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‘Okay. Well, Ben and Eva – she’s the Operations Director – will join us tomorrow, so you’ll meet them soon. But here’s your office,’ she said, stepping in front of Liz and opening a door. ‘If you want to leave your stuff here you can, and I’ll take you on a tour of the distillery, and bring you up to date on where we are.’
‘Great.’ Liz liked her office immediately. Rather than a slightly soulless corporate block, Loch Cameron Distillery’s offices had been built into the old distillery buildings and styled with exposed brick and a window out onto a circular garden filled with wild flowers. She had a desk and a comfortable-looking leather chair that looked out onto the garden, but her office also had an old fireplace, a cabinet filled with antique-looking glassware and decanters – some of which were full of an amber liquid Liz assumed was some of the distillery’s own – and, unexpectedly, a rather aged-looking black and tan dachshund in a tartan dog bed.
‘Oh! Who are you?’ Liz bent down immediately and reached out her hand to the dog, who sniffed it and licked her fingers tiredly.
‘Ah. That’s Henry. I forgot he had a bed in here. I can move it, if you like,’ Sally offered. ‘He’s Ben’s dog, but he kind of lives here most of the time. He’s pretty quiet, but he does like a scratch behind the ears, and…’ Sally opened the top drawer of the desk, and took out a bag of dog treats. ‘He’ll be your friend forever if you give him one of these.’
‘Oh, yes, of course, he must have one!’ Liz took the bag from Sally and took out a bone-shaped biscuit. Henry sat up, suddenly interested. ‘Do you want a biscuit? Do you, widdle Henry? I bet you do. Yes, you do.’ Liz realised she was doing her ‘talking to animals’ voice, and cleared her throat. ‘Sorry. Not very professional.’ She fed the biscuit to Henry, who was most appreciative.
‘Don’t apologise. Henry’s a fixture around here. More or less the fifth member of the Directorate,’ Sally told her with a grin. ‘Ready for a tour?’
‘I am.’ Liz dropped her handbag on the leather chair and gave Henry a last ear scratch. ‘Let’s do it.’
TWO
‘As you’ll see, it all started in 1785.’ Sally pointed up at the company name that arched above her head in huge black letters, painted on the whitewashed wall of the main distillery shed. ‘Ben’s ancestor started it; legend has it that he was taught by a local monk.’
‘The monks were the ones who spread knowledge about how to distil alcohol after Henry VIII closed all the monasteries down,’ Liz commented. ‘So, that doesn’t surprise me.’
They walked into a cobbled courtyard, circular like the wild garden Liz had glimpsed through her office window. Pathways led off it in different directions, following their way past buildings that looked as old as the rest of the complex. All of them bore whitewashed walls and black tiled roofs. Against the dark green of the pine trees that surrounded the distillery, the whole place had a slightly otherworldly feeling.
‘Ah, of course. You probably know more than me about that.’ Sally smiled, opening the door into the main shed. ‘After you.’
Liz stepped through the glossy black wooden door and into a high-ceilinged hangar filled with huge gleaming copper stills. Each one was roughly the length of a car, and the shape of an oversized genie’s lamp: bulbous at the bottom and tapering into a copper chimney at the top.
Of course, every distillery was different, but she’d seen many over her years working in the beverage industry, and so this sight was reasonably familiar for Liz. The smell of the fermented mash liquid being boiled in these huge copper cauldrons was also familiar, and somewhat reassuring too.
‘The mash tuns are still in their original positions, as is the waterwheel which once powered the whole distillery,’ Sally added as they walked through. ‘You’ll see it when we walk out.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Liz said, taking it all in. ‘Very traditional.’
‘Yes, it’s been this way pretty much since the 1780s, as I understand it.’ Sally pointed to some framed black and white photos on the wall behind them that showed the copper stills in the same position, tended by men in suits from a bygone age.
‘I love those. It’s so nice when distilleries have that long history. That’s partly what drew me here,’ Liz said, peering at the picture.And the chance to escape,she thought. Somewhere that didn’t constantly remind her of Paul, and of the dreams for a family that she’d had to start to try and forget about.
Liz knew, rationally, that she couldn’t just forget her dream of being a mother. It had been something she’d always wanted. More than that: it was something she needed. Even though she loved her work – she always would – she had also known she was meant to be a mother. She had spent so long fantasising about having a child, had spent so long visualising all those happy times together, that it would be almost impossible to let her dreams go.
But she had to try. Because, now, she was thirty-seven, single, and had already failed three rounds of IVF. According to urban myth, she was now more likely to be abducted by aliens and struck by lightning at the same time than to meet someone new and have a baby with them. As much as it broke her heart, she had to step down as a contestant in the baby game show, and admit that she was never going to win.
‘Not goin’ tae introduce me?’ A man wearing a baseball cap and a striped apron over his checked shirt and jeans tapped Liz on the shoulder and laughed at her surprised expression. She had been temporarily immersed in her own thoughts, and almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden touch.
‘Ah, sorry. Ye must be Liz. I’m Simon, the Master Distiller. Welcome.’
‘Oh, hi, Simon.’ Liz shook his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She hoped she didn’t look too much like a space cadet, standing in the distillery shed, clearly away in her own world.
‘What d’you think, then?’ He held out his arms, indicating the space.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, honestly. ‘And everything looks very spic and span. It looks like you’re running a tight ship here.’ Liz knew that the role of Master Distiller was important; Simon was the person who oversaw the production of the whisky at all stages. If there was a problem with the whisky, then it would be Simon who had to answer for it. In the trade, Master Distillers held a lot of status and had often spent their entire careers learning the whisky process in forensic detail.
‘I hope so,’ Simon said, smiling warmly. ‘I try my best, anyway. Ben not here tae show ye around, eh?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘No’ that Sally isnae wonderful, o’ course. I’m always tellin’ her she should run the place,’ he added, doffing an imaginary cap to the Finance Director, who rolled her eyes.
‘Simon. You know he was called away unexpectedly,’ she replied, clearly refusing to return his more playful tone. Liz wondered if Sally was just a very serious person, or if she found Simon’s irreverence irritating. Liz liked him instinctively; she generally warmed to big characters and vivacious personalities. It probably came from working in sales most of her life: a lot of the people she met were like that.
‘I think I’ll meet Ben tomorrow,’ Liz replied. There was no way she was going to show that she was, actually, a little annoyed about the fact that Ben wasn’t here on her first day.
‘Well, if ye want any info, ye can always come tae me,’ Simon assured her. ‘I’ve been workin’ here since I was sixteen. I learned the craft from my dad. He was Master Distiller before me, aye.’ He pointed to a number of framed awards on the wall: Guild of Whisky Makers, Master Distiller Award, 2015. 2012. 2007. And, above those was a longer row of awards with dates from the 80s and 90s.
‘Those older ones belonged to your dad?’ Liz walked over and looked at the certificates.
