We’re so glad you chose to celebrate the holidays with us this year, and we hope you’ll have a very Merry Christmas.
From Beatrice, Atholl, Eugene and Kitty
and everyone at the Princess and the Pea Inn.
Nina looked at the sapling in the white light from the window, smiling quizzically. She’d never had to look after a living thing before.
She set the pot on yesterday’s empty shortbread dish and let the plant drink a few drops of cold water from the sink. Closing the window so it wouldn’t be in a draught she set the whole thing down on the sill before taking her breakfast tray to the bed where all her papers and notes lay. She was ready to work, but not before she made a start on her food. The buttered mushrooms on toast disappeared first and made her shake her head at their delicious, salty simplicity. She resolved to order the exact same thing tomorrow morning.
As the morning passed by and her eyes grew weary from reading, she’d check her phone waiting for replies to her texts – she’d caved and messaged old work friends in New York, hoping her Christmas greetings were enough to remind them of all the good times they’d shared – but not a single reply arrived, and so the day dragged on.
As four o’clock approached and the smell of festive food drifted upstairs, she prayed someone would remember to bring her tray so she didn’t have to slope downstairs in her pyjamas to ask for something to eat. Glancing up at the delicate willow stems and little bit of leaf in its pot on the windowsill she found that, although her heart was heavy, she wanted to smile at it.
Chapter Thirteen
Mrs Fergusson’s Secret
When Christmas comes to Port Willow it is a quiet affair; that is the Highland way. Good food and fellowship are all that matter today and nowhere along the snowy coast is that more evident than in the fairy-lit glow of the Princess and the Pea bar restaurant where Gene Fergusson served up his seafood special starters and champagne bubbles danced in every glass.
The room was bustling with Christmas Day diners when Beatrice made her way to the staff table, set beautifully with gold crackers. The guests were already on their turkey and trimmings course and Mrs Mair was hovering with the cranberry sauce and a gravy boat, making sure everyone had all they needed.
Paul McCartney was singing over the speakers about simply having a wonderful Christmas time and beneath the great ball of mistletoe in the middle of the room stood Atholl with Clara in his arms dancing to the music.
Clara was rosy-cheeked from teething and her wet eyes sparkled as she laughed with her uncle who, Beatrice thought, might be more than a little besotted with her. Beatrice could only stare at them, her heart expanding at the sight.
The glance Vic failed to hide from Beatrice let her know that Angela hadn’t managed to keep her promise to tell no one about nipping into the motorway services in search of a pregnancy test for her big sister. Beatrice widened her eyes at Vic and the couple smiled knowingly at one another.
Mutt made to move from the head of the table to let Atholl and Clara take the top seat.
‘No need for that. Sit, sit,’ Atholl assured him, insisting that the next chair down suited him fine. With Atholl still bouncing the little girl to the music, the men chatted about what stage the renovations had reached now that Mutt had downed tools for Christmas.
‘There’s only the corridors to strip and paint, the breakfast room to re-paper and the outside masonry to freshen up once the weather improves,’ Mutt told him.
‘Reckon you’ll need a few more weeks to fit all that in,’ said Atholl.
‘Mid-February, I reckon.’
‘You’ll no’ want to leave us by then,’ Atholl smiled, unusually bright and buoyant today.
‘Wewon’t want you to leave,’ added Beatrice, sitting down. ‘It’s been nice having our very own handyman around, but, most of all, it’s been nice getting to know you.’
‘You’re not from the village?’ Vic asked, turning to Mutt. ‘I thought you were related to Atholl?’
‘He’s my mum’s cousin,’ Mutt replied, ‘but my family are from Pennan in Aberdeenshire. When Atholl heard I wanted to get away for a while, he took us in.’
‘Us?’ said Angela.
Mutt leaned back in his chair to reveal the sleeping ball of fluff that was Bear under the table.
Gene and Kitty appeared at once. Gene bringing the starters and Kitty with a big jug of iced water.
The plan was that Clara, Vic and Angela, Mrs Fergusson, Atholl and Beatrice would eat while Gene and Kitty snatched stolen moments from the Christmas kitchen to sit down between courses, have a quick bite and celebrate the day.
Mrs Fergusson was in her prettiest heather twinset and her rope of antique Scottish pearls for the occasion. She’d been unusually quiet since Atholl had driven her over from Skye that morning.
‘Your Uncle Atholl’s a braw dancer, is he no’, wee Clara?’ Kitty remarked, filling the water glasses before perching on a chair and taking a hunk of bread from the basket.
Laughing, Atholl delivered Clara into her highchair but, defeated, left the unfathomable straps and clasps to Angela.
