Where Have All the Boys Gone?(21)

“Yes!” said Katie, fired up with zeal. “Oh, hang on. No! I can’t! I work for him.”

“This isnae about ‘me’ or ‘him,’” said Iain, gazing into her eyes. “This is for the trees, Katie.”

She looked at him for a second, then the moment was broken by the low trill of a mobile phone. A nice masculine ring, she couldn’t help thinking.

“Kinross. Yeah? Oh, cock. Right, right, OK.” He snapped it shut. “I’m so sorry. I have to go. Some stupid sheep’s just had octuplets and it’ll probably make the front page. Drink tonight?”

The invitation was so direct, Katie didn’t even see it coming and wasn’t sure what it meant. Was it a date or a continuation of their business conversation? She shouldn’t really be fraternising with the enemy, should she—even if he was hot? On the other hand, the alternative was huddling under two sheets in a hayloft with Louise, so she wasn’t in a position to be picky.

“Um, OK. Where?”

Iain, who was now shrugging his way into a parka, laughed. “Well, take your pick. There’s the Rum and Thump or the Mermaid or . . . nope, that’s it.”

“The Mermaid, please,” said Katie fervently. The name sounded a bit more appealing.

“Got a taste for the wild side have we? OK, see you at seven. Remember—” he indicated the audio-challenged room sternly “—tell no one. Or Mr. Beaumont will be on you like a cougar.”

The aged Mr. Beaumont declined to look up from his whispered conversation on the telephone. Or maybe he couldn’t.

“A cougar,” warned Iain again. Then he was gone.

KATIE TRAILED BEHIND him weakly as he swept out of the turret. She could see Louise’s plaintive face follow him down the stairway as she emerged. Louise raised her eyes expectantly.

“I have to go back to the office,” said Katie, officiously. In fact, she needed five minutes by herself to think.

“Well?” asked Louise as they exited the small building, pausing only to give the receptionist evils.

Katie was feeling slightly more understanding. “Well what?”

“Well what what? Did you just see that guy?!”

“Iain?”

“Ooh, yes, Iain, of course. You know him so well now. Yes, how was Iain, your husband. Iain. Everyone likes Iain. Iain and Katie.”

“Shut up Louise,” said Katie, trying to swallow down a blush.

“Well spill then. Jeez, the first hot, non-psychotic male we’ve seen in months and now you’re trying to pretend you’re Joan of Arc.”

“Well, he seems all right,” conceded Katie. “First person we’ve met so far that didn’t hate us on sight anyway.”

“That’s good,” said Louise. “Definitely, that’s a good sign.” She futilely pulled the collar of her Karen Millen coat up against the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. “Christ. You’d have thought people would have realised it was cold up here.”

“They did,” said Katie as they looked out across the bay. “That’s why there’s so few of them. You have to admit, it’s pretty though.”

“The South of France is pretty,” mused Louise. “I’m amazed it’s never occurred to them to just go there.”

Katie turned back towards the car. “Well, there’s no parking problems.”

“Can I sit in your car all afternoon?”

“Yes. And by the way, Iain asked me out for a drink tonight.”

Louise squealed. “You bitch! You cast-iron bitch!”

By a tremulous stroke of bad luck, around the cobbled corner at that exact moment came Kelpie and her two cronies. They stared at each other for a moment. Then hurried away in barely concealed hysterics.

“CAAARRRRSSSTTTTT AYRRRON BEEETCH!” echoed up and down the high street.

“I’m actually glad to know we’ve doubled the entertainment available in this town in such a short space of time,” said Katie, unlocking the car. “We should sell tickets.”

“WELL?” HARRY BARKED, somewhat rudely. He seemed preoccupied, eating a large home-made sandwich. Derek was nowhere to be seen. Katie was starving and watched him munch away, salivating. Carelessly, he ripped off a piece of his sandwich and threw it on the floor. Before Katie had time to object, there was a lazy snapping sound. Leaning over the desk, Katie saw the most beautiful black Labrador stretched out at his feet.

“Ooh, lovely doggie,” said Katie, before she could help herself. Harry looked at her as if she’d just insulted his mother (which of course, she’d already managed earlier).

“Francis isn’t a ‘doggie,’” said Harry, spluttering crumbs. “He’s a working animal.”

Francis didn’t look anything like a working animal, unless he was a member of a particularly strong trade union. He batted his long eyelashes at her twice, then fell asleep.

“Sorry,” said Katie. “Does he bite?”

“Yes, that’s the kind of work he does,” said Harry scathingly. “He bites ditzy PR girls. Got his paws full around here.”

“You’re a very hostile person,” said Katie. “Is it the sandwich?”

For once, Harry looked nonplussed. He soon regained his sangfroid. “What did Kinross say?”