Where Have All the Boys Gone?(10)

Katie dropped her head and peered into the front of the car doubtfully.

“Get in,” said a voice crossly.

“Umm, who are you?”

“I’m the Duke of Buccleuch, who the hell do you think I am? I’m Harry Barr.”

He had a weird accent; he sounded a bit like Scottish people on the telly, but a bit Scandinavian too. She’d never met a Highlander before. He also sounded impatient and a bit pissed off.

“I’m Katie Watson,” she said, and, taking a deep breath, she slipped into the car.

“IS THIS ALL there is?” said Harry irritably. Tall and broad, he was dressed as if on his way to a Highland landwork fancy-dress party; checked shirt, cords, wellies, and a Barbour jacket. A thick mane of unruly black hair was flopping over one eye. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Well, I may not have a lot of experience in the field, but I’m very quick to learn,” said Katie, unhappily aware that the interview appeared to have begun.

“No, I mean—are you the only person?”

Katie glanced around. She didn’t appreciate being spoken to like a naughty dog.

“Let me just check—yes.”

Harry Barr eyed her suspiciously. “I invited ten people.”

“I killed and ate them,” said Katie, and regretted it immediately.

“What?”

“I mean, maybe they’re just behind me. When’s the next train?”

“Tuesday.”

Perhaps this was some sort of psychological chill-out interview, thought Katie. Oh God, what was he doing now? He was bent over to his feet and seemed to be searching for something. He was getting out his knife! Or his gun! They all had guns in the countryside!

“Here,” he said. He opened a tartan flask and poured her out a cup of what looked like extremely strong tea.

“Thank you,” said Katie, taken aback. They sat in silence for a moment, while she gratefully gulped the hot sweet tea.

“So you’re the only one,” said Harry again.

“Guess I’ve got the job then,” said Katie cheerfully, trying to get the conversation going.

“I guess so,” said Harry. He didn’t sound overjoyed about it.

KATIE STARED OUT into the pouring rain in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. Here she was, sitting in a stranger’s car (a dirty car, that smelled of dog), after a crumpled, filthy, ten-hour journey, staring at the pissing rain in the middle of a godforsaken hellhole in the outer reaches of absolutely bloody nowhere, and he wasn’t even going to ask her the equal opportunities question.

“I’ll have to think it over,” she said.

Harry sighed. “So I have to do this again.”

“Do what? You haven’t done anything so far. I’m the one who travelled ten hours up here for a cup of tea.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know the train back is in another five minutes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’d better get it then.”

Katie wondered if he would ask her to stay longer, find out a bit about her. After all she had travelled all this way . . .

“You should.”

Well! That was the last straw. She hadn’t travelled all this way to be insulted by some Scotsman with a radish up his arse and the dress sense of Father Dougal MacGuire on a bank holiday.

“Nice meeting you,” she said, trying to make her voice drip with sarcasm.

She unlocked the door of the car. After all, she was already soaked through, so a bit more rain wasn’t going to make any difference. Maybe she could spend the night in Inverness . . . she pictured herself wrapped up in a blanket in some cosy B. & B. after a long hot bath, sipping hot chocolate and watching EastEnders.

“You probably wouldn’t have fitted in here anyway,” said Harry suddenly. Oddly, his voice sounded kind, and when she looked at him he was giving her an apologetic half-smile.

“Yes, I would have,” she said firmly. “I’d have been great.”

Then she stepped out of the Land-Rover, misjudged the height of the car and landed with her new Russell and Bromley boots up to her shins in mud. For several seconds she and Harry regarded each other.

“I’ve got a tow rope in the back,” said Harry, finally.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Katie, pulling her feet up with clumsy distaste. “Goodb . . .” As she was speaking, she felt the rain stop suddenly, as if someone had pulled a switch. Without warning, a shaft of brilliant sunshine struck the car. Turning around, she saw a vast, full double-bowed rainbow leap from hill to hill. It was utterly awe-inspiring; completely different from the washed-out colours peeping behind grey buildings one rarely even glimpsed in London. She gaped.

“Wow,” she said.

Harry watched her for a moment. These daft city lassies really had no idea what they were doing. Still, at least she’d stopped acting all superior for ten seconds.

“That’s amazing,” she said.

“There’s your train,” he indicated the little red rolling carriages making their way down the glen. “You don’t want to miss it. There isn’t another one until . . .”

“Tuesday. Yes. You told me.”

Still keeping her eye on the light show, she made a bedraggled figure limping towards the buffers, her damp cheap briefcase in her hand. Harry gunned the Land-Rover into reverse. Another wee media girl with bucolic fantasies. Best to nip it in the bud. But he was never going to get anyone to sort out this bloody mess. He looked at the business card she’d left him. LiWebber PR. God, he’d have to be desperate.