Page 8 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

Freya threw her keys onto the coffee table and collapsed into her armchair. Resting her head against the squishy cushion, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to centre herself after the journey back to London.

She found it difficult to believe that she’d only been away just over a week. It felt more like a month.

Opening her eyes again, she willed herself to her weary feet. There was so much to do, and she really should get going.

She was halfway through sorting what she wanted to take, when the intercom buzzed.

‘Party time!’ Harini, who lived in the apartment directly above Freya, breezed into the flat in a swirl of long dark hair, full skirt and flowery perfume.

‘Now?’ Freya asked, bemused.

‘No, silly, Friday.’

‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Our one-year anniversary.’ Harini followed Freya into the bedroom.

Opening a drawer and taking out a pile of underwear, Freya said, ‘I thought you and Coretta had been together longer than a year. Congrats, by the way.’

Harini laughed. ‘No, it just feels like it sometimes – but don’t tell her I said that.’ Her gaze fell on the open suitcase. ‘Of course!’ She slapped a palm to her forehead. ‘It’s the summer holidays, isn’t it? Are you going somewhere nice?’

‘Yes and no.’ Freya dumped the armful of underwear on the bed and began to sort through it. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ll have to miss your party. I’m going to Skye for a while.’

Harini gave her a cautious look. ‘How long is a while, and why don’t you sound happy about it?’

‘It isn’t a holiday, unfortunately. My dad’s broken his hip, so he needs looking after.’

‘Oh, no! I’m sorry. Is he OK?’

‘He will be. He’s in hospital at the moment, but I’m hoping they’ll discharge him soon.’

‘Is that why I haven’t seen you around for a few days?’

Freya nodded. ‘I’ve spent the past week there, and I’m driving back tomorrow. I only popped home to pack.’

‘Would you like a hand?’

‘That’s so sweet of you, but I can manage.’

‘How long do you think you’ll be gone?’

‘I’m praying it won’t be more than a couple of months, but it depends how quickly he recovers.’

‘If there’s anything I can do…?’ Harini said.

Freya stopped what she was doing and gave her a hug. ‘I’m sorry to miss your party.’

‘There’ll be others. You know us – we don’t need an excuse.’

As Freya showed her out, she made a mental note to send the pair some flowers. In fact, she’d order a bouquet now, before she forgot.

While she was choosing a suitable card to go with it, Freya realised that she and Hadrian had been dating for almost two years, but their one-year anniversary had come and gone without so much as a whimper. Maybe neither of them had noticed it because they didn’t actually live together, she mused.

Pausing, a blouse in her hand, Freya pulled a face: the prospect of sharing a home with Hadrian failed to send her into paroxysms of joy.

She liked her own company too much, needed her own space.

And Hadrian was too fastidious for her liking, which was why he tended not to spend the night at hers, preferring his own penthouse in Dalston.

She had to admit that his flat was very nice.

Situated in a modern building, it was minimalist and stylish, but what she loved most was the light.

Hadrian had turned his spare bedroom into a studio and had paid a fortune to have a hole punched in the roof and a skylight put in.

It was a room she seldom entered, as he liked to keep his creative life separate from his private life – something Freya found difficult to understand.

Her creativity was her life, and vice versa, and she could no more compartmentalise it than she could split herself in half. And that was why Hadrian found her in her studio, when he called to pick her up to go to dinner a couple of hours later.

Despite his reputation, Mack was selective about who he slept with.

He didn’t hop into bed with every woman he asked out.

There had to be some kind of connection, and this evening, he wasn’t feeling it.

The woman’s name was Tori (short for Victoria?), and she was pretty, vivacious and a mature student – if twenty-nine could be called ‘mature’ – doing a degree in marine something-or-other.

Mack felt every one of his thirty-five years this evening, as demonstrated by the suspicion that he was getting too old for putting himself about like a twenty-year-old. It didn’t help that he was stone-cold sober, whereas Tori was necking vodka back like it was going out of fashion.

She was getting steadily plastered and the more alcohol she consumed, the flirtier she became. Mack had nothing against a woman being flirty – heck, he usually encouraged it – but tonight, with the noise and busyness of a rammed Portree pub around him, all he wanted to do was go to bed. On his own.

It was only ten to ten, and the night was still young, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘Where did you say you were staying?’ he asked, raising his voice to be heard. She’d mentioned it already, but he’d forgotten. When she told him, he realised it was a five-minute walk away.

‘Shall we go?’ he suggested, hoping that once they were outside, she would be happy to call it a night.

‘Let’s have another first. Mine’s a vodka.’ She finished her drink and waggled the glass at him. ‘And why aren’t you drinking?’ She pouted.

‘I’m driving, remember?’

Leaning closer, her lips a hair’s breadth from his ear, she said, ‘Driving where?’

‘To Duncoorie.’

She giggled. ‘Are we going to your place?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Then you won’t be driving,’ she shot back. ‘Go on, have a drink and don’t be so uptight.’

‘I’ve got an early start in the morning,’ he replied, his thoughts going to Freya. She’d said the very same thing. Idly, he wondered what she was doing now, then wished he hadn’t, because she was probably with the guy she’d spoken to on the phone.

Since he’d left her yesterday, she had crept into his mind on and off, and he couldn’t think why. Was it because he hadn’t seen her for so long that—

‘Oi!’ Tori nudged his arm. ‘Drink,’ she reminded him.

He got to his feet. ‘Do you mind if I take you home now?’

Tori peered up at him blearily. ‘Ooh, aren’t you keen! Is that why you’re not drinking, so you can keep going all night?’

Mack blanched. ‘I won’t be staying. Let me take you home,’ he repeated.

‘Why?’ She was pouting again.

‘To make sure you get to your accommodation safely.’

‘My friends are over there.’ She pointed to the other side of the crowded bar. ‘So there’s no point in you taking me back, if we’re not going to…’ She trailed off and made a face.

Good grief! He knew she was on holiday and wouldn’t be expecting more than a fling, but he would never give a woman the sort of ultimatum Tori had given him. She was basically telling him to sleep with her or bugger off.

However, he felt guilty for abandoning her after he’d asked her out, even if her friends were nearby, so he tried again. ‘Are you sure I can’t drop you off on the way?’

‘I’m sure.’ She was no longer looking at him and when he followed her gaze, he saw a group of men – and one of them was staring in her direction.

‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday,’ he said.

‘I’ll try my best,’ was her reply.

Mack hadn’t made it to the exit before she was in the thick of the group. Shrugging, he went home to his solitary but infinitely more preferable bed.

Freya disentangled herself from the 500-count Egyptian cotton sheets and slipped out of bed.

Hadrian turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow.

He was watching her dispassionately as she reached for her clothes.

She really didn’t feel like trekking halfway across the city at eleven thirty at night, but it was better than getting up at six a.m., especially on a morning when she had a long drive ahead of her.

Fastening her bra, she wished she hadn’t allowed Hadrian to persuade her to go back to his place, but his flat was the nearest to the restaurant he’d taken her to, so that was where she’d ended up.

‘Will you be back next weekend?’ he asked, and she let out an incredulous sigh.

‘Don’t be daft.’

His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to being called daft. But honestly! It wasn’t like she was popping to Oxford or Brighton. Skye was almost the full length of the country.

‘When, then?’ Hadrian demanded.

‘I don’t know. I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a long drive.’

‘Maybe I’ll visit. Inspiration, and all that jazz.’

‘Not to see me ?’ she snapped, more sharply than she’d intended.

He chuckled. ‘Of course to see you. That goes without saying.’

No, it really doesn’t , she thought. ‘I’ll ring you when I get there, to let you know I’ve arrived safely.’

Hadrian yawned and stretched, the sheet slipping lower, exposing his toned stomach. Freya looked away.

He said, ‘Message me instead. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon.’

‘Who with?’

‘No one you’d know.’ This was Hadrian-speak for: you might know them, but I don’t want to talk about it.

She said, ‘It won’t be this afternoon. It’s a twelve-hour drive, and that’s without stops and if the traffic is good. It’ll be the evening before I get there.’

‘Message me anyway. I’m going out to dinner.’

That didn’t surprise her. Hadrian never ate in. If it wasn’t for his spangly coffee machine, she didn’t think he’d know where his kitchen was.

‘Surely you can take a quick phone call?’

‘Best if I don’t.’ He yawned again, and she wasn’t sure whether he was genuinely tired or just bored with the conversation.

Fully dressed now, she said, ‘I’ll be away, then.’

He sat up, laughing. ‘You sound so Scottish.’

‘That’s because I am.’

‘More than usual,’ he clarified. ‘You know I adore your accent. I adore you .’

‘Do you?’

‘Do you have to ask?’

Actually, she did. Never once had he told her that he loved her.

It was always you’re gorgeous , or I adore you .

Then again, she’d never said those three little words to him, either.

Wasn’t being in love supposed to be an all-encompassing thing?

If so, she felt very far from all-encompassed.

She liked Hadrian a lot. They were good together and she had fun when she was with him, but she wasn’t entirely certain that what she felt for him was love.

And if she wasn’t certain, then it probably wasn’t, was it?

It didn’t bode well for their relationship that she would miss her pottery wheel more than she would miss him.

If she had to make a decision about which one to take with her if she went to New York, it wouldn’t be Hadrian.

Perhaps this enforced break would do them both good. Anyway, she realised that if she did accept Jocasta Black’s offer and moved to the States, their relationship wouldn’t survive.

The thought saddened her, but she wasn’t heartbroken or even heartsore. And that spoke volumes.