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Zoe squeezed his arm. “We’ll talk tonight. I can’t wait to see this illustrator’s work you’ve found. It must be something special to have caught your eye.”
All Duncan could do was nod as those alarm bells that usually went off around his sneaky housekeeper sounded in his head. As Zoe introduced him, he thought back to all those other times he’d felt his hairs stand on end around Donna. Something was up, and he intended to get to the bottom of it as soon as he got back to Kintyre.
As the crowd applauded, he stepped forward and looked out at all the eager faces.
“As Zoe said, I’m Duncan Stewart, and I learned to paint in this building. More than that, I learned how to see my own work with a clarity and honesty that has stood me in good stead over the years. Today, I’m going to share with you my thought process when I paint, to prove I was listening when I was a student here.” There was laughter. “And to encourage you to soak up as much as you can from this place before you leave. No matter what you choose to do in life, the things you learn here will he
lp you make the most of it. So pay attention.”
With that, he brought up the image of the first painting he wanted to talk about, and a sense of peace swept through him the likes of which he hadn’t felt since losing Fiona. No, that wasn’t quite right, he’d felt that same soul-deep peace with Donna.
The same Donna who was up to something back home in Kintyre. He’d bet his last painting on it.
Chapter 26
The invitation for the ball had specified the dress code as ‘fancy,’ which, it turned out, left a lot of room for interpretation. One elderly couple arrived in topcoat and tails for him while her silver gown wouldn’t have looked out of place on Princess Margaret.
“Are those real diamonds around her neck?” Mairi asked as they watched the couple enter through the mansion’s main doors.
“I think so,” Donna said. “If she handed over her bracelet, we could sell it and raise more than enough money to call this ball off.”
Her sister snorted. “Too late for that. You know, if you can afford vintage Chanel couture and enough ice to freeze your husband’s balls off, surely you could invest in some Botox? She looks like someone’s dressed up a Shar-Pei dog.”
“Mairi!” Donna frowned at her.
She shrugged. “I call them as I see them.” Her eyes widened. “Holy flying fairies, is that a tutu?”
Donna looked back at the line of people making their way inside the mansion. And yes, it was a tutu—on Joyce. It looked like someone had dipped the Sugar Plum Fairy in Pepto-Bismol. She’d even wrapped pink tinsel around her walker.
“I like the matching Reeboks,” Mairi said. “I didn’t know they came in that colour.”
“Her hair looks like candy floss,” Donna said in awe.
“I see Ann’s made an effort,” Mairi said.
Sure enough, Ann Dunbar was dressed in grey—but it shimmered. “I like her lipstick, and her shoes are pretty. Oh, look at Flora. She’s the fairy godmother from Cinderella.”
“Holy Nutella, here comes the pumpkin!”
Donna twisted her head to see through the crowd, and she gasped. A short, round man had arrived—wearing an orange suit.
“I freaking love this ball,” Mairi said with glee. “If only I was still taking photos to show my online boyfriends, I could have milked this event for months. Oh, wait, I’m definitely taking photos of those guys.” She whipped out her phone. “For personal use.”
Donna’s jaw dropped at the sight of a group of six men who’d arrived wearing traditional Scottish dress. Built like rugby players with their shoulders straining against their shirts, they towered over the crowd.
“Is it wrong that I really want to see their thighs?” Donna muttered. “I bet they would be tree trunks.”
“Forget the thighs.” Mairi snapped pictures. “I want to see what else is under those kilts.”
They watched as an assortment of people came through the doors, from the elegantly dressed to the quirky. As different as they all were, they had one thing in common—they all gaped at the mansion, snapping photos like a busload of tourists on a trip to Big Ben.
Donna glanced at her wristwatch. It was only seven o’clock. The music hadn’t even started, the food wasn’t due to be served until eight, and the Women’s Institute had promised to start winding things down at eleven. It was going to be a long, long night.
“I didn’t know there was a bucking bronco,” Sean said as he approached in an ill-fitting suit. “Can’t wait to give that a go.”
“What do you mean?” Donna looked around as though it would appear.
“The mechanical bull in the library. I saw it when I passed.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Very cool.”
