LITMIR.BIZ

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shrugging his way into a parka, laughed. ‘Well, take your pick. There’s the Rum and Thump or the Mermaid or…nope, that’s it.’

      ‘The Mermaid, please,’ said Katie fervently. The name sounded a bit more appealing.

      ‘Got a taste for the wild side have we? OK, see you at seven. Remember –’ he indicated the audio-challenged room sternly ‘– tell no one. Or Mr Beaumont will be on you like a cougar.’

      The aged Mr Beaumont declined to look up from his whispered conversation on the telephone. Or maybe he couldn’t.

      ‘A cougar,’ warned Iain again. Then he was gone.

      Katie trailed behind him weakly as he swept out of the turret. She could see Louise’s plaintive face follow him down the stairway as she emerged. Louise raised her eyes expectantly.

      ‘I have to go back to the office,’ said Katie, officiously. In fact, she needed five minutes by herself to think.

      ‘Well?’ asked Louise as they exited the small building, pausing only to give the receptionist evils.

      Katie was feeling slightly more understanding. ‘Well what?’

      ‘Well what what? Did you just see that guy?!’

      ‘Iain?’

      ‘Ooh, yes, Iain, of course. You know him so well now. Yes, how was Iain, your husband. Iain. Everyone likes Iain. Iain and Katie.’

      ‘Shut up Louise,’ said Katie, trying to swallow down a blush.

      ‘Well spill then. Jeez, the first hot, non-psychotic male we’ve seen in months and now you’re trying to pretend you’re Joan of Arc’

      ‘Well, he seems all right,’ conceded Katie. ‘First person we’ve met so far that didn’t hate us on sight anyway.’

      ‘That’s good,’ said Louise. ‘Definitely, that’s a good sign.’ She futilely pulled the collar of her Karen Millen coat up against the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. ‘Christ. You’d have thought people would have realised it was cold up here.’

      ‘They did,’ said Katie as they looked out across the bay. ‘That’s why there’s so few of them. You have to admit, it’s pretty though.’

      ‘The South of France is pretty,’ mused Louise. ‘I’m amazed it’s never occurred to them to just go there.’

      Katie turned back towards the car. ‘Well, there’s no parking problems.’

      ‘Can I sit in your car all afternoon?’

      ‘Yes. And by the way, Iain asked me out for a drink tonight.’

      Louise squealed. ‘You bitch! You cast-iron bitch!’

      By a tremulous stroke of bad luck, around the cobbled corner at that exact moment came Kelpie and her two cronies. They stared at each other for a moment. Then hurried away in barely concealed hysterics.

      ‘CAAARRRRSSSTTTTT AYRRRON BEEETCH!’ echoed up and down the high street.

      ‘I’m actually glad to know we’ve doubled the entertainment available in this town in such a short space of time,’ said Katie, unlocking the car. ‘We should sell tickets.’

      ‘Well?’ Harry barked, somewhat rudely. He seemed preoccupied, eating a large home-made sandwich. Derek was nowhere to be seen. Katie was starving and watched him munch away, salivating. Carelessly, he ripped off a piece of his sandwich and threw it on the floor. Before Katie had time to object, there was a lazy snapping sound. Leaning over the desk, Katie saw the most beautiful black Labrador stretched out at his feet.

      ‘Ooh, lovely doggie,’ said Katie, before she could help herself. Harry looked at her as if she’d just insulted his mother (which of course, she’d already managed earlier).

      ‘Francis isn’t a “doggie”,’ said Harry, spluttering crumbs. ‘He’s a working animal.’

      Francis didn’t look anything like a working animal, unless he was a member of a particularly strong trade union. He batted his long eyelashes at her twice, then fell asleep.

      ‘Sorry,’ said Katie. ‘Does he bite?’

      ‘Yes, that’s the kind of work he does,’ said Harry scathingly. ‘He bites ditzy PR girls. Got his paws full around here.’

      ‘You’re a very hostile person,’ said Katie. ‘Is it the sandwich?’

      For once, Harry looked nonplussed. He soon regained his sangfroid. ‘What did Kinross say?’

      ‘I think you may have something of an image problem,’ said Katie.

      ‘In English?’

      ‘Um, he says…’ she consulted her notebook urgently, ‘that there’s an issue with biodiversity, herons, food chain implications, blah blah blah…basically you’re killing all the trees.’

      ‘Typical!’ said Harry furiously. ‘I’m going to kill that little prick.’

      ‘And we come back to the image problem.’

      ‘OK,’ said Harry. ‘Now you see our problem. So, what are you going to do about that little shit?’

      This was Katie’s moment. She was usually pretty good at the client pitch of how they were going to find the USP and work it to their point of view, then extend that point of view throughout the nation. Although usually facing her across the table were excited haircare product manufacturers and the implication was that she could get it about that Jennifer Aniston used their gunk. She wasn’t used to trying to convince a homicidal tree-hugger and his gently snoring dog.

      ‘Well, first, I think we need to have a meeting. Have a frank and fearless exchange of views. Really get to grips with what the underlying misunderstandings are. Maybe over a nice lunch somewhere. Then…’

      ‘Well, that’s absolutely out of the question,’ said Harry. ‘Next.’

      ‘There’s nowhere to get a nice lunch?’

      ‘Well, that too. But I hate that lying son of a bitch.’

      ‘Why?’

      Katie was excitedly picking over the possibilities in her head. There must be a girl involved, surely? Hearts broken? Ooh, maybe they were long-lost brothers? TWINS, bitter rivals, born on the same day, to grow up to strive over the heart and soul of the town, nay, the very Highlands themselves…

      ‘That’s none of your business,’ said Harry, heading out of the door.

      ‘He’s such a grumpy bastard,’ moaned Katie later, back at their digs.

      ‘He really does sound like Gordon Brown. Are you sure he’s not a bit romantic and rugged?’

      Louise was putting make-up on, thus intruding on Katie’s date by insinuation whilst pretending to be simply trying out new lipstick. She’d managed to find some candles with which to light their dank room, which, although flattering, was forcing them to apply lipstick in the style of Coco the Clown.

      ‘No, retarded. He’s clearly got some kind of big gay crush on Iain.’

      ‘Haven’t we all?’ Louise circled some rouge on her cheeks.

      ‘You’re not coming, you know.’

      ‘Just a quick drink. Please. I’ve seen the visitors’ lounge here.’

      ‘What’s it like?’

      Louise shuddered. ‘There was an old man sitting in the corner watching University Challenge. He didn’t look up when I walked in. I think he was dead and ossifying. Oh, and they can’t get Channel Five.’

      ‘Big whoop.’

      ‘…or 4. And ITV is called Grampian and BBC2 is in foreign.’

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