Where Have All the Boys Gone?(31)

INSIDE, THE WALLS were painted a dark, rich red and there was a blue tartan carpet. It shouldn’t have worked, but somehow it did. There wasn’t a reception, just an ante-room with a huge blazing fire that Katie stepped up to gratefully. A friendly-looking woman was standing there waiting for them, and she came up and kissed Iain on the cheek.

“Your lucky night, eh?”

“You can say that again, Margaret,” he said, smiling. “But we’ll pay for the wine, noo, OK?”

“Ah, you’ll pay cost. He paid us already. We can’t do it any other way.”

Katie didn’t understand any of this, but liked the usage of the word “wine.”

“Welcome to Auchterbeachdabhn,” said Margaret to Katie. “Tonight we’re having hot smoked salmon with leeks and hollandaise, Angus beef fillet with smoked garlic broth, and iced raspberry cranachan with white chocolate sorbet and pistachio. All the vegetables from the garden of course. And today’s bread is pumpkin.”

“My favourite,” Iain was saying hungrily, but Katie was staring past him into the dining room beyond. It was at the back—or, possibly, the front—of the house, a circular room that overlooked the water. It had windows looking out in five different directions that were currently showing a panoramic view of a quite spectacularly self-important sunset, shading itself down from deepest purple through fuchsia and on to a fiery yellow.

What was really catching Katie’s eye though was the table, beautifully laid with crisp cream linen, gleaming silver, and sparkling crystal. It was the only table in the room.

“What’s going on?” she asked, interrupting Margaret and Iain, who were discussing the merits of spring versus summer vegetables.

Margaret looked at Iain. “Did you no explain? The lassie will think you’re abducting her.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

And, as Margaret fetched them the best vodka tonic Katie had ever tasted, Iain explained. Margaret (and her husband, Shuggie, who was busy in the kitchen) ran a single-tabled restaurant. All the food was local, there was no choice in the catch of the day, they were famous the world over, earth-shatteringly expensive and booked up eighteen months in advance.

“Metropolitan enough for you?” he said at last.

Katie’s eyes were round as saucers and she could hardly speak.

“Thank you!” she managed finally, as Margaret forced tiny, exquisite salmony hors d’oeuvres on them. “Oh my God, what a treat. What would you have done if I’d stuck to my mince and tatties?”

“Oh,” said Iain. “I’ve got the Hilton sisters on the speed dial.”

THE FOOD WAS exquisite. The salmon was by far the best Katie had ever tasted, and the meat soft as silk. Katie wished she looked smarter, that she’d had some time to get ready, had even just put some more lippy on. Soft fiddle music was playing in the background, candles had been brought in to light the room as the sun went down. In fact, it was so unbelievably romantic, it was embarrassing. Both of them were quiet and slightly awkward, a million miles away from the easy banter they’d shared the night before. Katie knew exactly what Iain was thinking because she was thinking exactly the same herself. He was thinking this was a far too romantic place he’d brought her to, completely over the top, given it was only the third time they’d met. He might as well have covered his car in rose petals and started singing Lionel Richie songs.

This was in fact exactly what Iain was thinking. He was feeling, frankly, a bit of a dickhead, and was desperately hoping Katie didn’t find out there was a bedroom upstairs. Not that he expected her to . . . oh Christ, this had seemed such a good idea when Shuggie had called him up. If she only knew how few women they saw up here . . . no, best not tell her that, that would sound even worse, like he was a sex pest waiting to pounce.

They both took a breath and murmured—yet again—how amazing this all was. Then they caught each other’s eye and Katie saw the impish spark she’d noticed before.

“OK,” she said. “I know you’ve been trying to keep this a secret for a long time. And I know it’s not going to be easy for you. But go on—you can propose now, I don’t want to swallow the ring when they bring it in the ice cream.”

“Actually, I thought we’d have this dinner because I have to tell you . . . Darling, I’ve been sleeping with the nanny, and I want a divorce. Please don’t make a scene now.”

She grinned and they finally started to relax. She told him about Mrs McClockerty’s latest act of evil and he agreed vehemently, nodding through a mouthful of dauphinoise potatoes and red vinegar cabbage.

“The thing is,” said Katie, when she’d finished her diatribe, “um, why does that woman keep looking in here? It’s like being around at your mum’s.”

Iain smiled. “Margaret’s the waitress, Katie. Just because it looks like a house doesn’t mean she’s my mother.”

“No.”

“Plus, she wants to measure you up against all the other women I bring here on a regular basis.”

“I knew it,” said Katie, and threw her napkin at him. “You’re the town Lothario.”

At this, Iain laughed for longer than was necessary or indeed polite.

“What?” said Katie, feeling uncomfortable. If he was gay and just being friendly, something was very very wrong with her gaydar. Maybe that was it—she’d been so long out of the game she’d lost the knack completely. She was going to turn into one of those old ladies who develop impossible pashes for the local vicar and make exhibitions of themselves.