Page 13 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Four

Tuesday dawned with no fog, but a veil of rain that made everything look like it’d been spun with silver.

After showering, washing my hair and throwing on my jeans and an electric blue V-neck jumper, I made it down to breakfast. I’d been scrambling around in my case, trying to locate something suitable to wear as the majority of my clothes I’d brought with me were too flimsy and too trendy for this Arctic climate. Where was the beautiful spring weather I’d been promised?

I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t survive three weeks here, strolling around in my satin, pussy bow blouse, skin-tight diamante jeans and bias cut, knee-length dresses. I’d have to admit defeat and go shopping here in Portree for clothes more conducive to the climate.

The dreaded itinerary was stashed under my arm in its plastic folder as today was the first day of my research here for my travel guide. I let out a despondent grumble and glanced down at the notes Brandy had pulled together for me as I walked into the dining room.

I made my way to an empty table over by the heavy, buttered coloured stone fireplace. Julie and her mum, Kathleen, were weaving between tables delivering plates laden with fried eggs, crispy bacon and button mushrooms, as well as fat sausages and racks of golden toast.

My stomach let out an appreciative gurgle, as I scanned the laminated breakfast menu.

It looked amazing. Smelled it too.

No, I couldn’t indulge.

I’d resist.

I had to look good in my videos and photos. Image was everything. That was Justine’s mantra. Justine. I could feel my mouth tightening with fury again when I thought about her making me travel up here. Maybe I should have a big breakfast blowout? Thumb my nose at her?

I grimaced. No, I wouldn’t do that. I’d regret it later. So would my calorie count.

Ignoring the voice in my head to go crazy and splash out on a full cooked, I opted with little enthusiasm instead for bran flakes, a banana and a pot of tea.

Julie scribbled down my order. ‘I hope you slept well?’

‘Yes, thanks, I was out like a light almost immediately,’ I confessed. With everything else quickly going south on this trip, I was grateful that my bed was at least comfy and the room cosy.

Whilst the other guests clattered their knives and forks over the discreet ceilidh music, I checked my emails on my phone.

Brandy had dashed off a message last night to confirm that at ten o’clock this morning, I was due at Sparkles in the Skye to interview the jewellery designers and business owners, Kyle and Laird Lawson.

As I sipped my tea and tried to conjure up some enthusiasm for the bran flakes I was chewing, which Julie had just delivered to the table, I noted from Brandy’s message that Iona would be here at the bed and breakfast to accompany me to the jewellery shop, just before half past nine.

I checked the time and then polished off the remainder of my pot of tea and screwed up my paper napkin. I had about fifteen minutes before she arrived. Good grief. I hoped today goes better than yesterday. After that hideous outfit and having to get changed in the back of Iona’s transit van, I found I was actually looking forward to clambering onto that tartaned coach in three weeks’ time, for the journey back to Glasgow Airport. The time couldn’t evaporate fast enough.

Julie and Kathleen were scooping up the remnants of breakfast debris and paused next to my table.

‘Hope you’re enjoying your stay.’ Julie beamed, rattling dirty cutlery together.

I glanced out of the dining room window to where people brushed past, looking like blurry watercolour figures in the rain. ‘It’s a unique experience,’ I replied with a quick smile, before excusing myself and dashing back up the staircase to my room.

No sooner had I brushed my teeth and applied a fresh coat of lipstick, than there was a quiet knock on my guest room door.

Today, Iona was wearing her walking boots, but the red waterproof jacket was gone, replaced by an olive-green coat and her light blonde hair streamed down her back in a long plait. ‘How are you today, Ms Freeman?’ she asked tentatively.

‘I’m OK, thanks, Iona. Though the bloody gulls started squawking at 5am.’

‘Aye. They tend to do that.’

I slid into my cream quilted coat and grabbed my bag, phone and dreaded itinerary.

The rain continued to lash against my guest room window, making me less than enthusiastic about the prospect of stepping outside.

‘Sparkles in the Skye is only a five-minute walk from here,’ Iona informed me as she charged back down the stairs. ‘Arran said he’ll meet us there.’

I stepped out behind Iona, who quickly jerked up her hood. I did the same, narrowing my eyes up at the stormy sky. Bloody hell! I’d only just washed my hair.