Page 94 of A Scottish Island Summer

Campbell stared over to where she was and his expression changed. It morphed into a softer, faraway look. ‘Yes,’ he managed. ‘That’s her.’

There was a sudden bark of a man’s voice from the same direction. ‘Chrissie. Chrissie! Can you stop gassing for five seconds and collect more glasses?’

I observed a stern-faced man, probably in his mid-sixties, resplendent in a red tartan waistcoat.

Chrissie blew out some air. ‘Alright. Alright! Gee, Conall. Keep your hair on!’

‘That’s Conall Montrose,’ whispered Logan to me. ‘He’s the landlord of the pub.’

And Chrissie’s new partner, I recalled Ava saying.

Campbell’s attention shifted to Conall.

Chrissie pulled a jokey face at the woman she’d been talking to and laughing with and began to busy herself collecting dirty glasses. Then she turned her attention to a couple of other tables.

‘When are you going to talk to her?’ asked Logan over the confusion of noise, music and colour.

‘I’ll wait until she’s not so much in the line of sight of Conall, and then I’ll go over.’

‘Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,’ bellowed Conall suddenly from across the bar. ‘Just to let you know that our fireworks display begins in ten minutes down by the harbour. Please start making your way in an orderly fashion in that direction.’

His weather-leathered face, wreathed in bonhomie for the assembled crowd, changed when he turned to Chrissie. It was like someone had flicked a switch. ‘Come on, honey. Shake a leg, will you!? You need to clear the glasses faster than that!’

I glowered across at him. What a bully!

Campbell finished off the dregs of his Cuillin Brewery craft beer. ‘Wish me luck. I’m going to try and talk to Chrissie.’

Logan and I followed up the rear, hoping to give Campbell some assistance by blocking the view so that Conall couldn’t see.

I noted the way Campbell was fiddling with his hair and puffing out his chest as he approached her.

‘Did you see that, Logan? Did you see the way Campbell’s been looking over at Chrissie?’

‘No. Why?’

‘He was gazing across at her, misty-eyed.’

‘Probably because of the warm atmosphere in here,’ he joked. ‘Tends to dry your eyes out.’ He gave me a look. ‘Don’t you go trying to set them up together as well.’

‘And here was me, thinking you were a romantic at heart,’ I spluttered. ‘Come on, it’s obvious he likes her. He was smoothing his hair down just now as he was walking towards her.’

‘I am a romantic’—he paused for effect— ‘with the right girl.’

A rush of blood raced up my neck and I buried my cheeks in my wine glass, even though I soon realised I didn’t have any white wine left in it.

Campbell had his back turned to us but I could make out Chrissie’s wide-eyed shock as he caught her attention. She was clutching a couple of empty pint glasses and her face was showing a kaleidoscope of emotions. Then the music dropped a little in volume and we could hear faint snippets of their conversation.

Her voice was brittle. ‘I don’t know anything about my ex-husband and the Skye Lovers’ Cross.’ Chrissie appraised him. ‘If that’s why you came back here after all this time, Campbell, you’ve had a wasted trip.’

Campbell gave his newly cut hair a shake. ‘I received a letter, Chrissie. An anonymous one. It says that Gabriel has information about the cross. We’ve spoken to Ava…’

Chrissie kept snatching up empty glasses and whirling between the crowd, which was dwindling as people started to leave to head down for the fireworks. She shot nervous glances over at Conall, but he was too preoccupied braying with laughter with a couple of patrons to take any notice of her.

‘Gabriel’s trouble,’ she snipped. ‘Getting divorced from him was the best thing I ever did.’ She took a step closer to Campbell, as a whirling Scottish reel was about to come to an end. ‘I can’t help you.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

Chrissie’s mouth pursed.