The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) (6 page)

Sarah grinned. “It gets harder once you leave school,” she said. “You don’t meet people like that outside of work. And remember you’re talking to a barmaid; don’t even ask how many relationships I’ve seen that began over one drink in a bar.”

Fiona was now shovelling her cement mixture in a thick layer over an uneven layer of dry stone wall. “The more I think about this, the more it seems we should really start right at the bottom, but that would basically mean rebuilding the wall. I thought the whole point of dry stone was that it stood forever. Anyway, it isn’t as if he and I are relationship material. We come from totally different worlds. And my dog is slowly trashing his camp.”

Since the incident with the convertible,
Fiona had twice caught Livingstone returning from the castle grounds, once simply muddy and once dragging the wing of what looked suspiciously like a chicken but might have been some sort of grouse. “You don’t think they keep chickens at the castle, do you?” she asked out of the blue as she and Sarah set to work trying to replace the stones which had been knocked over, gluing them into place in the wet cement.

Her friend seemed surprised by the question. “Does Colin
Parker earn more points in your books if he grows his own eggs?” she asked in a puzzled voice.

Fiona
wiped at her nose, leaving a streak of wet cement on her cheek which she hastily tried to dab away with the shoulder of her old sweatshirt. It was a chilly day for August, even by highlands standards. Summer was fading away rapidly. “No, it’s about Livingstone.”

“I probably don’t want to know,” Sarah said, looking down at the cause of their labour as he lay panting in the shade of a rowan tree. “But you might find yourself suddenly forgiven if he took a fancy to you. I mean, who wouldn’t forgive a girlfriend’s dog for acting a bit rambunctious?”

“Who would want to date the sort of guy who evicts tenants because of a few dog incidents?” Fiona shot back. “No, we are chalk and cheese. Nothing in common and I can’t even begin to think what he would like to speak about unless it genuinely is history. And if he really were interested in history, he would already know most of what I have to say.”

“You said he quoted Shakespeare,” Sarah pointed out. “That gives him at least one thing in common with you. The last two people ever to quote Shakespeare outside of dramatic circles.”

Fiona acknowledged her friend with a grunt. The truth was that those two little signs that he was the sort to quote poetry were the two things that had piqued her interest. For the rest, her rational side knew that he was elitist and represented a slice of society which she saw as still living in a feudal system. Which was why she was irritated at herself for having enjoyed his attention somehow and allowed herself to feel a bit flattered, which was no doubt his intention.

She sighed
heavily and slapped another daub of cement onto the wall, staring at the effect crossly. “This isn’t going to work, is it?” she asked sourly. “Either we redo it all, which is impossible, or we have to come up with a new solution. Even if our new bit holds when it dries, the whole block could just come sliding off if Livingstone puts his weight behind it.”

“We could try just rebuilding the dry wall without the cement,” Sarah suggested after a moment. “We could probably learn the basics of that as well on-line.
Or ask some of the older farmers in the area who build low walls to get the stones out of their fields.”

“Well, let’s finish the cement I mixed up and then rethink it all,”
Fiona said in discouragement.

“The wall or your rejection of Colin?”
Sarah teased her, receiving a blob of wet cement in the leg in return. “If he was serious about wanting to get to know you, it isn’t too late.”

“If he’s a
mason, it is,” Fiona chuckled, surveying their slapdash efforts. “I hope there isn’t some sort of building restrictions on these old places forbidding any changes to the exterior, because this doesn’t look like it used to.”

“There probably is, now that you mention it,” Sarah replied.
“As you should know as well as anyone, after the work inside Mackenzie House. But since this isn’t going to hold, I wouldn’t worry.”

“What kind of guy asks a woman to dinner while he’s on a date with another?”
Fiona thought aloud several minutes later as she hoisted a heavy flat stone into place. “That sort of proves that he isn’t looking for that sort of date. Do you think he truly is interested in history?”

Sarah made a face. “Why not, I suppose,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “Or maybe he
wasn’t serious about his date that night. In those circles you always bring somebody to an event. I don’t think it has to mean much.”

“Great, so he’s a shallow cad as well. He’s sounding more and more my type.”

“And what would be your type?” Fiona’s friend asked softly, studying her face. “Does he have to be as bright and serious as you? What’s so wrong about just being charming, fun company if he treats people well?”

Fiona
flushed. Did her friend really think that she was some kind of academic snob? “All that matters is that he treats people with respect,” she confirmed hastily. “Which isn’t really how I’d describe somebody who doesn’t mix with common people.”

Sarah pursed her lips. “You still haven’t answered my question. You’ve met Rory, but I’ve never met any love interest on your part. What’s your sort of bloke like?”

Fiona looked at her friend with misgiving. She didn’t like to talk about her personal life much because it wasn’t particularly cheerful. But if her friend was hinting at snobbery on her part, she didn’t want to add to the suspicion by refusing to give away anything of herself. “Just guys I grew up with, mostly,” she said vaguely. “And one guy from my lit class who had a gift for rhetoric and managed to get us all fired up about saving Scotland from invading English influences. We were quite serious for a while but he didn’t turn out to be such a nice guy in the end. Besides which, the only time he actually seemed to put any of his strong views into action was to shout rude slogans at football matches and to rant well when he was drunk. Which was most of the time.”

Sarah sent her a sympathetic look. “So you
gave him the boot,” she suggested.

“I chose exile,” she decided, thinking about it. “I’m the mirror image of Campbell. He was
turfed out for drinking, and I ran away because of Cormac’s drinking. He was going to end up like my father.”

Her friend nodded understandingly as she tried to loosen up her back after lifting too many heavy stones. Then a sly grin spread across her face. “
Which is why you need to try a new tactic. Somebody like Colin.”

“I wouldn’t even be allowed into his snooty clubs with my accent,”
Fiona said crossly. “And he would avoid my haunts like the plague. So what’s left?”

Sarah arched her eyebrows knowingly. “There’s always the bedroom,” she said with a wink. “And Colin
Parker isn’t the sort of man I’d throw out of my bed for leaving cracker crumbs.”

Fiona
rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny it. The man certainly had sex appeal, not only in his attractive face and well-built body, but in his irrepressible charm and frankness. If you took away all the rest, she added hastily to herself. She threw down her trowel in exasperation.

“Up you get, Livingstone,” she said, giving the dog a fond nudge. He raised his head and cocked his ears, watching her with half-sleepy interest. “And you too, Sarah. I think we need a shortbread session.”

“Or something stronger,” Sarah hinted. “Although I guess I can’t say that now that we’ve dissed your ex-boyfriend like that.”

“He’ll never know,”
Fiona said grimly. “So if you’re shouting, I’m in.”

“I do know a place close to here where we can have free pints,” Sarah reminded her. “If we can get out of these clothes before the cement dries on us and we become just another couple of freakish gargoyles by a wall.”

Fiona was already slipping off her kerchief and shaking out her hair. “There has got to be a better way to deal with this,” she said moodily, grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow to push it to the tap behind the house. “And I’m talking about the wall, to set things straight.”

“I don’t think we did set it straight,” Sarah pointed out, nodding her head in the direction of their sorry-looking stretch of wall. “As for your other problem, we are dealing with it in the best way possible.”

Fiona smiled at her friend. “Then lead on, Macduff.”

Saturday morning was chilly but dry, with only the morning mist hanging on the surrounding hilltops. The small gathering in the car park at the trailhead was dressed in fleece vests and woolly hats as they stood in small bunches drinking tea from a thermos that Fiona was passing around.

Colin sat in his car at the far end of the parking lot, steeling his nerve to join the others. They looked exactly like the crowd that he had expected: middle-aged and retired people, either from the history society or local hill-walkers keen to have more inside stories to foist on their unfortunate friends when they were dragged along on these early-morning walks.

Colin didn’t mind walking in the hills, but compared to sports where you kept score and could win or lose or stop to have a drink in nice surroundings, there was something a bit too earthy about hiking and about the entire hiking crowd. Still, if this was what it took to get to spend a bit more time with Fiona Buchanan, then he would do it.

He pulled on his snug
jacket, neutral colours for fishing and hunting parties, and tightened the laces on his hiking boots. He sighed as he looked at the motley attire of the waiting crowd, who were dressed in training pants with stripes down the side, or torn hiking pants with coloured patches from the eighties.

Fiona
was wearing a worn-looking jacket and nondescript trousers, but still managed to stand out with her quiet beauty, her pale complexion and light hair giving her a dreamy look which made Colin think of wood nymphs or Renaissance paintings. He was aware that his friends would attribute that association to her soft curves, but that was part of her feminine mystique to a man constantly surrounded by angular, bony women.

Taking a deep breath, Colin left the comfortable warmth of his Rover and donned a cheerful smile as he strode across the lot to greet the rest of the walkers. Most knew him by sight and were welcoming and pleased to have him as a guest among them, although
Fiona’s reaction was harder to read.

She was just in th
e act of gathering up the tea cups when Colin joined them. She seemed to freeze for a split-second in her activity before fixing her pale eyes on his face questioningly, warningly. Still, she managed a polite smile and nod in his direction before raising her voice to quiet the group as she explained the morning’s programme.

Colin listened with half an ear to the introduction,
taking more interest in watching Fiona as she spoke. When she was speaking to the group as a leader or public speaker, she seemed sure of herself and comfortable with her subject and any questions directed her way. It was in the informal moments, collecting the coffee or lingering at the Mackenzie House opening, that she seemed less confident socially, perhaps uncomfortable with this slice of society.

He couldn’t help noticing the contrast with himself. He was completely at ease in social situations, able to chat and charm and entertain and interact with anybody he met in the functions he
attended. But he had a complete horror of speaking in public, which was why he admired Fiona’s skill. Right now, he also admired her wisdom in keeping the discussion short so that they could begin walking to warm up.

Beyond that, it was hard to say what exactly he found so fascinating about this woman. She was pretty, to be sure, but he had his choice of pretty women in his circle. It had more to do with her passion for the area and its history, and the fact that she simply had interesting things to say, things that she had obviously thought a lot about
. She wasn’t shy to say these things or to voice her opinion. Compared to his peers and the many  frivolous or gossipy conversations that made up their discussions, she was exceptional.

She also didn’t seem in the least blinded by his social station. If anything, it was the opposite, something she held against him. But rather than taking offense at her bias, he found it a refreshing challenge. He had enough confidence in himself to be sure that he could get past her prejudiced view.

He found himself hurrying to catch up to the group as they set off up the trail from the car park. It was one of those massive public works paths from a hundred years ago, laid out in steps of huge flagging-stones and wide enough for people to pass each other easily. It represented the sort of investment in sheer human force that simply couldn’t be done anymore since the abolishment of slavery or the end of the Aztec Empire, but the flippant comment that this inspired in him didn’t seem at all appreciated by the staid member of the Historical Society who was walking next to him.

With a sigh, Colin gave up on the man and moved further up the line, trying to make his way slowly up to
Fiona. The people he passed were busily identifying wildflowers and different types of heather, forcing him for the first time to look more closely at the details of his surroundings and realise that there were, in fact, quite a few different species and that they were really rather pretty.