Page 10 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

I looked across at her mother. She averted her attention to my office carpet. So, whatever her daughter wanted, she got. Well, not this time. Not at the expense of dear, sweet Ivy and her family.

I snatched up my phone and put a call through to the hotel spa. Heston was unimpressed. “I’m mid-eyebrow!” There was a scuffling sound as he propelled himself upwards. “I can’t go to Spain looking like I’m half surprised!”

He let out an agonised moan as I gave him a potted version of events, under the gimlet eye of Ulrika. “Oh, for pity’s sake! We can’t afford to lose their cash! Give me five minutes and I’ll come along to your office.”

I placed down the receiver with a quiver of concern. No, Heston wouldn’t side with Ulrika Bonnington. He was my boss and would support me. We were representing Castle Marrian as a united front. Cash or no cash, I wasn’t prepared to ruin Ivy’s family wedding and despite Heston having as much depth as a teaspoon, I reassured myself he would agree.

Heston burst through my office door five minutes later, with a pink plucked-turkey look to his forehead area.

After effusive greetings to the Bonningtons, he pulled up a spare chair from the hallway.

“So, Heston, I’ve already explained to Ms Bonnington that 24th December isn’t possible.”

I widened my eyes at him for added emphasis, but watched with a growing sense of anger and disbelief, as Heston fidgeted. “Can’t we swap them over?” he muttered after a few moments.

I drew myself up, blinking with hot fury. He was prepared to capitulate to this horrible woman?! I pretended not to understand.

“I’m sure if we explain to Ivy and her son, we can move their wedding to 22nd December and allow Ms Bonnington to have her Christmas Eve ceremony.”

Ulrika Bonnington’s sugar-pink lips broke into a self-satisfied smirk.

My professional façade crumbled. Sod it with the diplomatic effort. “But that’s not fair,” I blurted, my indignation burning on behalf of Ivy and her family. “We promised them months ago, that Sonya and Tony could get married on Christmas Eve. Ivy and her late husband got married on that date and it means the world to her.”

Heston fluttered one pale hand around and indulged Ulrika Bonnington with one of his stomach-curdling grins. “Ivy won’t mind, I’m sure. She’s a very understanding lady and so easy-going. I’ll have a chat with her.”

My head snapped from Heston to Ulrika and her mother. This was ridiculous – and so heartless!

I set my shoulders under my suit jacket. “I’m sorry, but this is unacceptable. I don’t agree with it at all. All our brides deserve the wedding day of their dreams, not just a select few.”

Ulrika Bonnington jutted her pointy chin at me.

Heston rolled his watery, light eyes up to his waxy smooth forehead. “Of course, I agree with you, Sophie.” It was evident that he didn’t. “We pride ourselves on providing every bride with the wedding day that they deserve. But Castle Marrian thrives on its high-profile clientele.”

Ulrika and her mother exchanged self-satisfied glances at being described as “high-profile.” I drummed my nails on my desk. “Well, we wouldn’t have high-profile clientele if it wasn’t for hard-working, dedicated employees like Ivy Dunsmuir. In fact, we wouldn’t have a hotel like this at all, if it wasn’t for people like Ivy. They are the heart and soul of this place.”

Heston’s irritation was growing. Before I knew what was going on, he’d jumped round to my side of the desk and steered me by the elbow out into the corridor. He closed my office door behind me.

“Yes, yes! I appreciate that,” he hissed. “But you have to see this from a purely business point of view.”

I didn’t have to see anything. It was staring me straight in the face. Realising I was taking a huge risk, I swallowed and leant in a little closer to him. I wouldn’t be able to look Ivy in the eyes again if I agreed to this. I couldn’t. “Can you imagine the negative publicity this would attract if the press found out we had moved a long-standing member of staff’s family wedding to accommodate the nuptials of a cruise liner magnate’s daughter?”

Heston let out a dismissive snort. “Well, that’s not liable to happen, is it?”

My heart was thudding in my ears, but I couldn’t square any of this. It was heartless. I raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

Heston let out a horrified gasp at what I was implying. He clutched at the occasional table next to him, as though he were being tortured. His startled, hooded eyes grew. “That sounds like blackmail!”

I trained my best intense stare on him, as my heart pounded in my ears. “It isn’t blackmail. It’s the truth.”

Heston whipped his permanently surprised eyebrows (or what there was left of them) towards my office door and then to me again.

He let out a grinding noise and sprung my office door back open. Like someone flicking a light switch, he was again sporting a shark-like grin for the Bonnington ladies’ benefit.

Chastity Bonnington offered us both a pensive look. She reached out to her daughter’s pink, fluffy arm. “Darling, please think very carefully about this. If you were to insist on 24th December and it meant another couple having to move their wedding to accommodate you…” Her voice was charged with meaning. “Imagine how that would look for your father and me. It could have an adverse effect on the business.”

Either the woman had overheard our conversation or she had weighed up the situation for herself. Either way, Ulrika Bonnington’s eyes were brimming with resentment. The prospect of her inheritance becoming somewhat depleted made her have a re-think. Her Adam’s apple throbbed up and down like an out-of-control lift. “Fine,” she ground out after an agonising few moments. “Fine! We’ll stick with our original date of the 22nd.”

She lurched to her feet, wobbling precariously in her Perspex hooves.