Flora hugged the little girl harder. “Grown-ups are complicated,” she said. “And they are very sorry about that. But everything is all right now, isn’t it?”

“But! I did try,” wept Agot. “I did try to be good for Santa. So I could go ice-skating. But he brought me . . .”

And her voice wobbled, on the brink of total collapse.

“Stuuuupppiidddd Shoppppppkinnnnnnssss.”

FLORA STAYED WITH her until, to her surprise, Agot actually dozed off on the bed, having been up at regular intervals till midnight and from two A.M. onward. Flora rather fancied joining her, but it was a very busy day. She tucked the child in and went back to the sitting room, where the pleasant smell of scrambled eggs from the yard and locally smoked salmon was filling the room. Eilidh had given in to temptation and poured everyone a mimosa, which Flora reluctantly refused.

“There’s nowhere for her to skate!” Eilidh was trying to explain. “If I’d given her the stupid skates, there would just be a big tantrum after that!”

“Well, she’s having a sleep,” said Flora. “I’m sure she’ll feel better after she’s woken up.”

“Ready for the big day?” said Innes.

Flora grimaced. It had seemed such a good idea at the time. “You’re asking the wrong person, ” she said.

Chapter 66

F intan woke up curled in the strong arms of Gaspard, snoring gently beside him. It took him a moment to remember, just as he was waking, that they were sleeping in the hotel Colton had paid for, that he had funded and built. That he was betraying the man he loved.

Who was dead.

Suddenly Gaspard’s tattooed arms felt like a trap, felt too heavy on him. He stared at the handsome, scruffy, dissolute Frenchman, whose face, unfurled from its customary snarl, looked younger and softer in the clear white light. Fintan looked at it for a moment . . . then thought of his day ahead, and his heart sank.

No. He did not want to walk the halls of Colton’s great dream. Did not want to oversee the kitchen that had been Colton’s pride and joy, look around the ridiculously over-tartaned dining room and remember Colton’s absurd tartan outfits (he had liked nothing better than dressing up as monarch of the glen, stag feather in his cap and all).

He hated the Rock, hated everything about it. It was a millstone, nothing else. He got up crossly to get ready to head to the farmhouse first and see his family before pulling himself up to play the jolly host at their grand opening lunch. He assumed everything was ready; Flora had been sticking her nose in all over the place. And Gaspard had told him not to worry, although that was also when Gaspard was trying to get him into bed, so he may or may not be able to take that as gospel. There were almost certainly issues involved in guiltily sleeping with your chef, but Fintan pushed those onto the huge pile of problems he had that couldn’t get any higher and slinked off to Gaspard’s en suite shower, the weight of the world on his shoulders.