Page 6 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

Freya was stripping the sheets off her dad’s bed the following morning when there was a rat-a-tat knock on the door.

Curious, she went to answer it, and it took her a moment to realise that her visitor was Rhona from next door.

Freya hadn’t seen her for ages, not for a couple of years at least, but the woman hadn’t changed a bit, despite being in her seventies now.

Rhona peered at her through a pair of round spectacles. ‘Freya? Is that you?’

‘How lovely to see you,’ Freya replied. ‘Won’t you come in?’

‘I’ve only popped by because I heard noises last night and saw the light on. I guessed it was you, but I thought I’d better chap on the door and check.’ Her brows lowered. ‘You can’t be too careful these days.’

‘No, of course you can’t,’ Freya agreed. ‘Are you sure you won’t come in? I was about to make a pot of tea.’ She’d nipped out to the shop for milk and bread as soon as it had opened at seven o’clock, so she could have a cup of tea and a slice of toast for her breakfast.

‘Go on, then, just a quick one,’ Rhona said, and as she showed her in, Freya saw her eyes widen. ‘You’ve been busy.’

Freya ignored the innuendo that her dad’s house had needed a good clean.

Filling the kettle, she said, ‘Dad and I owe you a huge thank you. Goodness knows how long he would have lain there if you hadn’t heard him calling.

’ She switched the kettle on, then pulled out a chair.

‘Please, sit down. Would you like a biscuit?’ Freya had found an unopened packet in a cupboard.

‘I’m watching my figure,’ Rhona said, patting her plump tummy.

Freya, who wasn’t, opened it and took two out, trying not to let her amusement show. Rhona had been ‘watching her figure’ ever since Freya could remember.

Rhona cocked her head to the side. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s broken his hip, I’m afraid.’

‘I thought as much. I could tell by the way he was lying. He didn’t want me to phone for an ambulance, though, the silly auld eejit. But I did anyway.’

‘And I’m very grateful.’

Rhona hadn’t finished. ‘I think he was hoping I’d be able to lift him!’ She tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘Will you thank him for the flowers? It was kind of him.’

‘I will.’

‘So, you’re going to be here for a bit, then? Or will he be going to stay with you in London?’

‘Milk?’

‘Aye, just a wee drop.’

Freya poured the tea, then joined her dad’s neighbour at the table. Rhona was looking at her expectantly and Freya realised she hadn’t answered her question. ‘I’ll be staying here,’ she replied.

Rhona raised her eyebrows and Freya simply knew that the news of her return to Skye, albeit on a temporary basis, would soon be all over the village.

‘That’s nice. I dare say he’ll be glad of the company. He’ll need it too, with a broken hip. How is he in himself? I must admit, I’ve been a bit worried about him these past few months.’

‘Oh? Why is that?’ A slow dread crept into her bones.

Ever since she’d got here last night and saw how her father had let standards drop, Freya had worried that maybe he hadn’t been coping. Were her fears about to be confirmed?

‘He’s not been himself,’ Rhona said, ‘but I can’t put my finger on it.’

‘Do you think he’s ill?’ Freya blurted.

Rhona thought for a moment. ‘It’s probably just old age. It comes to us all eventually. Look at me: I’ve got arthritis, high blood pressure, a cataract in one eye and my bowels haven’t been right for years.’

Freya winced. She honestly didn’t need to know that.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, thinking that if there was something wrong, the hospital would surely have picked it up, considering the number of times Dad’s blood pressure, pulse and temperature had been checked this past week.

But on the other hand, seventy-four wasn’t old old.

Guilt pricked at her as she thought of the physical distance between them – nearly seven hundred miles and at least a twelve-hour drive. She should have made more of an effort to visit him, especially since he’d sold his boat six years ago. Retirement didn’t seem to have agreed with him.

But she’d been so busy. She still was. Lecturing at the art college might mean long holidays, but she invariably spent those in her studio. It had taken hard work and determination to make a name for herself, and she rarely seemed to have any spare time.

Realising she was making excuses, Freya sipped her tea in silence.

Rhona said, ‘Let me know when he’s home and I’ll pop round. Oh, and if my cat bothers you, shoo him away. Anyone would think I don’t feed him.’ She got awkwardly to her feet. ‘Tell your dad I was asking after him.’

‘I will,’ Freya promised. ‘He’s being sent back to Broadford today, so I’ll visit him later.’

As she showed Rhona out, Freya’s thoughts turned to the jobs she needed to do, and her heart sank, as she realised she’d have to return to London shortly to fetch more clothes, because it looked like she was going to be here for a while.

Mack was pooped. Three trips a day throughout the summer months were enough for anyone, and he was looking forward to an afternoon off.

Sea Serpent Boat Tours might be his business, but he was conscious of the need for downtime, both for his crew and himself, so he rostered time off for all of them.

His crew took a full day once a fortnight.

Mack allowed himself an afternoon, and even then, he often spent the time doing admin.

Although he was aware he needed to make enough money in the lucrative summer months to get him through the winter when decent days on the loch were fewer and there weren’t as many tourists on the island, he wasn’t intending to work this afternoon.

He was going to go for a hike. The mountain behind his house was calling to him and, as much as he loved being on his boat, he was desperate to feel grass under his feet and to smell the heather.

After issuing instructions and reminders (which were met with shakes of the head, because his crew knew what they were doing), Mack took off just before the next trip went out.

Resisting the urge to go to the lock-up and do some paperwork, he jumped into his car and drove the short distance home.

Once there, he didn’t linger. After putting on his hiking boots, he made himself a piece, stuffing the bread with cheese, ham and salad, and grabbed a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar, before filling a flask with instant coffee.

Checking that his rucksack had waterproofs, a torch and a thermal blanket (in case of emergency), he popped in his picnic, then slung the bag over his shoulders and set off.

Located no more than ten paces from his back door was a path that would take him to the top of the mountain.

The first part of his hike was through woodland, a mixture of pine and deciduous trees, and the air was full of birdsong. But it was swiftly left behind as the gradient grew steeper and trees gave way to low scrub, then finally heather and tussocky grass, with the odd clump of stubborn gorse.

As he climbed higher, the view opened up, and he paused for a moment, squinting and shading his eyes with his hand as he tried, without success, to make out the Sea Serpent on the glittering water. Coorie Castle was clearly visible, though, and his gaze was drawn to the magnificent old building.

Perched on a hill above the loch, the castle rose out of the rock to tower over the landscape, although from here it looked like one of the doll’s houses that Tara made.

Its stonework was white and shone in the afternoon light; its many windows glinted and glittered, and he could just make out a flag flying from the top of one of the turrets.

To the side of the castle lay the craft centre; it had once been the service buildings for the castle, built many years after the monument itself.

They had fallen into disrepair until Mhairi Gray, the elderly lady who owned the estate, had converted them into studios and created a craft centre out of them.

The village was spread out below, following the contours of the loch, the buildings dotted along the main road, with some to either side.

He could make out the kirk, with its pointed spire, and the post office-cum-shop.

It was easy to spot the pub, and he could also see his mum’s house and his brother’s.

It was as though his whole life was laid out before him, everything and everyone he loved visible from up here.

This was why he loved coming here so much, no matter the weather. It grounded him and made him more aware of his place in the world. And on a day like today, when the sun shone out of a cerulean sky, it was pure joy.

The warm breeze was scented with heather, meadowsweet, and the coconut and vanilla perfume of the yellow gorse flowers. He breathed deeply, letting the fragrance wash over and through him, and stayed there a moment, filling his lungs with the sweet, clean air.

Resuming his hike, Mack allowed his thoughts to wander, and they settled on the woman he’d spoken to in the pub last night. There’d been something familiar about her and he hoped he hadn’t hit on her before. Might she be a regular holidaymaker to the area?

Abruptly, it came to him, and the knowledge stopped him in his tracks: the woman had been none other than Freya Sinclair.

Freya hurried into Broadford Hospital on Saturday afternoon clutching a bag for life, and headed for the ward. Spying her father in the bed furthest from the door, she made a beeline for him, but her feet slowed when she grew close.

His eyes were closed, his cheeks sunken, and he suddenly looked older than when she’d last seen him.

She bit her lip in distress, and it took her a second to gather herself; the last thing her dad needed was to see her upset.

Placing the bag on the floor next to his bed, she decided to sit with him until he woke, and while she waited, she would try to make inroads into her to-do list. She’d already informed Sean Pickles that she wouldn’t be around during the summer (not that the college expected her to be) but she wanted to keep him abreast of what was happening, in case she didn’t make it back to London for the start of the new academic year in September.

It was well over two months away, but since no one could tell her how long it would be before her dad would be back on his feet again, she had to make sure the vice chancellor was aware of the situation, in case a slightly longer absence was necessary. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be…

There was also Jocasta Black’s offer to consider, and the woman was going to need an answer soon, but with everything that had happened, Freya hadn’t had a chance to think about it properly.

Her thumb hovered over Hadrian’s name and she was about to message him, when she decided against it. She would speak to him later in the privacy of her dad’s house. Instead, she booked a flight back to London for tomorrow.

She needed to sort out her flat and, more importantly, her studio. Plus, she needed more clothes, and as she couldn’t afford to keep the hire car indefinitely, she would have to drive her little van back to Skye.

Freya wasn’t looking forward to the journey one bit, but it had to be done.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced up to see her dad looking at her, and she got to her feet and bent over the bed to give him a kiss. His skin was dry and smelt of antiseptic. ‘You’re awake. How was the journey?’

‘Not too bad,’ he replied, but he couldn’t hide a grimace, and she knew the transfer had taken it out of him.

‘I’ve got to pop back to London…’ she began, before realising how ridiculous she sounded: one didn’t just ‘pop back’ from Skye. ‘I need to fetch more clothes and—’

‘Stay there,’ he interrupted.

Freya blinked. ‘You don’t mean that?’

‘I do. I can manage on my own. You’ve seen me with the walker.’

She had, and it had been painful to watch.

Gone was the strong, striding father she knew, and in his place was a hesitant, shuffling old man.

However – and Freya took comfort from this – her dad was making good progress, and although he would need her help for a while, she was confident that he’d be walking well in a few weeks, even if he did have to use a stick outside the house.

And if necessary, she’d arrange for a cleaner to come in a couple of times a week and for him to have his shopping delivered.

She worried whether he’d be able to drive again, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

She needed to get him home first, and for that to happen she had to bring his bed downstairs.

Thank goodness the bathroom was on the ground floor.

In fact, she’d tackle the bed situation this evening, in case he was discharged early next week.

It was better to be prepared than to leave things until the last minute, she reasoned, knowing she would be away for at least two days.

‘There’s no need for you to come back,’ he insisted. ‘You’ve got your own life to lead.’

He’d been singing variations of the same song all week, to Freya’s growing irritation. Anyone would think he didn’t want her there.

‘We’ve been over this, Dad. I’m staying for as long as you need me.’

‘But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ he argued. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘You won’t.’ She could be just as stubborn as him, and she was determined not to back down. She could never be so selfish as to leave him on his own when he needed her, no matter how much he protested that he didn’t. And if something happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.

‘I’m staying and that’s final,’ she insisted. ‘So get used to the idea. Anyway, it won’t be forever, will it? You’ll soon be as right as rain.’

As Freya got to her feet and began to unpack the bag, she almost missed the flash of guilt and sadness on her dad’s face.

Her heart went out to him; it was going to be hard for such an independent and self-sufficient man to accept that he needed a bit of help – even if it would only be for a short time – and she vowed to make the next few weeks as easy as possible.