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“Look, I’ve had my lawyers go through the paperwork for the founding of the distillery,” says Jack, whose voice bears absolutely no trace of anxiety, or confusion — or any one of the myriad other emotions I’m currently experiencing.
Must just be me, then.
“Aye?” McTavish looks at him with interest, and I see Scarlett reaching for her phone, probably hoping to get a quick video for theGazette’swebsite.
“The original distillery, I mean,” continues Jack, still not bothering to look at me. “The one our grandfathers tried to set up before the war.”
“And mine,” puts in Dylan indignantly. “He was there as well, you know.”
“He was,” Jack acknowledges. “But it was Hamish McTavish and Frederick Buchanan’s business. Or it was supposed to be, anyway. But it didn’t work out like that. I think you might know that already, though?”
He looks at McTavish, who nods reluctantly.
“Aye,” he says uncomfortably. “My grandpa’ lost the land in a bet. To yours.”
“Stupid auld bugger,” interjects McTavish Senior. I’m not totally sure which of the two grandfathers he’s referring to, and I’m not sure Iwantto, either.
“He did,” says Jack evenly. “And he shouldn’t have. I wasn’t there, obviously, so I don’t know the whole story, or what went down, but I don’t like it, McTavish. It doesn’t seem right to me. Which is why I had my lawyers draw up this.”
He hands McTavish a thick sheaf of paper, which McTavish flicks through in confusion, before looking back up at Jack.
“Is this—?” he says, his voice trailing off as realization dawns.
“The deeds to the land,” Jack confirms. “Or 50% of it, anyway. I’ve made you a partner in Emerald View, McTavish.”
Everyone gapes at him, astonished. It’s like the time Old Jimmy had a few too many at the village Christmas party and sangSexy and I Know It. Or tried to.
“I mean, you don’t have to actuallydoanything if you don’t want to,” Jack adds hurriedly, seeing the shocked expression on McTavish’s face. “You can just be a sleeping partner, if you’d prefer; you’ll still get the payment for the land, whatever you decide. But if you’re up for it, we’re going to need a site manager once the place is up and running. It wouldn’t have to take up too much of your time, either, so you could—”
“I could keep the farm,” says McTavish, his eyes shining. “D’ye hear that, Da? We could keep the farm!”
“‘Sleeping partner,’” chuckles McTavish Senior, who’s always a step or two behind everyone else. As McTavish goes over and shows him the contract in his hand, though, he finally catches up.
“So, we wouldnae have to move?” he asks, looking to Jack for confirmation. “We could stay?”
“Aye,” replies McTavish, rapidly scanning the document Jack’s given him. “Aye, I’d say so. Assuming this figure ye’ve given isnae a misprint?”
Jack shakes his head.
“No,” he says seriously. “That’s what it’s worth. I’ve had it valued, and my lawyers have gone through it all. That’s why I had to go to London.”
He finally looks in my direction, and I instinctively take a step backwards — landing on Ben’s toes — when I see the hurt expression in his eyes.
“Ouch,” yells Ben dramatically, rubbing his toe. Jack’s gaze switches from me to my idiot ex, and as he takes us both in, I suddenly realize what this must look like — Ben standing close behind me; the way I was clinging to him as the helicopter came in to land.Iknow I was just frantically trying to stay upright in the wind created by the blades, but wouldJackhave known that? Or would he have seen Ben’s arms around my waist, and jumped to his own conclusions?
“Jack, this isn’t what it looks like,” I blurt out, but Jack simply turns away again and looks at McTavish.
“There’s some details about what I’m proposing for you managing the View in there,” he says, nodding to the paperwork McTavish is still holding as if it’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. I know this is coming out of the blue.”
“I dinnae need to think about it,” says McTavish, striding towards him and slapping him heartily on the back, until I’m afraid he’s about to choke. “You’re a good man, Jack Buchanan. One o’ the best. And I’d be honored to work with ye. Ye didnae need to fly to London and get your fancy lawyers involved, though. I ken fine yer word is your bond. As is mine.”
He holds out his calloused hand, and then spits into the palm, to Jack’s barely concealed horror.
Dylan sniggers.
“You’re supposed to do it too,” he tells Jack helpfully. “To prove that your word isalsoyour bond.”
“Er…” Jack hesitates for just a second, then reluctantly follows McTavish’s lead, spitting into his open palm, then offering it to McTavish, who shakes it enthusiastically.
