Finula steadied herself and took a deep breath. Out of the pub window she watched as two vans pulled in at the front. This was the television crew The Templar had been expecting. Would Marcus be in one of the vans, she wondered, her heart starting to thump slightly. She forced herself to get a grip and concentrate on trying to look relaxed, confident and professional.
The vans parked and three people got out and gathered together, but Marcus wasn’t one of them, Finula noticed with disappointment. Moments later they came into the pub. A woman with long brown hair headed the small team. She smiled brightly and spoke directly to Dermot, who had approached their newly arrived guests.
‘Hi there, I’m Viola,’ she beamed, and offered her hand.
‘Good to meet you, Viola,’ he replied. ‘I’m the landlord, Dermot, and this is my daughter, Finula.’ He pointed to Finula, who smiled and waved from behind the bar.
‘We’re nearly all here, Dermot. Just waiting for Marcus, the producer, to arrive, but his time-keeping isn’t the best,’ she laughed, ‘and one other, Jamie, our runner, who’ll be joining us tomorrow.’
‘Right you are,’ nodded Dermot. ‘Let’s give you a hand with those cases and show you to your rooms.’
Finula quickly joined them to help. She picked up a large overnight bag from the floor next to Viola.
‘No, I’ll carry that.’ Viola quickly grabbed the bag back, then laughed a little awkwardly. ‘Perhaps you could carry Libby’s case for her?’ she added in a softer tone, seeing Finula’s puzzled expression. A middle-aged lady with short, blond hair smiled gratefully.
‘Sure, no problem,’ Finula replied.
‘Thank you so much. I hope it’s not too heavy.’
‘It’s fine,’ assured Finula, heaving the case up the stairs.
Dermot plonked down the luggage he had carried outside the first room on the landing.
‘This is one of the twin rooms,’ he stated, fishing in his back pocket for the key.
‘That’ll be for me and Libby,’ Viola told him and took the key.
‘The next room is for the single occupancy,’ Finula supplied.
‘That’s Marcus’,’ Viola informed, ‘so the last room’s yours and Jamie’s.’ She looked towards an older man, probably in his fifties, with thinning grey hair. Dermot handed him his key.
‘Thanks, I’m Len, the cameraman.’ He shook hands with Dermot.
What a nice, friendly bunch they seem, thought Finula. ‘Dinner’s served between seven o’clock and nine,’ she told them, ‘and breakfast from seven thirty to nine thirty.’
‘That’s great, thanks,’ smiled Viola.
‘Right, we’ll leave you to settle in. Just give us a shout if you need anything,’ Dermot said, turning to go back to the bar. Finula followed, anticipation building for Marcus’ arrival. She didn’t have to wait too long.
It was early evening by the time he arrived, whilst the rest of the team were sitting choosing their evening meal. It was growing dark outside but from the window Finula could just see a figure emerge out of a Range Rover. He was wheeling a case and had a rucksack slung over his shoulder. Finula fought for composure as Marcus entered the bar and looked straight into her face, then broke into a slow smile.
‘Hello, there,’ he said, and his soft, Irish tones melted her insides.
‘Oh, hi!’ she replied, desperate to sound casual and failing miserably as her words came out rather forced and squeaky. She quickly went on, ‘Had a good journey?’ That was better. At least the high pitch had disappeared and her normal voice had returned.
‘Not bad.’ He moved towards the bar, narrowing the distance between them. Finula could see him clearly now. His dark hair had been cut shorter and his face had grown stubble, giving him an unkempt, sexy look. He had razor-sharp cheekbones and full, wide lips, which were smiling in her direction. His green eyes were glistening brightly, like emeralds.
‘Thank you for sending the photograph,’ she said. Now he was directly facing her. Finula’s heart started to flutter.
‘You’re welcome.’ He gazed into her eyes and for a moment everything stood still.
‘Ah, Marcus, there you are!’ called Viola. He turned towards the table where his team were sitting and gave them a curt nod.
‘Be with you shortly,’ he answered. Then, turning back to Finula, he said gently, ‘Good to see you again, Finula.’
She looked at him and couldn’t speak. Luckily Dermot interrupted her reverie as he came in from the kitchen.
‘Marcus, welcome back.’ They exchanged firm handshakes. Finula sensed real affection between the two men, assuming it was because they came from the same county in Ireland. ‘Come on, I’ll show you to your room.’ Dermot ushered Marcus up the stairs, leaving Finula to catch her breath.