After dinner, they headed into the drawing room for coffee, choosing a comfortable sofa near a curved bay window overlooking the garden. The spring days were beginning to lengthen the evenings and dusk had only recently settled into darkness. Sophie sat down next to Mel and Flora settled into a high-backed armchair nearby.
A jumble of mismatched blue and floral printed sofas were clustered together around coffee tables, perfectly complemented by pale lemon wallpaper and a patterned carpet that didn’t quite reach the walls. Folding doors to the piano lounge next door were open and Flora heard the sound of Cole Porter drifting across to them. Her mind well remembered the phrasing of the music and she followed it with a practised ease that she thought she had forgotten after she had switched studying music for horticulture. Mel’s eyes were trying to close, as she finally began to slow down and relax, and Flora glanced at Sophie, recognising at once the implacable look on her friend’s face.
‘Ready, Flora? It seems as good a time as any.’
Flora immediately felt worried. ‘For what?’
‘For your dare! We need to find your plus-one for the wedding.’ Sophie was calmly scanning the room for suitable candidates and she lowered her voice. ‘There’s nobody in here that will do, so it has to be the very next man that enters the room, provided he’s alone and appears to be single, of course.’
Flora heaved a sigh but inched forwards until she was perched on the edge of her chair. She couldn’t believe how seriously her friend was taking this. From the corner of her eye she saw Mel sit upright with a grin, as she realised what was going on. As Flora slowly stood up, she heard Sophie’s splutter of laughter, and her heart sank as she glanced across to the door. An elderly man had sidled in with the help of a walking stick, wearing tartan trousers and a Prince Charlie jacket. Flora heard Mel laugh, too, and she turned around to glare at her. But then she felt Sophie’s hand clutching her leg and she swung her gaze back to the door: the elderly man had ambled back out again, and a much younger and taller man had taken his place.
He had paused to greet someone, allowing Flora a moment to study him. He was wearing a simple white shirt and dark grey trousers, which highlighted broad shoulders and long legs. Dark blonde hair was cropped short, and she was near enough to notice stubble covering a determined jaw below a slightly uneven nose that must once have been broken. A brief grin hardly softened his eyes when he nodded at somebody else, and she sensed at once that he was used to getting his own way. Flora could see it in every detail she had already noted, from his brisk handshake to the cool and measured way he studied the room before him.
Sophie gave a strangled squeal and her fingers tightened on her friend’s calf. ‘Flora, quick, before somebody else snaps him up. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. Worth a try, at least.’
Flora found herself putting one foot in front of the other as she walked towards him, nerves spinning wildly. She almost wished he would turn around and leave before she had a chance to speak to him, and yet she already knew that would bring disappointment. He was alone, quietly watching the room, and then Flora was hovering awkwardly beside him, uncomfortably aware that several pairs of eyes were watching.
‘Oh hi,’ she said, an unexpected glow warming her face when he turned his head. She realised his eyes were almost a slate grey rather than blue, and she was surprised by their impatience as he looked at her. He gave her a brief smile that was more dismissive than polite, the gesture bringing out the fine lines around his mouth. He moved aside to let her pass and looked down at the phone in his hand, swiping abruptly at the screen with an irritated sigh. She caught the subtle scent of his aftershave – cardamom and fresh summer spices – and thought distractedly that he would be perfect for dancing at the wedding, as he was a good four inches taller than her, even in heels.
‘I’m really sorry to bother you.’ Flora hardly recognised the high squeak of her own voice. He lifted his head, as though surprised that she was still there, and the suggestion of a smile returned when his eyes found hers, before roaming slowly over her face, where her blush still lingered. ‘I’m staying here, and I have to ask you a question. My friends, over there—’ She waved her arm hazily towards the window, ‘They’ve insisted on a silly dare. We’re here on a sort of hen weekend and, basically, I have to find a plus-one for my friend’s wedding in a few weeks.’
‘Excuse me?’ His confusion was reflected in the sharp reply and slight lifting of his brows, and Flora crashed on desperately.
‘Just say no, of course – why wouldn’t you? But I had to ask the first man we saw, and it wasn’t you… and then it was.’ Flora fell silent, all too horribly aware that she was babbling utter nonsense to a gorgeous stranger. ‘Sorry, I’m not making any sense,’ she muttered quickly. ‘Forget it.’ She turned away.
‘Go on then. Ask me to be your guest. If that’s what you were trying to say?’
His voice, with its rich Scottish burr, was deeper than she had expected, full of amusement and warmer than his eyes. She spun around and a few moments dragged by, before she responded, conscious of the air between them vibrating with tension and expectation. She forced herself to stand still, as she spoke quietly.
‘Would you like to be my plus-one at my friend’s wedding next month?’
The phone in his hand began to vibrate again, but he silenced it without looking at the screen and pushed it into a pocket. His gaze had never left hers throughout their exchange, and Flora felt the atmosphere around her shift, as though she had crossed to a place where the very air was unknown to her.
‘I’d love to.’
Completely thrown by his easy and unexpected acceptance, her eyes widened in alarm. ‘You don’t mean it,’ she stammered, and she knew he was enjoying her surprise. ‘A simple no would have been fine. I know you won’t come – it’s a stupid idea.’
‘But you invited me. Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?’
Flora gaped at him and couldn’t think of a word to say, couldn’t find a response to his confidence and the ridiculousness of what she had done. He waited, his earlier impatience dispelled by his obvious enjoyment of their exchange. She shook her head slowly and he found his phone once again.
‘Should we swap numbers? Seeing as we’ll probably need to contact one another if I’m to be your guest.’
Flora could never remember her own phone number since she’d changed it a few months ago. Glad of the excuse to have a moment to think, she pointed to the sofa again. ‘My phone’s over there. Maybe later?’
She turned away, her mind spinning as she tried to imagine what would happen next. Her heel caught in a rug and it was a few seconds before she managed to twist her shoe free. She had no idea if he were still watching, but she could see Mel and Sophie falling about, hardly bothering to conceal their amusement. She stomped over to them, lowered herself into the armchair and reached for her drink.
‘Done,’ she spluttered, horribly aware that her cheeks were still glowing as she gulped a mouthful of coffee. ‘Don’t ask, I’m sure you saw everything you need to know. He won’t come.’ She pushed the cup back onto its saucer with a rattle. ‘Have they not brought the whisky yet?’ She became suspicious as she saw that Mel was looking serious. ‘What? What is it now?’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen him before.’ Mel’s concentration produced a frown, as she delved into her memory, and Flora’s gaze followed the man as he crossed the room to the bar. Flora also noticed nearly all the other women in the room seemed to be looking at him, too, and that made her even crosser. Wish I’d tried the tartan guy, she grumbled to herself.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said out loud, feeling her pulse gradually slow and her adrenalin begin to retreat to more normal levels. ‘We’ll all go home on Sunday and then I’ll never—’ She didn’t quite manage to finish her sentence, as Mel shot upright on the sofa and grabbed Flora’s arm, a look of satisfaction brightening her expression.
‘I’ve just realised who he is.’ Mel was triumphant now the confusion had disappeared and Flora knew she was about to find out, whether she wanted to or not. ‘That, Flora, is Mackenzie Jamieson, I’m sure of it. I think his family owns this hotel. Good choice, babe. Just think, if the two of you get together, Sophie and I will be able to come for weekends whenever we like.’
Flora gave a moan of horror, wishing it were already Sunday morning. So, she could never come back to Alana, even if she wanted to, and at this very moment she wished she hadn’t come here at all, despite the promise of a whole day in the spa tomorrow. Flora listened as Mel continued the story and her dismay, as well as her reluctant curiosity, grew with every word.
‘Apparently, the hotel was opened after the island was sold by the previous owners in a community buyout a few years ago. There was some mention of a serious girlfriend at one time, but it seems he’s quite private and nobody’s very sure if she’s still around.’
‘And how on earth do you know all of this?’
‘Google, of course. I looked him up when I found the hotel. But the photograph didn’t look very recent: he had a beard and his hair was longer. He’s gorgeous, though, isn’t he?’
Flora was reluctant to admit it, not that she had the chance to speak, as Sophie suddenly squealed urgently. ‘He’s coming over,’ she hissed excitedly, flicking an expert hand through her hair. ‘With the drinks.’
Flora barely had time to register Sophie’s comment before she became aware that Mackenzie Jamieson had halted beside her chair, and she knew her skin was glowing all over again. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a long leg, close to her seat, and deliberately watched Mel instead, who was happily smiling up at him.
‘Ladies, your whisky. I hope you’ll forgive me for choosing for you.’ He was looking from Mel to Sophie as he spoke. ‘A Macallan ten-year-old single malt, nicely full without being too sweet. Perfect for after dinner.’ And then he turned to Flora. ‘For you, something different.’
Flora squirmed as he singled her out, wishing he hadn’t, and trying to appear calmer than she felt.
‘A Lagavulin sixteen-year-old malt – full, smooth and complex. I hope you enjoy it.’
He placed the glasses on the coffee table and Flora noticed at once that he had rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt, revealing powerful arms browned by the sun and covered in softly curling golden hairs. Then she heard him speak again and surprise, as well as simple good manners, forced her to look up at him. Those curious slate-grey eyes were waiting for hers and the atmosphere between them began to simmer once again.
‘Here’s my card. Text me when it’s convenient. I don’t want to take up more of your evening, Ms…?’
‘Stewart,’ she replied coolly. She accepted the card without looking at it. ‘Flora Stewart.’
‘Flora Stewart.’ He repeated it slowly, his eyes locked on hers. She had the impression he was testing the shape of her name, rolling the letters into something that sounded casual and intimate all at once. He bent to collect their empty coffee cups, before straightening up and sweeping his glance across each of them. He gave a quick nod and turned away without another word. Flora stared at his back as he headed off towards the bar with the tray, still astonished by the turn of events.
Sophie leant forwards to mutter, ‘I thought you said he wouldn’t come?’ Her eyes narrowed slyly, curiosity and mischief alive in her expression. ‘Because he has just given you his telephone number. Nice work.’
Flora shook her head in vehement protest. ‘It was definitely a no. Well, he sort of said yes, but he won’t actually come.’
‘Whaaat?’ Sophie’s screech attracted curious glances and Flora tried to shush her furiously. Undeterred, Sophie carried on, her voice only slightly lower. ‘What did you two actually say to each other?’
‘Thank you, Mr Jamieson.’ Mel jumped in, raising her voice quickly before he was lost to them in the groups milling nearby. He paused, still holding the tray and turned around. He nodded at Mel before his measured glance met Flora’s flustered one across the people in between them.
‘Mac,’ he said casually. The sudden grin he gave her was so teasing that Flora wondered if she was imagining the challenge in his eyes. ‘My name’s Mac. You can send the invitation via the hotel if you like.’