Page 30 of Happiness Under a Summer Skye

On hearing the soft familiar Scottish accent spoken by people from around the Edinburgh area, Angelia almost jumped out of her skin. She turned to see a very handsome, clean-cut man in a navy button-down shirt and jeans, looking down at her from beside the pew.

‘Oh, erm, no, I’m fine, thanks.’ She turned quickly in the opposite direction and glanced nervously over her shoulder towards the door, wondering who else was about to enter.

‘It’s okay, I told them you’d got in a car and left the island,’ he said with a smile.

Angelia’s face flushed with heat. ‘Oh… thanks. But… erm… Look, if you’re a reporter, too, I’m just not⁠—’

She made to stand up but he held up a halting hand and laughed. ‘Well, I’ve never been accused of that before but no, you’re safe. I only report to him upstairs, not the world.’ Her crumpled and confused expression and the way she glanced towards the ceiling looking for an upper floor must have been a huge giveaway. He held out his hand, smiling. ‘Ferris Blaikie, curate extraordinaire,’ he said.

‘Oh!’ was all she could manage to say as she pointed to the ceiling, the fact he meant God dawning on her.

He reached out to stroke Scrappy’s head, and the little dog seemed to relish the attention. ‘Please, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Miss MacAuley.’

‘You do know who I am then?’

He grinned and nodded. ‘I certainly do. Ruby said you were buying the old antique shop across the way and that we might see you around the village a wee bit.’ He glanced around a little conspiratorially before whispering, ‘But I’m also partial to a bit of rock music too.’

He must have been in his early thirties, with neat brown hair and smiling eyes to match. He was tall, good-looking and broad shouldered and didn’t look how she expected a curate to look. Although what that was exactly, she wasn’t sure.

‘Are you allowed to listen to that sort of stuff?’ she asked in surprise.

He chuckled. ‘Yes, of course we are. It’s not the Dark Ages, you know. And to my knowledge you’re not a group of devil worshippers who bite the heads off animals.’

She felt a little foolish and her face warmed with the heat of embarrassment. ‘No, I suppose not. Well, thank you for hiding me, anyway,’ she said, smiling. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘No bother at all. I heard you were coming home to Skye for some peace and quiet and to escape all that stuff so…’

‘Right…’ she said.

‘Aye, I was saying to Ruby it seems the stars just love this wee village.’

Angelia nodded. ‘So it would appear.’ He turned to walk away. ‘So, you’re a curate? What does that mean? Are you a kind of trainee vicar?’

He smiled to reveal a row of slightly crooked but healthy-looking sparkling white teeth. They gave his face character, she thought, and then wondered why on earth she was giving him a dental assessment.

He grinned. ‘I suppose you could say that. I’m ordained but I’m working here to assist Father McAllen until I’m assigned my own parish.’

Angelia nodded. ‘Right, cool.’

‘Are you a churchgoer, Miss MacAuley?’ Ferris asked with a tilt of his head.

She cringed. ‘Please call me Angelia. And no, not really. I’m not exactly a religious type, to be honest. Sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘No apology needed. You’re welcome to stay until you’re comfortable to leave. But like I say, they’ve gone now.’ He paused and then slipped into the pew in front of her. ‘I’m intrigued as to why you chose this as your hiding place, though.’

Angelia felt that warmth in her face again. ‘In all honesty it was the first place I came across while I was running away from those paps. I tried the door, and it opened so… here I am.’ She held out her free hand to exaggerate her point.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. ‘God does work in mysterious ways.’ And then added, ‘If you believe in that kind of stuff, of course.’

‘Which I don’t, I’m afraid,’ she replied.

‘Noted. And who’s this cute little chap?’ he asked, reaching out to stroke Scrappy again.

‘This is my best friend, Scrappy. He’s not a big talker but he’s quite the listener,’ she said with a grin. ‘You don’t look like a priest,’ she said without meaning to and clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Ooh, sorry, I meant to just think that rather than say it aloud.’

He laughed. ‘Ah, well, you see, you came in before proper nightfall. At that point I grow a bushy beard and most of my hair falls out before thick-rimmed specs appear on my face and I start asking people for cups of tea.’

Angelia laughed along, wagging a finger. ‘Ah, that explains it. It’s the timing.’