He pressed a kiss to her head. ‘I ken you’re afraid, but I have enough belief in that wee soul for the both of us. All you have to do is hold on, OK? Hold on, and our baby will come to us.’
Burying her head into his chest once more, she let him enfold her in his arms. Her mind turned as blank as the screen was now. That’s what fear of hoping for too much can do to a woman who has already seen her deepest dream dissolve away. So she let herself not feel or think anything and held on to Atholl with what little strength she had left and he drove her home through the last of the thawing snow to the inn.
Chapter Twenty
Lost in the Highlands
Nina had turned down the offer of Echo’s company that morning, asking exasperatedly why on earth she would take a mangy old sheepdog to a business meeting. Gene had protested that the inn dog ‘wasnae the least bit mangy’ and that John Cor, the distillery owner, would be glad to see the pair of them.
‘Besides,’ Gene had added, as he handed her the packed lunch he’d taken it upon himself to prepare, ‘Echo’s handy in the countryside. Scares off a’ manner o’ predators.’ He’d proceeded to tell her about adders and wolves, adding that she’d most likely be all right seeing as it was January and she’d be sticking to the main roads.
Nina had reminded him she was taking the bus and not frolicking through the heather. She thanked him for the package and made her way out of the inn in her cape and heels. She’d relented and borrowed one of Kitty’s Fair Isle berets (she’d referred to it as her Tam o’ Shanter) and both women had agreed that Nina really suited its pale hues.
She’d felt she looked the part; somewhere between business-like and authentically Scotch (as Luke might have said, and Gene would have tutted and corrected him with a grumpy, ‘it’sScottish’).
Nina hadn’t known she was causing the villagers to raise their eyebrows as she’d waited alone at the bus stop for the Highland shuttle service that morning, and everyone who’d seen her thought she looked chilly as opposed to chic.
She’d turned down Seth’s offer of a lift on his handlebars and he’d cycled merrily away, over to Skye to take Mrs Fergusson her beef and pearl barley stew and clootie dumpling dinner. Atholl had sneaked a bottle of stout into the basket too, knowing it was his mother’s favourite.
Nina cursed the self-confidence of this morning now that she was standing face to face with a bedraggled, cud-chewing Highland cow in some unknown location in the hills high above Port Willow. She’d have been glad of some of Echo’s protective sheepdog skills round about now.
She’d been so pleased when the little shuttle bus collected her from the village at eight o’clock and she’d paid her fare with the strange Scottish note she’d withdrawn from the machine at the airport almost two weeks ago. She’d taken her seat right at the back and been bumped and jostled out of the village and up along the single lane A-road. She’d even enjoyed the scenery, which had grown increasingly frosted and hilly as the bus took her away from Port Willow and onto the higher, exposed ground.
Cosy in her seat, she’d snapped a few selfies – her complexion was surprisingly clear in the Highland light and her cheeks were so naturally pink she hadn’t needed to apply her cheek stain that morning. There was definitely something healthful and glowing in her eyes too, something she hadn’t seen for a long time, something all those one-hundred-dollar, celebrity-endorsed ‘wellness shots’ of apple cider vinegar, turmeric, and tart wild cherry hadn’t been able to give her – even though she’d believed in their powers wholeheartedly when she’d helped bring those products to market. That had been quite the launch party. Gwyneth Paltrow and her nutritionist had flown in specially and spoken at the influencers’ presser. What a triumph.
But Gwyneth wasn’t here to help now that Nina was stranded up on the hills in the back of beyond. In fact there didn’t seem to be a soul for miles around, not that Nina could actuallyseefor miles.
Mr Cor had warned her about something called the Haar coming in and she’d nodded and thanked him for their meeting, not thinking to ask what a Haar might be – she blamed this now on the fact she’d sampled eight types of Mr Cor’s whisky and felt extremely warm, light-headed and relaxed of limb as she’d stepped out of the distillery.
She’d found her way to the bus stop all right, no problems there; the driver had pointed it out as they’d sailed past it earlier that day. It had been a ten-minute walk downhill in her heels but she’d made it, only dimly aware that what had this morning been a breath-taking view of open sky and a hint of sea loch between rolling hills was by that point swallowed up in the rising white-grey cloud of thick fog.
‘Ah, so that’s haar!’ she’d concluded, pleased she’d worked it out, opening Gene’s lunch bag and settling down to wait for her bus back to Port Willow. One every hour, the timetable had told her.
Gene had done her proud with his packed lunch today; some kind of cream cheese rolled in toasted oats on rough wheaten bread. Simple, savoury and creamy. She’d devoured every bite and sucked her thumbs clean within minutes.
She’d been happy, even though she hadn’t made any great leaps of progress with Mr Cor. He had been hospitable and listened to her pitch about developing a brand partnership with Remy’s, one of Microtrend’s client’s exclusive east coast bar chains. He hadn’t said anything to shut down her ideas of exporting a small batch of his most exclusive whisky in a newly designed bottle for a high-end market in New York. He’d even let her snap pictures of the surprisingly picturesque peat bogs beyond the distillery walls and shown her all the secret nooks and crannies of the old building. He hadn’t flinched or smirked when she’d told him this was the perfect spot for the brand shoot and she could see their ads between the covers ofVogueandGQ. Condé Nast would lap these up. However, he also hadn’t yet agreed to schedule an appointment for another meeting, this time with one of her associates from New York. He’d smiled and said, ‘we’ll see’ and poured her another glass of his finest, but he hadn’t actually shaken hands on anything.
Nina wasn’t all that worried. This had all been part of her old job. Make contact, show them the possibilities, share your ideas, and let the relationship develop from there. These things take time, like all relationships. Nobody would be talking money for at least six months, but she’d made contact and that’s what mattered. She’d let Seamus know later today and then she’d plan the follow-up discussions and get the creative team on board. There! Not bad for a day’s work. Though it wasn’t great for two weeks’ work, she knew.
The other meetings had all gone the same way. Everyone was polite and welcoming, not as flattered by her interest in developing their products and taking them to new markets as she’d thought they’d be, but, still, she’d started talks with everyone on Mutt’s list. She might even be able to fly home in the morning; it was after all the seventh and she had an eTicket on her phone. She’d need Seamus’s go-ahead first though. Had she done enough to buy her passage out of this place and back to New York? She had no idea.
By the time the sun had started to set, barely visible through the thick white fog, and the busstillhadn’t arrived, Seamus was becoming the least of her worries.
‘Oh come on! I’ve waited over an hour now!’
Gene had mentioned snakes and wolves. Had he been joking? You couldn’t tell with these smirking Scottish types.
The thing about a Highland haar is, it billows in from off the water, creeping silently up over the land, engulfing everything in damp white nothingness, and everything grinds to a halt, especially Highland hopper bus services. It sneaks in at open windows, makes its way down rabbit holes, steals away all visibility and leaves its chilly dew on everything it touches. The cow’s eyelashes and pulsing nostrils were dark and spiked with the stuff as it barged inside the bus shelter, coming to a stop and staring impolitely at Nina.
She’d heard it approach through the whiteness around about the time she was scrunching up Gene’s sandwich bag and resolving to march back up the hill towards the distillery, hoping Mr Cor would have the fire on. The velvety snout had appeared first, followed by the horns and its orange nest of hair, making Nina squeal in fright and flatten herself against the Perspex shelter.
She stared back at it now, trying to work out what to do. She had little to no experience of any cattle, let alone the Highland type. Those horns looked deadly, even with the big tufts of grass and moss dangling from them like streamers on a kid’s bicycle.
What if she did a runner? Would it follow her? She’d definitely heard about cattle stampeding in fright and angry bulls goring innocent hill walkers who stumbled across their path.
‘You don’t look all that angry,’ she told the beast.
It blinked through its matted red fringe, still lazily chewing and showing flashes of stubby round teeth and a pink tongue.
