‘But you’re here to turn something small and local into some over-priced stuff for toffs, am I right?’
His words lit an angry fire within her. ‘Listen, Mutt, I know exclusivity. I know design. The people who buy our brands want the storyandthe authenticity, just the same as any other discerning shopper.’
He huffed a laugh. ‘Well then, this room’s bursting with authenticity. Why don’t you dive in?’ Mutt challenged, gesturing to the rows of locals now ready for the speed-dating event. ‘I’ve only been here a few months and didn’t know any of the villagers when I arrived. They welcomed me, offered me extra work, kept me company. You’d find they were good people too if you’d only talk to some of them.’
Nina wanted to answer him, she hated the feeling of being lectured, but she couldn’t think of anything to offer in her defence. She hadn’t spoken to anyone. She hadn’t wanted to. Mutt was right. Now he was pointing out people in the bar room and singing their praises.
‘That fellow there with the silver hair, that’s Mr Garstang, the watercolourist. He’s arealpainter, unlike me.’ He raised a wicked brow at Nina, confounding her even more. ‘And that’s Donald there in the red tartan, the silver smith. Can’t get better than Scottish silver, you know? See the guy in the arty specs and the sticky-up hair? That’s Munro the glass smith. Lungs like a bagpiper. You should see him blowing his molten-glass pipe, man’s the very dab.’
Nina didn’t know what that meant and wasn’t prepared to ask. Mutt had laughter in his eyes once more as he provoked her while Bear snuffled at his owner’s ear, putting his big paws all over the lovely jumper he’d been so proud of. ‘To be fair, that one there’s Patrick the fishmonger, and that’s Jeemie the window cleaner. You’ll not get any luxury trends out of them, I shouldn’t think.’
‘You’re making fun of me,’ she replied.
‘No.I’m wanting you to see what we’ve got to offer here. Forget the distilleries and the factories. Even if they did want to see you, they’ll not be open ’til the fourth at the earliest. Maybe not even then. You need to understand how the highlands work. This isn’t some sweatshop churning out luxury items that’ll sell for hundreds of dollars overseas when the women and children making them get paid barely enough to survive. This is folk in their homes or workshops doing what they love and honouring tradition.’
‘And making zero money?’ Nina had said it before she realised how brattish she sounded. Mutt didn’t know she was shrinking with shame so he turned to her with heat in his eyes.
‘Who do you think sewed that bonny dress you’re wearing? Did they make money, or did their bosses make it? They’ll have been ripped off, tied to some piece of paper where they signed their life away…’
‘What have you got against making money?’
‘Nothing, when nobody’s exploited… or left behind.’
Nina glared at him, her heart thumping hard, she was so cross. Exploited? Wasn’tshethe one who had been exploited by Microtrends? By Luke and all the rest of them? She’d worked so hard, and for what? Not one of her clients had been taken advantage of in the process of making them and Seamus Gates richer, and she’d tell Mutt that if only she could get the words out, if only he wasn’t unflinchingly returning her look with his chest expanding and falling heavily, no doubt with the effort and restraint required to hold back a further tirade about her exploitative ladyboss ways. If only he knew. Yet she found she couldn’t speak.
Something electric buzzed in the atmosphere between them, something underlying their annoyance. Nina felt it keenly and it made her want to run away and hide under her duvet, it was so bewildering, and at the same time it made her want to dig her heels in and face down this relentlessly self-righteous man who made her feel spoiled and stupid.
‘Here’s your tickets!’ Beatrice interrupted cheerily, appearing before them.
Nina looked at the paper stubs she was holding out. ‘I already told… that tall guy, I’m not interested in doing the dating thing.’
‘Gene?’ Beatrice said, her smile fixed in place.
‘You should do it,’ Mutt urged, the tension seeming to leave his shoulders as the atmosphere shifted once again. ‘We’re trying to give you a leg-up.’
Nina turned on him. ‘I don’t need a leg-up! I can make it on my own. I got to where I was all by myself, you know?’
Mutt blinked. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Are you always this touchy?’
Nina gulped back the feeling of having over-reacted, faltering. Shewastouchy about it. Of course she was. Having had over a week to think about Seamus’s words, she’d come to wonder if maybe shehadfast-tracked herself to success solely because of her connection to Luke. She hadn’t proven what a good worker she was entirely by herself, and she hadn’t shown her boss her worth; instead, she’d dated an exec and felt the benefits of that for her career, even if it was only momentary.
Now she was back at the start and with nothing to show for all her work. She couldn’t even arrange a meeting with an established Highland brand. Nobody had a clue who she was here. There was nobody to introduce her at parties, no guest lists and no goodie bags. Without them she was floundering, and it hurt.
Beatrice looked between the pair a little desperately, but she wouldn’t be put off. ‘Right, well, remember it’s New Year, Mutt. This is supposed to be a party,’ she said, trying her best to bring him round. ‘Here, this is your ticket.’
‘Eh, no. I don’t think so.’ Now it was Mutt’s turn to protest.
‘Oh, go on, it’ll be a good opportunity to network,’ Nina threw in, enjoying the pinkness in Mutt’s cheeks.
He snatched both of the tickets with a nod at Beatrice and, as soon as she turned away, shoved his into his pocket before casting Nina’s onto the bar beside her spreadsheets.
‘Not speed dating, then?’ Nina heard herself ask. Her voice sounded brittle and unkind and she wasn’t quite angry enough to avoid the cringing shame of hearing herself.
‘No, I’m not.’ Mutt drained his pint and turned to the bar. ‘I’ll take that malt now, please, Kitty.’ He threw a glance back at the chairs, now all full. Beatrice was handing out pens and notepads to all the participants. ‘Call me mad, but I don’t want a date with Seth, or the fishmonger for that matter, and although those three women seem perfectly nice, they’re probably my mum’s age. One of them was Atholl’s primary school teacher.’
He had a point. There were rather a lot of old men in the dating pool, a symptom of the population imbalance in the village and its surroundings – and something Beatrice hadn’t quite factored in during her planning process.
‘Well, neither do I,’ Nina retorted. ‘I’m here to rely on myself, OK? I don’t need a speed date to find crafters, or aleg-upfrom you. The brochure’s told me everything I need to know about them already. And despite this village’s obsession with matchmaking, I definitelydon’tneed a man.’
