Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,56

Okay. I can do it.”

Konstantin felt himself break into a huge grin. “Really?”

“Yes. For the children. Yes.”

Gunnar took out his phone and started taking lots of pictures of the site from all different angles. Konstantin could have skipped.

“Would you like a croissant before you go catch your plane?”

“Christ, no.”

Chapter 38

So, just to get this straight,” said Joel, who felt a headache coming on. “You don’t actually know what’s turning up?”

They were down at the docks, two weeks later, to pick up the light installation. Gunnar had worked quickly but hadn’t answered any of Konstantin’s emails about what he was actually doing or how big it would be. They needed a power source on the hill, that’s all he knew. Joel was trying to pacify Mrs. McGlone, who was getting slightly worried about what Malcy would say.

“He’s an artist,” said Konstantin, in the hopes that this would prove enough. Innes was standing by with his truck, as was Ed the policeman, and they watched the ferry dock in some nervous anticipation.

It hadn’t occurred to any of them that he couldn’t possibly have such a group of people together loitering on the wharf on a workday without arousing frantic amounts of chitchat and suspicion, and indeed, a lot of people gathered in the Seaside Kitchen to keep an eye on them.

“Who is that new chap anyway?” said Mrs. Brodie suspiciously. “I’m just saying. He’s a bit of a ride and no mistake.”

“Elspeth!” said Flora reprovingly. She glanced out the window. Nobody, she thought, was ever handsomer than Joel, ever. His curly hair, his horn-rimmed spectacles, his long, muscular body . . . She sighed happily. But yes, sure, the blond stranger was cool too, if you liked that lanky Scandi look.

“He’s a ride,” said Mrs. Brodie again, and the Fair Isle knitting group looked up to see whom she was talking about, then vehemently nodded as one before going back to their intricately patterned wool.

“He hasn’t been in here?” said Flora, confused. Most people popped in sooner or later. It wasn’t as if Mure was falling over itself with different places to go.

“He’s a pot boy,” said Mrs. Brodie. “He must be skint.”

“Working his way round the world maybe? Student?”

“That’s an expensive coat he’s got on. And shoes.”

“Doesn’t stop people wanting to work.”

“Well, maybe scouring out all those pots will give him some proper muscles,” said Mrs. Brodie, all but licking her lips.

“Mrs. Brodie! That’s quite enough.”

Lorna came in for a coffee.

“We’re talking about who’s a ride,” said Mrs. Brodie, and Lorna looked at her without quite taking it in. Flora pulled her aside.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s been called in,” said Lorna in a low voice. They both knew what that meant. “Home Office.”

“Oh shit. What now?” said Flora, genuinely worried. Not just for Lorna, her best friend, or Saif, whom she liked very much. But she was slightly scared that he would leave the island and they’d be without the best doctor they’d ever had. It was a helicopter ride to get to the hospital; she was much happier with a baby and her father getting ever older knowing she had Saif to call on.

Lorna shrugged. “They won’t ever tell you. He has to go in.”

“Are you talking?”

She nodded. “Yes. But he doesn’t know any more than me. But he’s terrified.”

Flora patted her shoulder. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

FLORA BUNDLED UP the largest piece of gingerbread she could find, added an extra shot to Lorna’s coffee, and sent her on her way. Meanwhile the rest of the Seaside Kitchen patrons were trying desperately to pretend they weren’t still spying on what the men were doing.

“Maybe they’re landing a new car!” said one. “Maybe it’s a Christmas present for someone!”

“Who for?”

“Maybe it’s you, Flora. That rich lawyer of yours.”

Flora snorted. They absolutely did not feel rich. Joel had given up all of his lucrative practice to work for Colton’s charities and was paid to reflect that, and there had been no money to spare for maternity leave.

“It’s the lights,” she said, and everyone nodded happily.

“Already?” said Mrs. Brodie. “That’s efficient.”

“The children are going to love it,” said Mrs. MacPherson.

“And I’m going to love watching the men put them up,” said the inexhaustible Mrs. Brodie. “Oh, and that reminds me! Pay up for the Loony Dook!”

There was a lot of good-natured grumbling at that. The Loony Dook happened every Boxing Day. Two pounds to charity, then you had to run in the sea in your swimming trunks. It had become bizarrely popular, even though everyone dreaded it