming over this morning.’
