Page 10 of Snowy Surprises in the Highlands (Scottish Highland #5)

April melted into May, then June, then July and with the passing of the months the weather varied as it was wont to do on Skye.

Some days the rain would come in sideways, battering everything with a needle-like icy chill; others it could be hotter than the Bahamas.

You just never knew what to expect and Bella loved that about the Highlands and Islands.

On this particular July day, however, which just happened to be Bella’s birthday, the sky was a beautiful, cloudless, cornflower-blue.

As she drove north to her latest job at the hotel, she took in the vista surrounding her; the mountains were covered in purple heather and the trees lush with verdant leaves.

With Fifi’s windows down, she could smell wild garlic mingled with lavender.

She pulled lungfuls of fresh air in as Harry Styles sang about ‘Watermelon Sugar’ and she sang along with a smile.

Nothing could dampen her mood. She had so much to look forward to; her wedding for starters, and baby Theo’s christening too.

She was to be one of his godmothers, which was a role she had been excited to accept when they had visited Inverness in May.

She had brought the distillery reception area and shop in a month early and they had celebrated with gin after their visit to see Theo.

Everyone loved it, and Bella thought perhaps it might be her best work to date.

In addition to all these amazing things, her mum and dad had accepted an offer on their house at the start of July and had subsequently offered on Rowan Cottage.

They were now in negotiations, but everything was looking positive.

Yes, today was definitely a good day.

When she pulled to a stop and climbed out of the car, all that could be heard was the sound of birdsong as Bella stood outside the stunning, and vast, Victorian villa that had been converted into a hotel in the 1970s.

Once a single, yet grand, family home, the sale on the Iolair-Mhara (or Sea Eagle) had just been completed by new owners and Texas residents, Darlene and Nathaniel Somers, who, according to Bella’s research, had amassed a good amount of wealth from oil in their home state.

They owned a number of properties around America, but this was their first outside of their home country and Bella wondered what had sparked the purchase.

Following her first video call with Mrs Somers, further video calls and several emailed mood boards had passed back and forth until an overall design had been agreed in order that Bella could bring the beautiful old place back to its former glory.

Now that confirmation, or probate, had finally been granted, the work could begin.

Standing there on the gravel driveway, Bella couldn’t quite believe that this was now her working life. She really was living her dream.

The hotel was an impressive old granite building with a central square turret and a pointed apex at the left side which was then mirrored on the right.

The hotel spanned three floors on the inside and an additional annexe building had been built after the Victorian era which had originally housed the laundry and servants’ quarters.

A stone canopy, complete with arches, provided shelter for those arriving at the front door and on top of this a decorative balustrade created an upper terrace.

When the sun was at its highest point in the sky, as it was today, the visible stonework sparkled as if covered with a layer of tiny diamonds, giving the place an ethereal feel; the kind of place fairies and princesses might reside, rather than poultrygeists .

A climbing ivy almost covered the whole of the front elevation, however, and Bella knew that this would need to be trimmed back.

Ivy, while pretty to look at, could ruin the integrity of mortar and as this had clearly been there for some time, she was aware that remedial work may also be required.

Thankfully Mr and Mrs Somers had enlisted Bella to deal with the inside so she presumed someone else would be tasked with taking on that particular job.

They had employed their thirty-year-old son to manage the place and informed her he would be her main point of contact from now on.

Across a quiet lane at the front of the property was Loch Portree and behind it was a row of old oak trees that had clearly been there hundreds of years. The location was nothing if not idyllic.

As she stood there admiring the building, a man appeared from inside.

He was shirtless and wearing khaki cargo shorts and work boots and carrying a large bottle of water in one hand.

He had a muscular physique – the torso of which was covered in a glistening layer of sweat – and blond hair.

In his other hand he held a huge set of hedge clippers which, Bella hoped, answered her concern about the front elevation.

She watched as he stopped and placed the hedge clippers on the ground then proceeded to pour half the contents of the bottle over his hair, allowing it to drip down his body like something off an episode of Baywatch .

Good grief, love yourself much? Bella thought.

All we need is some Barry White music and you’re good to go, pal.

‘Hey, little lady, you look kinda lost, can I help you?’ he asked in a Texan drawl . Oh, they must have sent over workmen from home, patronising ones too, great, Bella thought, strange when there are locals who would have no doubt cost much less.

She bit back her preferred retort and smiled. ‘Hi, I’m actually looking for the new manager, Mr Carlton Somers. Is he here?’

The man walked towards her, smiling. ‘Who can I say is here? Are you his lover?’ he asked, running a hand through his wet hair. ‘If so he’s a lucky guy.’

A little taken back by his forthright question, she replied, ‘No, no, I’m… I’m Bella Douglas, I’m going to be redesigning the interior of the hotel. I’m supposed to meet with him to show him the approved designs.’

‘Approved designs, huh? Who did the approvin’ of these designs?’ the man asked, frowning, still no introduction.

Bella found his forwardness a little rude for a paid employee, if that’s what he was. ‘Mr and Mrs Somers, the owners. Is Carlton Somers here?’

He eyed her up and down with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘What if he is?’

‘Well, if he is I’d like to speak with him, please.

’ The man pulled a bottle of sun lotion from a pocket on his cargo shorts and began to smear some on his already tanned skin.

Oh, don’t you worry, I’ve got all day to stand here , she thought as she fought the threatening stroppy huff.

She forced a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go in and find him myself.

’ She began to walk towards the entrance.

He chuckled. ‘Go right ahead but I doubt you’ll find him in there.’

Bella was suspicious of the man before her. She stopped and glared at the half-dressed man. ‘Is that because you’re him and you’re playing games with me?’

He grinned. ‘I might be. I do like to play games.’

Oh, for goodness’ sake, I don’t have time for this. She couldn’t help flaring her nostrils but bit her tongue momentarily. ‘If you are Mr Somers, can you just tell me, please, because I have another meeting this afternoon and I don’t want to keep my other client waiting.’

‘So, you’re already being unfaithful, huh? Not a great start.’ It was clear he was teasing by the half-smile on his face. ‘It usually takes a lot longer than this for the cheatin’ to start.’

‘I can assure you, Mr Somers, that this is purely business. Now shall we go inside and go over the designs?’

He wiped his hand down his shorts and held it out. ‘You got me. Carlton Somers.’

It didn’t take a rocket scientist . She shook the offered hand, feeling the slimy residue of suntan lotion and realising she had nowhere to wipe it. ‘Bella Douglas.’

Carlton Somers had been employed, albeit reluctantly from what his parents had said, in the role of manager after he had retired from a career as a catalogue model.

It had all felt a little strange, and somewhat contrived, to Bella.

He was a handsome man, granted, but why would he go from modelling to running a hotel in a whole other country?

She felt sure there was more to his story.

‘So you said.’ He glanced at her left hand. ‘That’s quite a rock on your finger. Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘My fiancé is Inspector Harris Donaldson.’

He nodded, looking her up and down again.

‘Is he now?’ He turned and walked in through the huge oak doors and into the reception area.

It was a hideous throwback to when the colour palette took its inspiration from mud.

Lots of brown and lots of Formica. Who could do this to such a beautiful old building?

He turned his head and asked over his shoulder, ‘Can I get you a drink? Some food? I usually order in from a place in Por tree. But they’re pretty quick.’

‘I’m good, thanks. Is there somewhere with a table so I can spread my designs out for you to look at?’

He mumbled something incoherent but from his expression she got an idea of what he was thinking. She felt her cheeks flame. ‘I’m sorry, what ?’

‘I said sure, we can go spread your designs out in the lounge. The furniture is still in there right now, but Mom has arranged for a removal company to come along this week. Apparently, some folks still like this crap, so someone has bought it, believe it or not.’ So, they at least had their dislike of seventies décor in common, if nothing else.

The fifty shades of brown theme carried through into the lounge where caramel faux-leather sofas and chairs sat around a large smoked-glass coffee table on a chocolate-brown and cream swirly patterned rug.

It smelled musty and the suspended ceiling was stained with nicotine; the colour of which fit quite well with the scheme, ironically.