Shay, who had been busying himself with tuning the wall lights to a satisfying, warm glow and drawing the curtains against the gathering dusk outside, eyed him imperiously, hands on hips.
Did he have any idea what a stunning picture he presented with that cream shirt setting off his smooth, bronzed skin? Mair wondered, smiling to herself.
“No chocolates and no biscuits!” Shay decreed, golden eyes gleaming. “I know what you’re like, Liam Beag, and Uncle Danny wouldn’t be at all pleased.”
Conall grinned. ‘Little’ Liam was six foot three and had hollow legs, as da would say. Those always needed filling up before his stomach could start to feel like it had been fed. Shay stalked over to the fruit bowl on the gleaming, antique sideboard, another restoration masterpiece.
“You and Conall do have ridiculous metabolisms, though. You can top up to our level with a banana each. That seems fair.” Shay tossed them their rations and curled up in his favourite chair.
Jen laughed at Liam’s crestfallen face and produced a small chocolate bar of her own, which she divided up among them. Mollified, Liam ate his banana. Conall took the peel off him and went to dispose of the evidence.
“So,” Mair said, in her lilting Welsh accent once he’d rejoined them, “is everyone agreed? A week in the French Alps in January? The fourth to the tenth. Avoriaz?”
“Shay wants to snowboard, so yes, Avoriaz,” Conall affirmed from his chair on his cousin’s right. “The skiing’s pretty good too, so that should keep everyone happy.”
“Brrr,” Marie muttered. “You’d better book us a nice warm chalet then. And one with an endless hot water supply too.”
“Hot chocolate and fondue and huge log fires.” Jen added dreamily, “It’s going to be perfect.”
“Don’t forget the bloody whisky!” Liam added emphatically. “There’s nothing like a nice wee dram or two after a day on the slopes.”
“Bleuch,” Shay muttered. “It’s alright in a good Irish coffee mind or in a proper fruit cake.” Then he sprang up again. “Whisky!” He dashed off, only to return a minute later with a long wooden box, which he presented to Liam with a flourish. “For your little collection.” Shay smiled happily before resuming his place. Liam stared at the label.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Christ, Shay! How on earth did you get your hands on this?” He slid the lid open to reveal the glistening bottle inside and the little printed certificate lining the lid. “They only sold a hundred of these?”
“Limited edition, yeah. It was a present from a grateful Danish guy whose son Conall and I assisted back in May,” Shay told him, basking in his friend’s dumbfounded pleasure. “When we went over to Lewis and Harris.”
“I didn’t know you’d been out there.” Jen looked at Conall accusingly. “You didn’t mention you were taking a break… or some of us might have tagged along.”
“It wasn’t a break.” Conall frowned back at her, mildly offended. “You know, we always tell you lot if we’re planning a trip anywhere. Chief Anderson sent us over there on a case.” She pulled a ‘kicking herself’ face.
“Sorry, of course, you do. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Hunger messes with your mind,” Liam agreed amiably as Marie fed him her unwanted ration of chocolate. “What case? Why haven’t I heard about this before?” Shay sniffed.
“You probably have, but Conall wouldn’t have been mentioned. It was decided it would be wiser not to draw attention to his part in it. We might as well paint a big target on his back if he gets a reputation for being too efficient for comfort in some circles.”
No, nobody liked the thought of that at all.
“Wait!” Mair leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “In May? Wasn’t there a killing up there around then? I’m sure I read something in the papers about it.”
“That’s right!” Marie agreed. “I saw that too, now that you mention it. So that was you two?”
“Along with the local team, yes,” Conall told them. “It’s never ‘just us,’ you know.”
Liam waved that off as if the supporting cast was of little interest. He wanted the lead protagonist’s story.
“Spill,” he demanded, carefully reaching out to place his precious box on the side table. “It will be a good distraction to keep us all occupied whilst Daniel works his culinary magic.”
“Yes, do,” Mair echoed. “Tell us a story, Conall. You know Jen and I keep missing them. It’s so unfair!”
Shay moved a cushion up so he could rest the side of his head more comfortably against the wing of his chair.
“Someone open some wine first, then,” Conall said, accepting the unanimous vote without argument. “It’s dry work, yapping away for you lot.”
Jen and Mair jumped up and raided the sideboard for glasses, and a couple of bottles of a nice light Valpolicella. Mair added another small log to the modest, low-burning fire and replaced the screen while Jen handed glasses around.
Conall waited until they were all settled again before leaning back and crossing his legs. “Are you sitting comfortably?” he asked, in his best BBC radio voice, and they all wriggled gleefully in anticipation. “Then I’ll begin.”
One
Damien Price watched his wife contentedly as she sipped at her coffee. “They certainly don’t feed you this well on a cross-channel ferry,” Vanessa told him. “That was the best bit of haddock I’ve had in ages. How was your Venison?”
“Perfect,” Damien assured her. “CalMac weren’t given a VisitScotland's 'Taste Our Best' seal of approval for nothing you know.” He checked his watch. “We’ll reach Tarbert in less than half an hour.” The short run across from Uig, on Skye, only took the ferry an hour and forty minutes. “I can’t wait to show you Lewis and Harris. We’ll get some great shots while we’re there. Did I tell you I’d seen dolphins in Stornoway harbour
