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She freezes, glances my way, then lowers her gaze. “What about?”
“Last night.”
“I don’t have anything to say about last night.”
“You don’t?” I stop close enough to her to take in her subtle, sweet aroma.
How can she not have anything to say? I’ve struggled to distract myself from the memory of her hands on my body, or how she made me feel when she was trying to coax me into her room. We need to clear the air.
“No,” she confirms. “I had too much to drink and got carried away. But like I told you, I was jilted a few days ago. I think I’m allowed to let my hair down. Don’t you?”
“Er . . .” I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, aye, I suppose so.”
She nods. “Is there anything else? Any other aspect of last night you want to discuss?”
I want to tell her how she drove me fucking crazy, that it took everything in me not to go into her room with her. But . . . like she says, she was jilted recently. She was just letting her hair down.
When I don’t reply immediately, Emily looks up and meets my eye, her stare unreadable. If there were even a hint there of what I saw last night, I’d say something, but she gives me nothing. So instead, I shake my head and take a step back.
“No, I . . . just wanted to be sure you didn’t feel too worse for wear today. I’m glad you’re all right.”
She pushes open her door. “I am. Thanks for checking on me. Goodbye!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMILY
After making myself a tea in my room and reading some more pages of my book, I set off out again. Earlier, I asked Lewis about local walking routes, preferably ones where I’m unlikely to bump into people. Since I ticked off the walk to the war memorial yesterday, he recommended a route by the river. I have, of course, already rafted down the river, but as my focus was on staying on the raft and not falling in, I didn’t have time to admire the scenery. It’ll be nice to take it in at a gentler pace.
Although I’m keen to avoid folk, to get to the start of the walk, I have to go through part of Bannock, and I’m recognised—of course I am. A woman waves at me as she drives by in her car. An older gentleman calls hello from the other side of the street. And a man I recognise as the accordion player stops me, telling me I really got the party going last night and he’s never seen the Pheasant so animated. He asks if I’ll be at the pub again tonight.
Everyone is friendly—exceedingly friendly—but I’m relieved when I reach the river path. Maybe I’ll get used to small-town life over the course of my stay here, but it’s so very different from the anonymity of walking through London.
The path follows the course of the river, taking me out of Bannock and into the countryside. After a while, I come to a solitary bench that looks out onto the water, and I sit on it, remembering how Ally and I rafted past here yesterday. The river is peaceful at this point, not at all like the churning white water further up and downstream.
I take out my phone and try calling Grace, but it rings out. Most likely she’s in the middle of a yoga class. Putting my phone down, I try to just be, to be mindful and present, but for some irritating reason, Ally’s face keeps on popping into my head.
Why did he follow me upstairs earlier? It was embarrassing enough seeing him at reception without him following me to my room. Did he really think I’d want to talk about last night? Why would I want to relive his rejection and my humiliation?
On my phone, I search for a guided meditation track. I listen to the instructions and focus on my breathing, catching myself whenever my mind drifts—but it’s hard.
After twenty unsatisfying minutes, the track is interrupted by my phone ringing. Grace.
“Hi, sweetie,” I say, answering the video call.
“Emily, honey!”
The picture is pixelated, and the sound isn’t great. Doing a video call via mobile data in the Highlands is probably ambitious, but it is working.
“I got your missed call. How are things? Oh, and where are you?” Grace tries to see over my shoulder. “It looks pretty.”
I switch cameras so that, instead of the trees behind me, Grace sees what I’m seeing: the River Garve flowing by.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she gushes. “It almost makes up for that ugly room of yours. Say, Emily, do you think my room will be just as awful?”
“What?” I switch back to the front camera.
“Surprise! I’ve sorted things out. I’m busy for the rest of this week, and all of next week—sorry about that—but then I’ve got a whole week off. I’m coming to Bannock!”
