Where Have All the Boys Gone?(36)

The Laird sighed.

“I’m telling you,” said Iain. “We’ll concentrate on the American divorcee market. It’s the one to go for.”

The Laird dunked a slightly musty-looking biscuit in his tea. “So, you’re the lassies working with Harry Barr?” he said.

Iain sniffed disapprovingly.

“Just me,” said Katie. “He seems all right.”

“Oh aye, he’s a nice lad,” said the Laird, casting a sideways glance at Iain. “Lost his mother you know.”

“I know,” said Katie.

“About twenty years ago,” said Iain.

The Laird looked at him again. “What happened to that girlfriend he had? She was an absolute stoater.”

“He had a girlfriend?” said Louise, eagerly leaning forward. “What was she like?”

“She was a right beauty,” said the Laird. “Brought her back from Edinburgh. Gorgeous she was, wasn’t she?” he said to Iain.

“Yes,” said Iain grudgingly.

“So, what happened to her?” asked Louise.

“Och, she didnae like it up here, did she?”

Iain shook his head.

“Not a lot for lassies to do.” He eyed them both closely.

“I don’t know,” said Katie. “Sometimes it’s nice . . .” she looked closely at Iain. “Sometimes, it’s just nice,” she repeated, smiling at him.





Chapter Nine


Hello Olivia!” Katie said bouncily, answering the office phone the next day to her boss/chum.

“How goes it?”

Not the grey skies or the falling rain; not the meagre single slice of untoasted bread that appeared for breakfast under a bosom trembling with suppressed tellings off; not the forty-minute traffic jam (traffic jam!) she found was being caused by, of all things, a herd (herd? flock? school?) of Highland coos, funny little stumpy things that looked like dogs done up for fancy dress, could dampen Katie’s spirits that morning as she had turned the car up the track that led to the forest office.

The three of them had walked back into town, Iain’s fingers gradually entwining with hers, and at the entrance to Water Lane, Louise had gone on ahead and they’d stayed behind, snogging outside like teenagers. She was still walking on air.

“What are you up to?” Olivia asked, sounding suspicious. “Oww!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s not you, I’ve just got this new Thai masseuse who’s very thorough. That or I’ve been captured by the secret police. Anyway, what are you so cheerful about?”

“Nothing. Uh, I just think it’s going really well up here.”

“Really? How come?”

Katie explained Harry’s golf-course predicament to Olivia, who made various expostulations throughout, though whether in response to the proposed development or particularly intense kneading, it was difficult to say.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think you have a funny definition of ‘going really well,’” said Olivia. “It sounds like you’re doing nothing at all.”

“I mean about what we should be planning.” Katie didn’t think telling her boss was breaking a confidence; she had to do it, surely.

“Darling, of course you’re right—ack! I can sue you, you know. This Harry character doesn’t know what he’s talking about. What does he think will happen—big business goes away if you simply ignore it? That’s not very likely, is it?”

Katie admitted it wasn’t.

“Of course not. So you have to get out there. You know the drill; the more you annoy them, the quicker you’ll drive them out. What do you think for a USP for Fairlish? What’s its special charm?”

“Well,” Katie said hesitantly, “they’ve got the highest ratio of men to women in Britain.”

For once, Olivia was speechless.

“You’re joking,” she eventually spluttered.

“Nope.”

“So I’m here, getting put through torture so I can be nice and bendy for a man who I haven’t even met yet . . .”

“And we could eat pies all day here and it wouldn’t matter!” exclaimed Katie excitedly. “Louise has died and gone to heaven.”

“Arse. But, still, this could be a killer focus, surely? Get all the women of Britain behind the forest, something like that? The Men Preservation Zone.”

“Yes, possibly.” Katie shuddered at what Olivia might come up with.

“Fantastic! Well done darling—and STOP THAT! OK, on to other business. Have you checked your email?”

Katie looked guiltily at the antediluvian computer Derek had provided. It was covered in dust. “Um, not as such, no.”

“What about your mobile?”

“I can’t get a signal.”

For the second time in five minutes, Olivia went silent.

“You’re without your mobile phone?” she stuttered finally. “Darling. I would die . . . I would actually die.”

“You wouldn’t actually die,” said Katie. “And it’s quite nice when you get used to it. Peaceful.”

Olivia gave an audible shudder. “Barbarians,” she said. “Anyway. Uh, check your email.”