Mutt took his whisky glass from Kitty, who was eyeing him with a cautioning glance. He nodded to her, bit his lip and turned his attention fully to nursing his drink, leaving Nina to sink back into her thoughts.
She’d had more than enough of men these last three years. She was struck by vivid images of Seamus, Luke and Fournival, not to mention Mitch – and Mitch was one of theniceones – picturing how they must have worked together to secretly stitch her up. Then, diving deeper into her humiliation, she found herself thinking about how Luke and Seamus had gone about provingtheirworth in the business.
Hadn’ttheyhad a leg-up from their college networks, or in Luke’s case, his parents’ networks? Hadn’t they benefitted from being part of the in-crowd? Why did she alone have to feel ashamed and embarrassed just because she’d been ‘the girlfriend’ and not the Old Boy and fellow business buddy? What difference should her failed relationship make to how she was treated now that Luke had got bored with her? She was still good at her job. Wasn’t she? Her heart hurt as the truth hit home. Her utter failure to make progress this week suggested otherwise.
‘I rely only on myself from now on,’ she said, quietly, but still loud enough for Mutt to pick up her words. ‘They’re all the bloody same.’
‘Who are?’ he said, turning to study her again now that she’d swung round on her seat to survey the daters.
‘Men. A pack of liars and cheats, manoeuvring themselves and everyone around them to get what they want, thenbaam! As soon as they’re through with you, you’re out.’
Mutt blinked, his jaw tensing. Something at the centre of his chest seemed to shift. He set Bear down on the floor once more.
‘Right, well, Nina Miller from New York who relies only on herself, good luck to you in your search. There’s umpteen makers in this very room, but you’ll not see it because they’re not dressed in… I don’t know, Coco Chanel.’
Nina rolled her eyes. Mutt seemed to consider saying more, before he took a deep breath and held it.
He stalked away. ‘Come on, Bear,’ he called as he left, and the tumbling, fluffy pup followed his best friend out the bar room door just as Beatrice was holding a whistle to her lips and declaring the speed-dating event open.
Beatrice watched Mutt leaving and turned her head just in time to see Nina puffing her cheeks in exasperation and turning back to the bar and ordering another top-up.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. Port Willow’s resident matchmaker already knew she had to help these two and it wouldn’t be easy. Nina was headstrong and hurting, that much was clear, but hadn’t she been in a similar position once herself? It had taken her a while to see the beauty of this place and its people too, but she’d come around with a bit of help from the locals. Nobody was allowed to feel unhappy and alone at the inn, not if Beatrice had anything to do with it. Before Nina checked out she’d see her smiling, and if that just so happened to involve bringing some much-needed happiness to the wayward, fiery Mutt, well… that’s the way it would have to be.
Chapter Sixteen
Ruth Firth’s Hogmanay
The speed dating hadn’t quite gone according to plan. Beatrice had watched on as the conversations took place, blowing her whistle every five minutes to switch up the pairings.
She’d collected the notebooks back from the daters and found not one of them had requested a follow-up meeting with any of the others. All in all, the event had been rather flat and awkward, and not exactly inclusive with its men-seeking-women vibe. Why wasn’t her social engineering working? Where were all the lovers falling head over heels like she had with Atholl? She’d become so happy since she came to the village all she wanted to do was share that joy and bring a little more love to Port Willow. Why was everyone proving to be so reluctant?
‘It was a failure,’ she told Atholl in the kitchens while Gene glided about behind them, plating up Mrs Mair’s freshly baked shortbread.
‘It just wasn’t the right mix tonight,’ Atholl consoled her. ‘I think we might hae to let love in Port Willow take its natural course, you ken? It’s no’ something you can force.’
‘Nonsense,’ she told him, and she’d returned to the bar room to clear tables and carry on making introductions between the crafters and locals, making sure nobody was left out.
It hadn’t escaped her notice that Nina had slipped off to bed, taking her paperwork with her, and she hadn’t been the only one not enjoying the party atmosphere.
Even with the locals demonstrating Scottish country dances and a fair few of the visitors mastering the Gay Gordons and the St Bernard’s Waltz, one couple hadn’t danced all evening.
The Firths, Beatrice’s competition winners, had arrived that afternoon and so far they hadn’t quite lived up to her loved-up expectations.
The Firths’ application form had sung out amongst all the rest. The couple had been together for over thirty years, married for almost twenty-five, and had adult twin sons, one of whom, Stuart, had only weeks ago moved into a residential home for adults with complex needs. Beatrice had been able to feel the emotion coming off the screen as she’d read the words in answer to her question, ‘Why does our month-long Highland getaway appeal to you?’
The Firths hadn’t held back, explaining how winning the holiday would mean having their first break alone in thirty-four years and that they hadn’t had so much as a babysitter or a night away since the boys were born. They’d even taken the twins on honeymoon with them. Beatrice got the distinct impression that these were parents who had never put themselves first but were intensely emotionally bonded from decades of united caring.
Yet, at check-in earlier that day, Beatrice had been surprised to find that what she’d imagined as ‘Team Firth’, a pair of joined-at-the-hip sweethearts, weren’t quite the cosy couple she’d conjured up. Yet again her romanticising had got the better of her, it seemed.
Kitty and Beatrice had greeted the couple in the reception just after lunchtime. Kitty poured the champagne while Beatrice handled the check-in.
‘Welcome to the Princess and the Pea Inn,’ Kitty cried as the shivering couple, pale-faced from the shock of arriving in the Highlands in a minus-one rain shower that was clearing away the last of the snow, stepped inside. Mrs Firth was the first to accept a glass with a hot and bothered, rabbit-in-the-headlights expression.
The man, wearing a navy waterproof jacket that looked fresh off the peg at Millets, stayed one step behind his wife, his phone in his hand.
‘Good journey?’ Beatrice prompted, while scrolling for their details on the screen.
‘Fine, yes…’ Mrs Firth replied, glancing behind at her husband as though hoping he’d say something, but he didn’t. ‘Lovely,’ she added. ‘Beautiful scenery. We’ve never been to Scotland before.’
