Where Have All the Boys Gone?(59)

Suddenly, she felt perky, rather than disappointed, and slightly seedy (and ravenously hungry). This was going to be fine. She could handle anything. And if Iain wasn’t interested, he was being an idiot.

“HEY,” SAID HARRY. He didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in where she’d been, or why she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday; he just seemed pleased to see her. “Lots to do!”

“Give me your sandwich,” said Katie.

“What?”

“I can’t start work without your sandwich. I missed breakfast.”

“Aunt S getting too much for you?”

“Something like that. Sandwich.”

Harry felt in his briefcase. “You’re going to have to answer to Francis. Do you want some of that weird coffee you like?”

“Yes please.”

Sure enough, as soon as she unwrapped the sandwiches, Francis slinked up from the radiator he was snoozing under and sat at her feet politely until she gave him half.

“What are you doing?” shouted Katie to Harry. “You’re not supposed to spoon the coffee straight into the cups! It’ll taste horrible!”

“I thought that was the point,” said Harry, handing over the foil packet. “And what am I going to have for lunch now?”

“Well, that doesn’t matter to me,” said Katie. “Because I’m going to Inverness to be on the radio.”

“The what?”

“You heard. They want me on BBC Scotland. Which is practically national when you think about it.”

“What do you mean practically? That’s fantastic!” said Harry delightedly. “It must have been the phone-in I did that did it.”

“Probably,” said Katie. “They made me promise not to say ‘arse.’”

“Can I come?”

“I thought you had tons and tons to do.”

“Well, Derek can handle a lot of it, can’t you Derek?”

“Yes boss,” said Derek, popping up with a happy smile then disappearing into his cubbyhole again.

“Your secretary has a crush on you,” said Katie severely. She might as well have knocked him on the head.

“What, don’t . . . what on earth . . .”

Katie rolled her eyes. “You are very very easy to tease, do you know that?”

Harry flushed a little bit. “I didn’t want to come to your stupid radio thing anyway.”

“Oh, you can if you like.”

“No, no, you’re the PR professional. I’ll just stay here and get on with the grunt work, shall I?”

“Yes,” said Katie wickedly. “Now you’re getting it!”

THE STUDIO IN Inverness was smarter than Radio Ullapool, but not by much. The staff there, though, were a lot friendlier and more efficient, and the presenter was well-briefed and led her through the issues in a nice sharp manner. Katie, although feeling she acquitted herself well (and getting a nice feeling from thinking of everyone listening in at the Mermaid), was a bit disappointed at not being able to stir up much controversy (the ban on the word “arse” wasn’t helping things). A few people called in and offered support, and a few golfers phoned in and complained about being victimised (as victimised as you can feel if you’re a fat middle-aged white man with lots of money and a Jaguar, thought Katie privately).

And, too quickly, it was the last question.

“So, Katie—one last sum up of why we should all support Fairlish?”

Katie thought of her unhappy experience the previous night—and suddenly it all came flooding back to her. Someone as gorgeous as Iain should be out spreading his wild oats far and wide, not lying balled up embarrassed in bed. Harry shouldn’t be getting bloody flushed if anyone so much as made a little joke about love or sex. Louise shouldn’t be being followed around by half the men in the village like greyhounds after a rabbit, however much she appeared to be enjoying it.

“Because there aren’t any women in Fairlish,” she said suddenly. “There are only men—lovely men, really nice blokes—and there’s no women for them to um, have relations with, or marry, and the last thing they need right now is another few hundred men descending on them to play golf, which will only make the whole thing worse. So that’s why it needs to get sorted out, before all the men there go crazy from sexual frustration, and explode and die.”

There was a silence in the studio. Then the lights of the telephones began to light up in a row, one by one.

LOUISE WAS LOOKING at her, concerned.

“I’m a bit worried about what this is going to do for our popularity.”

Katie rolled her eyes. She had dashed to the Mermaid—post the Radio Scotland interview, she had new, very exciting news.

“Well, if they liked you in the first place, I’m sure it wouldn’t matter.”

“I mean, what if all these girls start rolling up now?”

“It’ll be nice—we’ll have someone else to talk to besides those little minxes keeping us away from baked goods.”

“And that’s another thing. Think how much it’s going to annoy them. They’ll probably come around and firebomb the house.”

“Oh yes, that was foremost in my mind. Louise, this is my job. And it’s working!”