Page 9 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Three

Once Iona vanished, I rustled up a cup of tea with the kettle in my room, and cradled it as I peered out of the window.

The steel grey mist didn’t seem to be lifting. It was like a blanket, wrapping itself around everything.

Bloody hell! I didn’t see how this photographer would be able to take great images of me decked out in jewellery in this weather. I’d have to make sure I captured some close-up, arty images of the pieces for my own social media.

I whirled away from the craggy harbour, which I could just about see from my guest room window, and let out a morose sigh at my reflection in the dressing table mirror.

My dark brown eyes blazed back at me, complete with shadows of tiredness smudged underneath, while my straightened hair was threatening to morph into its natural curls.

After gulping down the rest of my tea, I stepped into the shower and blasted myself with a stream of hot water. Then I fired my hair up into a high ponytail and re-applied my make-up. Seeing as Iona hadn’t booked the services of a beautician or hair stylist, that would have to do.

Then I rummaged around inside my case, wondering what to put on.

I frowned towards the window, framed by lemon and blue curtains, and the miserable mist outside. At this rate, I should’ve packed fur-lined knickers and thermals. Goodness knows what Iona had arranged for me to wear for this promo. That was if she’d remembered to co-ordinate something.

It all seemed to be going tits up already and I’d only just got here. Nice of Justine to have informed me I had this jewellery promo almost immediately after stepping off the coach. No doubt she hadn’t wanted to tell me because she knew I was still pissed at her for making me come here in the first place.

I threw on my claret jeans and long-sleeved polo-neck top and got lost in my phone. River Banks had posted new photos of herself languishing by some Cypriot swimming pool plugging the new Techno mobile.

I was busy cursing her under my breath, thinking how unfair it was that I was stuck here while her shoulders looked more sun-kissed by the second, when there was a hesitant rap on the door.

I opened it to be met by the pale-faced Iona and a jolly-looking giant of a guy in a black anorak. He was armed with assorted photography equipment and reminded me of a big, red-haired puppy.

Iona introduced him to me as Arran.

‘Ready to be decked out like a Christmas tree, Ms Freeman?’ His accent was a brisk, warm, Scottish rumble.

‘Sorry?’

‘With the jewellery from Sparkles in the Skye? We’re all so awfy proud that Iona here managed to secure your services.’

‘Well, I didn’t exactly,’ bumbled a flushed Iona. ‘Ms Freeman’s agent is a friend of a friend of one of the owners of Sparkles in the Skye and…’

‘Yes, all very fascinating,’ I remarked. Even though I’d already styled my hair and done my make-up I asked for a couple more minutes for a final touch-up. I grabbed my bag, camera and phone and reached for the bright pink waterproof that was in my case. I slipped it on and jammed the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. I just wanted to get this over with.

Once outside The Gorse bed and breakfast, I found myself being led back down the cobbled lane, towards the harbour.

‘What will I be wearing?’ I asked Iona, trying not to show my apprehension.

Iona puffed out her chest with pride, reminding me of a little robin in her coat. ‘Oh, that’s all in hand. I liaised with Sparkles in the Skye and we agreed on an outfit for you.’ She pointed one finger up ahead towards the car park. ‘It’s hanging up in there, waiting for you.’

The slosh of the waves could be heard almost as much as the nervous, frantic drumming in my ears as I took in an old black and white transit van. Skye’s The Limit PR had been painted in silver along the side of it, with the caption Release your Potential – the Skye’s the Limit! emblazoned underneath.

Looking very pleased with themselves, Iona and Arran swapped smug smiles.

Iona clanked open the double doors of the van to reveal a cream garment bag swinging from a rail.

Arran started setting up his equipment and exchanging cheery pleasantries with the odd local strolling past.

‘The selected pieces of jewellery are in here,’ Iona said, gesturing to a black leather case with three drawers. ‘They’re the newest designs they’d like you to promote.’

I reached for the swinging suit carrier and tugged it from the van rail, stepping away from the vehicle. ‘So, where do I get changed?’

Iona’s smile faltered and I followed her widening sea-green eyes back towards the van.

No. She was joking. She must be.