She didn’t mind this now-familiar reaction. She’d seen it all; the sudden giddy smiles and the shy or sometimes downright flirtatious introductions. Atholl Fergusson had that effect on people. Sometimes tourists stopped them in the street when they were on days out in Fort William or Inverness, wanting a selfie with a true redheaded Scotsman of the clan warrior type. She’d come to think of it as theOutlandereffect.
Their reactions only served to remind her of the first time she’d seen Atholl’s shocking blue eyes and his mass of dark-red waves down to his strong jaw. Weirdly, he still had no idea how handsome he was or how much, at over six foot and ruggedly fit from working on the willow fields since his late teens, he stood out in any crowd.
She couldn’t help smiling at Atholl who was nodding and muttering, trying to be polite but wanting to keep his answers short and always trying to return the focus to Beatrice who was supposed to be the star of this interview. She was the one with all the media training from her old career running a big council arts organisation in the Midlands. She’d been the one dealing with the press releases and giving interviews and it had come easy to her, but watching Atholl with his laidback, unassuming confidence talking into the news camera now gave her a glow of pride and she was hit once more by the unwavering attraction that was always just there, drawing her to him in a way she’d never known before.
‘And you’ve big plans here at the inn, I believe?’ Kirstie pressed.
‘That’s right. Beattie – with some help from my cousin’s eldest bairn, Mutt – has refurbished our famous Princess and the Pea room which has been welcomin’ honeymooners and holidaymakers since my parents ran the place.’
‘Ah, that’s right, I’ve seen photographs of the inn’s Princess and the Pea bed. How tall is it exactly?’
‘Almost six foot of mattresses, enough to have you believing you’re in your own fairy tale.’
Atholl flashed a quick smile at Beatrice once more, making her blush with the knowledge of what he was thinking in that moment. She too thought back to the summer weekend when they’d climbed the ladder of the inn’s famous bed and lost hour upon hour beneath its four-poster canopy and chintzy drapes.
‘Beatrice has,uh, also organised an exhibition of crafts this coming Easter,’ Atholl continued, determined to highlight her part in the transformation of not only the inn but his fledgling craft holidays business too. ‘We’ll be taking over the village hall for the first weekend in April, displaying the things we make here in Port Willow. There’ll be refreshments and baking and such like.’ Atholl looked into the camera. ‘And everyone’s invited.’
‘That ought to get the crowds rushing in,’ the reporter said, smiling a little too widely.
Atholl had time to tell her about the wassailing evening of a few nights before and mentioned that the train would be arriving into Port Willow any second now with the new holidaymakers booked in for Christmas, and that was it, the interview seemed to be over within moments. Kirstie turned back to the camera.
‘So there we are! If you’re after crafting expertise and rugged scenery in a homely inn this winter, Port Willow isthedestination for you. Why don’t you come down and meet Atholl Fergusson and…uh, Bernice…’
‘Beatrice,’ Atholl put in, off camera, but the reporter was already signing off.
‘Merry Christmas from a very snowy Princess and the Pea Inn. Back to the studio.’
‘And we’re clear,’ said the cameraman.
Atholl was already wrapping Beatrice in his arms and telling her how well she’d done, guiding her back inside the inn to get her warmed through in front of the bar room fire, when Seth cycled up to the inn door wearing the green woollen beanie Beatrice thought must be stuck to the man’s head; she’d never seen him without it, even in the summer months.
‘Aww, did I miss it? I thought you’d want to talk to me about my memories of Port Willow,’ he said. Kirstie was already packing away her mic. ‘Will you no’ come inside for a dram. It is Christmas Eve, after all.’
‘We need to get on the road for one last feature this afternoon, sorry,’ she said, not at all sorry.
Seth wouldn’t be put off. ‘Well at least come in and see the dating board.’
This made the reporter pause.
‘Dating board?’
‘Aye, it’s all young Beatrice’s idea.’
Beatrice paused on the steps of the inn and waved this away, resisting the urge to declare herself fully forty years old and not all that young, but she held back in front of Kirstie. The reporter was already asking Seth to lead the way with a look in her eyes that said she had sniffed out a Christmas scoop.
‘Aye, so here it is. The dating board,’ Seth announced proudly.
‘Oh!’ said Kirstie, visibly disappointed.
Beatrice watched on helplessly as the woman inspected the big board hanging between the bar and the crackling open fire. She’d even put a garland of tinsel around its frame in the hopes she could drum up some enthusiasm for Christmas matchmaking, but sadly only one of the paper ‘profiles’ had been filled out, and that was by Seth himself.
‘What is that?’ Kirstie asked, pointing to the handwritten form pinned to the centre of the board.
‘It’s my lonely heart, of course,’ Seth informed her, unpinning and handing over the paper.
Beatrice prayed Kirstie would be kind and not sneer as she read it out aloud.
NAME: Seth Magnus John McVie
