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Not for me, she thought, happy that her sweet little cottage had thick stone walls and a log burner that kept her very cosy – not to mention the piles of blankets and quilts on her vintage, white painted cast iron framed bed.
Even though Liz had always been a city girl, she could definitely appreciate Loch Cameron’s old-fashioned charm.
Loch Cameron village stretched alongside the opposite side of the loch to the castle, which stood on the hill across a small, arched iron bridge which was painted blue. Liz knew that you had to cross the little bridge to get to the castle grounds, but she hadn’t walked over it yet.
The photographs on the castle website had showed a stylish interior, full of antique features such as four-poster beds bedecked in velvets and tassels, a library full of leather-bound books, a music room with a grand piano and a stunning Great Hall covered in wood carvings and ancestral weapons, with a magnificent wooden double staircase, carpeted in deep red. That wasn’t even counting the manicured gardens which boasted topiary animals and sloping lawns down to the loch, and pictures of the private beach she’d heard about, which featured a stone circle where people could have their wedding ceremonies, if they wanted to.
Liz had thought that the castle looked like an amazing place to have a wedding – not that she could foresee it for herself.
She had a purpose, now, and that was good: she had to try as hard as she could and help keep Loch Cameron Distillery open for business, since so many local people depended on their jobs there.
Ben needed her help. He’d been very open about that. And that was what she was going to focus on. Not weddings, and castles, and dreams. Work had always been her refuge, not the idea of a white dress and a band and a ceilidh.
The small high street consisted of perhaps ten or twelve shops: a small fashion boutique, a whisky shop, a book shop, a butcher, bakery and a small local grocery; there was also a post office that also seemed to sell all manner of essentials from bars of soap to newspapers. As well as that, there was a lovely old stone inn bedecked with hanging baskets, a hairdresser’s that looked closed, a tiny primary school and a community centre. Liz had heard that there was a small café, too, but she hadn’t seen it yet.
Behind the high street, a number of white cottages stood in an elevated position overlooking the high street and the loch; Liz knew that path, as it was the one that led to Queen’s Point and Gretchen Ross’ cottage. Behind the cottages there was a newer development of red brick houses.
Liz had lingered outside the bookshop which was calledPageturner’s,thinking about going in to browse, until she’d seen that there was a hand-lettered sign in the window that said OUT TO LUNCH – BACK SOON. Above her head, a shop sign featuring a flaking gold italic script hung above large lead-lined windows. There was a wooden trolley of books on sale outside, covered in a plastic cover, and a black wooden sign with gold lettering that said:
NEW & SECONDHAND BOOKS
WE BUY BOOKS
Clearly, the owner trusted the people of Loch Cameron enough to leave the trolley out while he or she was at lunch, which Liz thought was charming.
As she passed the community centre, she noticed a bustle of women carrying bags heading inside. There was a sign outside that said COFFEE ’N’ CROCHET MORNING – CAKES AND SANDWICHES, and Liz’s stomach grumbled as she read it. It was her lunchtime, but she hadn’t thought to bring anything to eat, thinking that she’d buy something in the village. But, so far, she hadn’t got as far as the bakery which was where she planned to find a sandwich or something similar.
Might as well see what’s on offer in here,she thought, and followed the women inside.
Inside, two women were pulling out chairs and arranging them in a circle, while another two were unpacking Tupperware containers of cakes and sandwiches onto a trestle table. Another woman was stacking china cups and saucers at the end of the table next to a catering-sized box of tea bags and a hot water urn.
‘Hello! Come in, don’t be shy,’ the woman stacking the cups called out. ‘Tea? Cake? It’s all fer charity.’
‘Yes! I’d love some, and a sandwich, if there’s one available.’ Liz approached the table and surveyed the generous spread.
‘Ach, yes of course! Egg and cress, tuna, ham, avocado and tomato.’ The woman peered at the neat labels on the plates that were still covered over with cling film. ‘Bess made them. She’s a legend at sandwiches, so yer in good hands.’
The woman was older than Liz, perhaps fifty or so, with her curly hair in a grey-blonde bob. She wore a grey jersey dress patterned with a design of green apples with black leggings underneath, with flat-soled lace up boots. Her voice was confident, and her smile was warm and friendly.
‘I’ll take the egg and cress, please. And a slice of cake, I think,’ Liz laughed, looking at the resplendent Victoria sponge that was dotted with strawberries and cream on one plate, and a huge chocolate layer cake that stood next to it, gleaming with glossy icing. As well as that, there was a tray full of chocolate brownies, one of oatmeal cookies dotted with raisins, and a plate full of millionaire’s shortbread. ‘May I have… hmm. It’s so difficult to decide! I think the Victoria sponge. And a cup of tea.’
‘Certainly, dear. That’ll be two pounds fifty.’ The woman cut a generous slice of cake and put it on a paper plate for Liz, and filled another plate with a round of thick sandwiches, oozing with filling.
‘Is that all?’ Liz did a double take. She’d expect to pay that for a slice of cake, never mind a whole lunch.
‘Aye. We’re volunteers, an’ as I say, it’s all fer charity. We give tae the mother ’n’ baby group so that they can keep goin’, givin’ formula tae the mums that need it, an’ fundin’ the health visitor tae get over here from a few villages away. Loch Cameron’s pretty, but it can be lonely fer new mums,’ the woman explained. ‘I’m Sheila, by the way. Haven’t seen you before?’ She ended with a question in her voice as she handed Liz a cup of tea in a grey-green china cup and saucer.
‘Liz Parsons. I just moved here. I’m working up at the distillery,’ Liz explained, struggling to hold the cup as well as two plates, groaning with food. ‘I’m just on my lunch break, exploring a bit,’ she added.
‘Aha! Workin’ wi’ Ben Douglas, then?’ Sheila asked.
‘Yes. Still finding my feet a bit,’ Liz confessed. ‘Still, everyone seems really nice.’
‘Aye, they’re a nice bunch. Sally’s a good soul. Take a seat. We’re goin’ tae start crochetin’ in a minute, when we’re settled,’ Sheila added, gesturing to the circle of chairs that one of the other women had arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. ‘D’you crochet?’
‘No. Well, I’ve never tried,’ Liz confessed.
‘Ah, well, we can teach ye, if ye like. Plenty o’ spare hooks an’ wool.’ Sheila smiled. ‘Bess! This is Liz, she’s just moved to the village. Workin’ up at the distillery.’ Sheila introduced the woman next to her who was now fiddling with the water urn.
