Her Master's Servant (Lord and Master Book 2) (17 page)

‘Well—’ Luna began.

‘You
haven’t
told them, have you,’ Stefan interrupted. ‘Are you embarrassed of me?’

‘No,’ Luna said, adding for emphasis, ‘
No.
I just—’

‘Or hedging your bets, in case it doesn’t work out?’ He was starting to sound really angry now.

‘Will you please let me finish?’ Luna insisted. ‘I am
not
embarrassed of you, or hedging my bets. It’s just that, the first time we got together, the girls knew about it almost from the start and I…’

‘You…?’ he prompted crossly.

‘
Let me finish
,’ she said firmly. She paused for a moment, then continued, ‘The girls knew about us from the start last time, and there were times when I wished they didn’t. That I could just have you to myself for a little bit. Just you and me and nobody else. I – this will sound silly, but it’s been kind of like a honeymoon, what we’ve had up here in Shetland these past few months. It was so horrible when I first came here and now it’s so much better, and that’s all because of you.’

Presented with as fulsome an emotional declaration as this from his normally reticent girlfriend, Stefan knew when to back down. ‘
Älskling
,’ he said, sounding mollified.

‘I’ll tell them,’ she concluded swiftly. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. I should have done it before now. I’ll tell them just as soon as I’ve got this screening out of the way.’ And if there was a brief, loaded silence on the other end of the phone at her preference to delay telling her friends till after the event on Tuesday, Luna chose to ignore it.

The conversation niggled at her, however, for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down, until she woke with a start at 2.15am.

‘Does your father know we’re back together?’ she asked without preamble when Stefan answered his phone sleepily. ‘Only,’ she continued, ‘having forbidden you to contact me, somehow I can’t imagine Sören being cruel enough to feature me in a blog you might see. Have you told him we’re back together?’

‘
I
haven’t told him. But maybe you should have a word with your boss.’

‘How long has he known?’ Luna demanded.

‘A week? Two? Like I say, you should ask Dagmar,’ he said, tone dripping with disdain.

‘And your father’s talked to you about this?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t bother to tell me.’

‘No.’

‘And now Sören thinks I’m just a silly girl who’s… who’s shagging his son and taking naps.’

‘He thinks nothing of the sort. He isn’t happy, but it’s with me, not you.’

‘What did you say to him?’

Another loaded silence, this time crackling with thunder and brimstone. ‘I said I had found you and I would keep you,’ came Stefan’s voice, deep with ire. ‘And that he or anyone else who stood in my way could go to the devil.’

It was standing room only on Tuesday night at the Fisherman’s Rest.

Luna spent much of the day in a state of high anxiety, as fog that had been lingering in the area since the weekend failed to burn off and instead thickened as day progressed into evening. But thankfully, all their VIPs managed to make it over from the mainland for the screening event, and now the pub’s small function room was full to bursting.

Poor Britta – looking stunning as ever in form-fitting leather trousers and a sleeveless Shetland jumper speed-knitted specially by Ruth for the occasion – was sitting directly in front of the video screen, hemmed in on one side by a middle-aged representative from the Scottish Tourist Board, and on the other by an almost impossibly small, wizened man with a massive gold chain around his neck. The Lord Mayor of Lerwick, who looked as though he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

The Swedish model glanced briefly at Luna, standing next to the projector, and Luna gave her a quick, cheery wink.
Better you than me.
And was gratified to see the Swedish model stifle a laugh.

Scanning the room for Mika, Luna swallowed a yawn. Her call with Stefan on Sunday night had escalated into a full-blown argument, and though he phoned her as usual on Monday evening, it was a terse, unsatisfactory call. After which, in a departure from nocturnal habits dating from her late childhood, when sleep had been a blessed sanctuary from unpleasant reality, Luna had a restless night.

It didn’t help that, sitting gritty-eyed across the table from Dagmar and Mika at breakfast that morning, she got the sinking feeling that they were aware of her falling out with Stefan. Not so much from Mika, whose face was its usual study in blankness, but Dagmar, who seemed abnormally upbeat.

‘This is going to be a great day, I can feel it,’ she grinned, clasping Luna’s shoulder in passing as she went to get milk from the fridge. Easy for you to say, Luna thought sourly to herself, and almost immediately regretted it. It wasn’t Dagmar’s fault that the lion’s share of work that day would fall to Luna.

Her mood improved later, after the final prep meeting with Team Mika at the Fisherman’s Rest. And it lightened even more when she arrived home in the late afternoon to an empty cottage. Flipping desultorily through her wardrobe, Luna was briefly tempted to dress up for tonight’s occasion, resurrect her black pencil skirt and high-heeled pumps and unleash the slumbering power of Arborage Luna.

But dressy wasn’t the way to go tonight, not amongst farmers and trawlermen and businesspeople who’d travelled all the way from the mainland on the promise of a proper Shetland knees up. So she compromised, pulling out a short black pleated skirt and matching wraparound top; her ‘naughty cheerleader’ outfit, according to Kayla.

She was rooting through her top drawer for her black knee-high socks when her eye fell on a box from a lingerie shop in Lerwick. She’d wandered in there a few weeks before purely on a whim, and had come away with a very expensive set of undergarments. For Stefan’s delectation really, but…

Two minutes later, she stood in front of her bedroom mirror studying herself in her new purchases. The black satin balcony bra ideally suited her modest assets, but the showstopper of the ensemble were the knickers, featuring thin straps at the side that rose up into two elasticated fabric bands, one of which sat on her hips, the other encircling her waist.

Bondage knickers, that’s what Luna had thought when she saw them in the shop. But they felt awfully good, and when she pulled her pleated skirt up over them she noted with a slight frisson how its waistband skimmed the top elastic band. Stefan didn’t need to know she’d worn them once, did he? She could wash them and put them back in their box and he’d be none the wiser.

Luna felt the elastic now, clinging ever so slightly, reassuringly, to her waist as Mika entered from the bar and went to stand in front of the projector screen. He was wearing his usual battered leather jacket teamed with a close-fitting fine-gauge grey jumper, and was holding a half-drunk pint of bitter. He briefly lifted a hand and the hum in the room receded.

‘The footage is still very rough,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly, ‘but I hope you like it.’

Luna waited for him to continue, then realised with a start that the quiet Finn had said all he intended to say. She motioned to Dagmar, who was standing at the back of the room, to kill the lights, then hit play on the laptop.

The opening scene faded in from black to a shot of the roiling sea beneath the cliff in Sumburgh. Then some moody music started to play; Luna recognised the Swedish band Junip, a favourite of Stefan’s. Suddenly Sean’s head emerged into view, climbing the hill, collar of his Lundgren coat pulled up around his neck, walking straight toward the camera. Luna felt a chill run down her spine as the room broke into spontaneous applause and Sean, who was sat in the front row, briefly lifted his hands above his head and clasped them in triumphant acknowledgement.

On screen Sean looked, well… he looked
hot.
Unshaven, with his hair streaming in the wind and his expression determined. The coat looked like it was made for him and the stormy setting combined perfectly with the atmospheric music.

The next clip showed Britta walking across Malcolm’s field carrying a black lamb, prompting a chorus of ‘aaahhhs’ from the audience, which gave way to wolf whistles as she approached Sean, this time clad in the short version of the coat, jeans and wellies.

Then a clip of Sean walking away from the camera, through an entire flock of frolicking lambs. ‘Watch out for sheep shit!’ shouted one of the farmers in back, to laughs from the rest of the room.

The final clip started with a mirror image of the footage Mika had shot of Luna: a close up of Sean, eyes shut, on the grass bank atop the cliff. Luna didn’t know when Mika had found time to film this, but the weather in this scene was fine, and puffins were flying overhead. Sean had the Lundgren coat folded artistically under his head, and Dagmar’s silk bird scarf tied around his neck.

Then the camera pulled out to reveal Britta lying beside him, hand resting on his chest.

On screen Sean’s eyes opened and he slowly inclined his head toward Britta’s.

‘Gae on, my son!’ shouted Magnus Petersen as the screen faded to black and the room erupted in thunderous applause.

Dagmar turned on the lights and several of his fellow trawlermen rushed up to shake Sean’s hand. The Lord Mayor, meanwhile, appeared to be professing his undying love to Britta, and the buyer from a major supermarket chain was deep in conversation with two farmers in the front row. All to the good, Luna thought to herself.

After this, Dagmar came to the front and gave a brief presentation on the outerwear range, showing slides Luna had prepared featuring photos of the designers working on it, and Sören himself approving samples. The presentation closed with a candid photo of the prime minister of Sweden wearing one of five ‘ultra limited edition’ prototypes the previous winter – a gift from Sören, who was on friendly terms with him.

And last, a presentation by Malcolm, who made a strong case for the prospect of attracting visitors to the island post-lambing season ‘to see the wee black lammies’, as he termed it, putting on his most twee accent. Speaking more seriously, he said he thought a whole new farm stay holiday industry could spring up around the black sheep of Shetland, and that the tourist season could be extended by as much as a month in the spring.

It couldn’t have gone much better, Luna reflected a few minutes later, standing near the bar.

Drink was flowing, the various lamb offerings were going down a storm, the good and great of Scotland and beyond were mixing happily with local folk, and she could see Magnus and a couple of other crofters working away on some of their uncommitted brethren in a corner. Magnus, Luna reflected with an inward smile; who’d have thought he’d become her most effective salesman?

But really, Luna’s own work for the evening was finished. And, partly because she was tired and didn’t have the strength – not tonight – to pretend to be someone more outgoing, but mostly because she was missing Stefan and feeling bad about their falling out, Luna wished she could just escape. Go get in the car, drive home to the cottage, walk straight up to her bedroom and climb in bed.

‘Hello, my wonderful PA,’ came Dagmar’s voice from behind her.

Luna turned to find her boss with a large glass of red wine in hand. Like Luna, Dagmar was wearing all black: a rather attractive fitted waistcoat and wool trousers that suited her lean, athletic build. No make-up, as usual, but with her angular features and shock of blond-red hair, Dagmar didn’t really need it.

‘How did you think it went?’ Luna asked, smiling a little wanly.

Ignoring her question, Dagmar said, ‘You aren’t drinking. What can I get you to drink?’

‘It’s okay,’ Luna said, reaching behind her to grab her soda and lime. ‘I’ve got one.’

‘I don’t thank you enough,’ Dagmar continued, apropos of nothing.

‘You do,’ Luna disagreed. ‘You thank me all the time.’

‘No, no, you think I don’t know how much you do for me, but I do.’ Good heavens, Luna thought to herself as Dagmar went on to enumerate her many accomplishments. Where was this gushing paean to her administrative skills coming from? Truth be told, she couldn’t even focus on what Dagmar was saying and found her attention wandering across the room, to where Liv was talking animatedly with Mika, wearing a frankly astounding red minidress. Crikey, was she rubbing Mika’s arm? Malcolm really was going to have to watch her.

‘You know when this assignment is done, you can come to me for anything…’ Dagmar was saying.

Bad timing. That was what Luna thought later. For at that moment, as the party got into full swing around them, her father’s song came on the pub stereo. It had been getting a fair bit of airplay since Rafe’s ad first aired; Luna had heard it a few times on the radio whilst driving around Shetland. So it shouldn’t have taken her by surprise. But it did, all the same, and she felt an unwonted wave of sadness rise up above her.

‘Luna? You are okay?’

Luna blinked at Dagmar and tried to think of something to say.

A movement caught the corner of her eye and she looked to see Mika, grinning widely at her and pointing to one of the stereo speakers on the wall. He… he knew. He knew this was her father singing. He started walking toward her, abandoning Liv, and at the same time Luna moved toward him.

‘Your dad!’ Mika shouted to her over the music, which someone behind the bar had just turned up. ‘This is your dad!’ It was just coming to the chorus and a group of farmers’ wives standing behind Mika were singing along with her father. To her horror, Luna felt her eyes filling.

Mika’s expression, usually so blank, turned to one of abject apology. ‘I’m sorry, Luna. It hurts you, to speak of him?’

‘No, no,’ Luna shook her head, lifting the sides of her fingers to her eyes and dabbing them. ‘It’s just…’ She pulled her shoulders together and glanced quickly around at all the oblivious people surrounding them, and Mika quickly understood. No one here knew, except for the two of them.

Leaning down next to her ear, he said, ‘I used to listen to your father all the time when I was young. I swear, I wore this CD out, I listened to it so many times. He was a great musician. You should be proud.’

‘I am proud,’ Luna said, smiling at him, feeling all of a sudden better than she had in days. Lighter, somehow.

‘You aren’t drinking?’ Mika said, echoing Dagmar’s words of a few minutes earlier. But this time Luna acquiesced when he ordered a pair of vodka shots, which the two of them quickly downed.

‘This is my favourite song on the album,’ Mika said, holding up two fingers to the bartender.

‘Mine too,’ Luna agreed.

The bartender handed them two more shots and Mika instructed, ‘In one.’

They continued chatting, Mika talking more than she’d ever heard him talk before about her father, and music in general, and about Rafe Davies, who it was now clear was a close friend of his. ‘You’ve heard about the Clio nomination, yes?’ he asked.

‘I have. It’s very exciting,’ Luna said, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a message from Malcolm that read simply:
Buyer wants to do deal! :-) :-) :-)

Ear-splitting grin spreading over her face, Luna held the phone up for Mika to see.

‘Result!’ Mika cried, throwing his arms open. And it seemed like the most normal thing on earth for Luna to throw her arms around his neck in return, and to kiss him on the cheek as he lifted her off the ground in celebration. He, who understood more than anyone in this room what this night meant to her.

She was scanning the room for Malcolm, poised to go hug him as well, when Mika stiffened, his arms still around her. She pulled back from him quizzically and saw that, although he was still smiling, his eyes were fixed on the entrance to the pub.

Following his line of sight, Luna turned her head to see Stefan standing in the doorway, the foggy Shetland sky behind him.

Laughing in amazement, she lifted her hand and waved to him as he made his way over. He was wearing his work clothes: dress slacks and a crisp, blue cotton shirt, though he’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He was smiling too, but as he got closer she realised it wasn’t directed at her.

‘Mika!’ he said, drawing the other man into an embrace and clapping him on the back. ‘My old friend.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Luna asked delightedly.

‘I thought I would surprise you,’ Stefan said, bending down to kiss her. His eyes, however, were still locked with Mika’s. Mika, whose face was now a study in Finnish blankness.

‘Good to see you, Stefan,’ he said, deftly handing Luna her third shot of the evening and lifting his in salute. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ He downed his shot and ran the back of his hand along his mouth and for a brief moment Luna became a mind-reader, hearing quite clearly the thought he was sending Stefan’s way:
Thirsty work, this
.