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“That’s your third sausage roll,” she said. “Are you nervous?”
“No, I love humiliating myself in public,” Lake said drolly.
“I figured as much. You do it a lot.”
He gave her a look that had very little effect on her.
“There she is,” Lake said, and felt his stomach lurch.
Stupid. He’d done far scarier things than this in his life.
“How’s she looking?” Betty said. She wasn’t tall enough to reach the window in the door.
Breathtaking, he thought.
“Good,” he said.
He saw Dougal pushing his way through the crowd, dressed in his usual assortment of ill-fitting tartan waistcoat and luminous shirt. This one was silver. Lake briefly wondered if the man made his own clothes.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” he shouted over the sound system. “It’s great to get together to farewell the old year and see in the new. It’s been an interesting year in Invertary, and it’s right that we’re here together.”
There was a slightly tipsy roar of approval.
“Now, before you’re all too far gone to pay attention,” Dougal told the room, “we have a few bits of business to attend to.”
There was a loud groan. Dougal blithely ignored everyone’s complaint.
“After the fashion show, we were a wee bit distracted.” He looked down at Kirsty just as someone remembered there was a spotlight. It snapped on above Dougal. “We’re all awful sorry about the fire, lass,” he said. There were shouts of agreement, while Kirsty nodded her thanks. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. For a moment Lake wondered if she was on to him.
“Anyway,” Dougal continued. “As I was saying. After the fashion show we were all too busy to announce the winner of the Battle Of The Bras.” He tugged at his waistcoat before carrying on. “It’s very important that we deal with the issue of who won, because I hear that there was a bet involved.”
Kirsty sat bolt upright in her seat. Slowly, she looked around the room. Now Lake knew for certain she was on to him.
“A bet,” Dougal continued, “that was sealed on a handshake. And unlike the English—” Lake cleared his throat loudly and Dougal cast a nervous glance in his direction. “Unlike most of the English,” he amended, “we take that sort of thing very seriously. In fact, I believe it still carries weight in the courts. Isn’t that right, Officer Donaldson?”
“Aye,” shouted the police force.
“You can see how important this is, then,” Dougal said.
“Get on with it,” someone shouted. “It’s nearly midnight.”
Dougal glared in the general direction of the voice.
“I have in my hand the result of the vote from the fashion show.” Dougal waved a gold envelope and waited.
There was silence. Dougal frowned. There was fumbling and a drum roll played over the loud speaker. Slowly, Dougal ripped open the envelope. Lake watched Kirsty as she frowned at the unofficial town mayor. It was hard to tell what she was thinking.
“And the winner is...” Dougal said, pausing for more drum roll. “The winner is,” Dougal shouted again, “our very own Kirsty Campbell.”
Kirsty stilled. Slowly, she pursed her lips into a thin, suspicious smile.
Kirsty smiled at Dougal as the crowd roared with applause and cheers of congratulations. She’d won the show? She’d won the bet? She didn’t think so. She’d been right. Lake was back and he was up to something. This whole setup screamed his involvement. If there was a chance to be centre of attention he jumped at it. And, as usual, he’d roped her in too. Kirsty didn’t care what he was up to; she had no intention of being a puppet in Lake’s show. Although her betraying heart didn’t agree. Her betraying heart did the happy dance inside her chest at the thought of seeing him again.
“Kirsty,” Dougal called to her. “Come on up here.”
Her mother nodded her encouragement and Caroline wouldn’t look her in the eye. They were both in on it. Kirsty had no other option than to step on the stage and stand beside Dougal.
“Congratulations. It was a close contest, but in the end, you won the Battle Of The Bras by three votes.”
