Page 17 of Snowy Surprises in the Highlands

‘My fiancé is Inspector Harris Donaldson.’

He nodded, looking her up and down again. ‘Is he now?’ He turned and walked in through the huge oak doors and into the reception area. It was a hideous throwback to when the colour palette took its inspiration from mud. Lots of brown and lots of Formica. Who could do this to such a beautiful old building?

He turned his head and asked over his shoulder, ‘Can I get you a drink? Some food? I usually order in from a place in Portree. But they’re pretty quick.’

‘I’m good, thanks. Is there somewhere with a table so I can spread my designs out for you to look at?’

He mumbled something incoherent but from his expression she got an idea of what he was thinking. She felt her cheeks flame. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I said sure, we can go spread your designs out in the lounge. The furniture is still in there right now, but Mom has arranged for a removal company to come along this week. Apparently, some folks still like this crap, so someone has bought it, believe it or not.’ So, they at least had their dislike of seventies décor in common, if nothing else.

The fifty shades of brown theme carried through into the lounge where caramel faux-leather sofas and chairs sat around a large smoked-glass coffee table on a chocolate-brown and cream swirly patterned rug. It smelled musty and the suspended ceiling was stained with nicotine; the colour of which fit quite well with the scheme, ironically.

‘Are you staying locally?’ she asked, making small talk, and immediately regretted her question when his face lit up.

‘Why, are you gonna come and visit?’ When she didn’t answer, he added, ‘I’m living here for now. But I’m gonna buy a place in Portree eventually, I guess I might as well make the most of my time in this godforsaken hellhole.’

Charming. ‘I see. Well, you might want to look for somewhere sooner rather than later. It may get a little noisy and dirty around here as things progress,’ she said, once again regretting her choice of words.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m a tough guy, I can handle it,’ he said with that pathetic half-smile again.

Bella cleared her throat, if he was trying to impress her he was having the opposite effect. ‘Okay…’ She took her iPad out of its case and placed it down, then she took out the wallpaper and fabric samples. ‘So, the idea is to take the Iolair-Mhara back to its origins with some beautiful William Morris wallpapers and fabrics. These are the ones approved by your parents.’

‘Do you know how the place got its name?’ he asked out of the blue. She shook her head. ‘It was named after a nest of white-tailed eagles that were discovered in the forked trunk of one of the old oak trees in the grounds behind the house, back in the mid-1800s. The eagles returned here, to the same spot for many years after that too. They apparently loved the location on the edge of the loch. Did you see the painting in the foyer?’

Bella nodded. ‘The piece by Douglas McKenna? I did. I did some research after your mum and dad told me about it. He was quite local to the area and painted it in 1896. I think it’s lovely that it’s still here and there’s still a connection between the building and its first wild neighbours. Maybe we’ll find a more fitting frame and make sure it stays. Make it a feature.’

‘Right now, that painting is the only thing I like about the place. Present company excepted, of course.’

‘You’re not here willingly then?’ she asked.

‘Let’s just say managing a hotel wasn’t what I either hoped, or expected, to be doing with my life but… Here we are, the less about the reasons the better, I think. Anyway, show me your grand plans, Miss Douglas.’

* * *

‘I like it,’ Mr Somers said after Bella had gone through the whole proposed scheme. ‘Would’ve been nice if I’d been allowed to have some input but…’

‘Ah, sorry about that. Perhaps if there’s anything you really aren’t keen on you could speak to your parents and⁠—’

‘No, I like what you’ve come up with. I may make a few additions but overall, you’ve done a great little job. Well done, you.’

A great little job? Well done, you? You arse. ‘Well, I am a qualified professional.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Wait, you can actually get qualified to decorate?’

Bella’s nostrils flared involuntarily. ‘Yes. You can.’

‘Nice, nice. Well done, you.’ There was that condescending tone again. Why did it not feel like a compliment?

Bella stood, fearing she might say something she would regret. ‘Right, well, I’ll be off. Thanks for your time.’ She held out her hand.

He stood too and took her hand. ‘Oh, yeah, you have another appointment.’

‘I do.’ She tried to remove her hand from his grip, but he held on.

He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. ‘It was good to meet you, Bella. I can see why your parents chose that name for you.’

‘Actually, I was named Arabella after Arabella Stuart, the cousin of King James VI. She was a woman who took no crap,’ she informed him bluntly as she snatched her hand away. The part about the Stuarts was totally fabricated, she had no clue why her parents named her Arabella and had only heard of the Stuart woman when she’d searched for people with her name out of curiosity.