Page 27 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

Thankfully, the rain cleared overnight and the following day dawned bright and sunny. As Freya walked along the path from the village to the castle, the air smelt of salt and wet grass. It was one of those days when it felt really good to be alive.

She didn’t seem to have suffered any ill effects from the dousing she’d had yesterday, although it had taken her a while to warm up.

While she’d dried off and changed into her pyjamas, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about poor Mack, who’d had a decent walk before he reached his own house.

She hoped he was all right, and she’d been tempted to phone him to ask, but she wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate.

She was fairly sure he wouldn’t have taken it the wrong way, but the problem was she was fairly sure she meant it the wrong way.

Her enquiry wouldn’t have just been be a polite one, from one friend to another; it would have been an excuse to speak to him again.

Lying in bed last night, trying her utmost to fall asleep, Freya couldn’t help wondering why she’d suggested taking him out for a meal.

On the surface it had been a reasonable thing to do, to thank him for allowing her to use his byre, but considering the attraction she felt for him and the way he was beginning to invade her thoughts when she least expected it, it wasn’t wise.

She should have just bought him another bottle of whisky, or three.

Dinner at the castle, just the two of them, would be far too intimate.

And there the castle was, its turrets rising above the trees.

So eager was she to see the rest of the studios (and visit the pottery again) that she decided the cafe could wait.

She would treat herself to a small slice of cake and a cappuccino afterwards, and she would even ask them if they could box up a slice to take home to her dad.

Actually, come to think of it, she’d ask them to box up two slices: her dad could have one and Mack could have the other.

She didn’t plan on going to the byre today, but she’d go tomorrow and take him his slice of cake then.

Rob beamed when she entered the studio and hurried forward. ‘Hello, again. Have you come to have a chat about running a workshop? Mhairi mentioned it when I saw her this morning.’

‘Er, no. I’m not sure I’ll have the time,’ she said. ‘Or how long I’ll be in Duncoorie. You see, my father’s broken his hip and he’s going to need a fair bit of help for a while, but as soon as he’s better, I’ll be going back to London.’

‘That’s a shame. I would have loved to have seen you in action.’

Freya laughed. ‘ In action? I’d hardly call throwing a pot an exciting spectator sport.’

‘I’ve heard you are hand building because you don’t have access to a wheel.’

‘I am and it’s great fun. I don’t do it often enough. I do miss my wheel, though, but it won’t be for long. I’ll soon be back in my own studio – fingers crossed.’

‘If you find you’re getting withdrawal symptoms, you’re welcome to use mine.’

It was very generous of him, but she wouldn’t invade his space.

She knew how precious she could be when it came to her own studio, and how she wasn’t keen on anyone else touching her things.

Despite the principles of ceramics being the same, each potter had a slightly different way of doing things and a slightly different set-up.

‘Thank you, that’s kind,’ she said. ‘Maybe I will.’

Rob shuffled his feet. ‘Could I ask your advice?’

‘Of course.’ She looked at him expectantly.

‘I struggle to get height on pieces, especially when it comes to vases. I get them to a certain height and the necks become twisted.’

‘Do you mean when you do collaring?’

‘Yes.’

‘How wet are your hands?’

‘I keep a sponge handy.’

‘Good.’ The teacher in Freya kicked into gear. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you show me and maybe I can see where you can make an adjustment or two.’

Rob was obviously an experienced potter, and it amazed her that no matter how long you’d been making ceramics, there was always something to be learnt. She was more than happy to share her knowledge, and in return if she could scrounge tips from others, she would.

He ushered her towards his throwing station and handed her an apron. Then he pinned a bat onto the wheel and set it spinning, and unwrapped a lump of clay and slammed it down.

Freya watched him throw a wide cylinder, studying the placement of his hands as he gathered the clay from the bottom, pulling it up with his palms.

‘OK, I think I can see what’s happening,’ she said, as the structure began to topple. ‘If you leave the pulls a bit thicker, you’ll be able to stretch the clay without it collapsing. Don’t allow it to become too thin, and keep the pulls gentle.’

‘Like this?’ The clay was transforming from a short cylinder into a much taller one before her very eyes.

‘Exactly like that. Now, rotate your wrists, like this.’ She held up her arms to demonstrate, moving her hands upwards and her palms inwards, and watched him do the same.

‘That’s right. Don’t worry if you feel it start to wobble; the trick is to re-centre it as you lift it.

See the bit that’s bulging? Right there? ’

‘Here?’

‘Yes, keep your eyes on it and with each rotation, push it in. You’ve got to keep pushing it in, so you don’t let the wobble take hold, because that’s when it’ll collapse. Good, good… You’ve got it.’

When the clay was at a height of about half a metre, she said, ‘Stop pulling. Now you can shape it. Don’t use your fingers, use a stick – it’ll ensure the neck remains open. I think you were trying to thin the collar too much before shaping it.’

‘I was!’ he cried, and she was delighted to see how pleased he was with the finished result.

After he’d removed the vase from the wheel and carried it very carefully to the drying rack, he stood back to admire it.

‘You really should run a workshop here,’ he told her.

‘No, you should.’

‘But I can’t—’

‘Yes, you can,’ she interrupted. ‘Start with a beginners’ workshop and a simple thrown pot. Or how about hand building for kids? You’ll be amazed how rewarding it is.’

‘I’m not as skilled as you.’

‘Not at collaring perhaps, but what about your glazing?’ She pointed to an elegant bowl in the studio’s window. ‘That’s exquisite.’ Pride shone in his eyes as she added, ‘We can all learn from each other. No one knows everything.’

‘You really think I could run a workshop?’

‘Absolutely!’

‘Oh, wow. Maybe I will.’

Freya fished around in her bag and handed him a small embossed card. ‘My email address is on the back. When ,’ she stressed the word, ‘you run your first one, I’d like to see some photos, and I definitely want you to tell me how brilliantly it went.’

‘Thank you so much. I will.’

‘Good luck, though I’ll probably see you around because I’ll be in Duncoorie for a few more weeks yet.’

‘If you’re ever in the pub, I’ll buy you a drink.’

Freya grinned. ‘Don’t think I won’t hold you to that, because I will.’

Happy that she’d been able to help, she left Rob’s studio, eager to see the rest of the craft centre.

The next studio made her smile, for in the window were the most glorious and exquisitely detailed doll’s houses. This must be Tara’s work, she surmised, and with a spring in her step, she went inside.

Tara glanced up, a professional smile on her face, but when she saw who it was, she did a double take and her eyes lit up.

‘Freya! You came!’ She leapt to her feet and hurried towards the counter, leaning across it to give her a hug. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’re extremely talented,’ Freya replied honestly.

‘Not about my doll’s houses, silly. I was talking about the craft centre as a whole.’

‘I haven’t looked round all of it yet,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve only been into the glass workshops and the pottery studio next door.’

Tara beamed. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

‘I remember these old buildings being mostly derelict when I was a kid. It’s lovely to see them restored and put to good use.’

‘It certainly is,’ Tara replied. ‘The minute I saw this place, I knew I wanted to work here.’

‘I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t mind working here, either.’

‘It’s a pity we can’t persuade you to stick around.’

‘I wish I could, but I can’t,’ she replied. ‘As soon as Dad is back on his feet, I’ll be off.’

‘To New York?’

‘Not straight away. I’m hoping to start my new job in January, but I haven’t had a contract through yet and neither have I handed in my notice. There’ll be an awful lot to sort out before I leave.’

In her quieter moments, Freya had run through in her mind what needed to be done.

Handing in her notice would be easy; deciding what to do with her apartment was much trickier.

Did she want to sell it, or did she want to rent it out?

It would be nice to have a base in London, in case she decided to return one day; actually, there was no in case , because she had the feeling she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life in the States.

She would come back to Britain at some point, so the most sensible thing would be to rent out her property in London, so she didn’t have to try to find somewhere to live when she did eventually return.

Anyway, renting it out meant that she could come back any time she wanted with a minimum of fuss if, for whatever reason, living in America didn’t work out.

Freya chatted to Tara for a few minutes more, then left to explore the rest of the centre.

The other studios were equally fascinating, and she spent some time in each before making her way to the gift shop and Jinny.

Jinny was delighted to see her. ‘What can I tempt you with?’

Freya’s gaze darted greedily around the shop, briefly alighting on something that caught her eye, before swiftly moving on.

By the time she’d finished her initial scan, there were at least a dozen things she would have loved to buy.

In fact, she was so spoilt for choice that she was having trouble deciding on any one thing. Or any two things, for that matter.

Then she realised that if she bought something, she’d have to make sure she’d be able to take it with her across the pond, else it might sit in storage for some considerable time, if not forever.

Of course, she would take any special items with her, and that was something else she’d have to look into.

She could hardly pack her kiln into a suitcase, could she?

Would she even want to take it? It would probably be cheaper and easier to buy a kiln once she was there – in fact, she might be able to stipulate that having a fully equipped studio was part of the contract.

Gosh, there was so much to think about, it was making her head spin. Time for a break.

After promising Jinny she’d be back, though not necessarily to buy something, she went to the cafe for a slice of cake and a restorative coffee, and tried not to think about anything other than the immediate future.

But the immediate future didn’t involve Mack, so why on earth did an image of him pop into her head and her heart miss a beat?