Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,88
their glasses.
Isla glanced around Iona’s little bedroom, filled with Highland dancing trophies and old pony books. Not unlike hers in fact.
“He had no interest in involving me in his life at all. I was just a bit of fun.”
“Well,” said Iona defiantly. “We are going to have fun.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a flat coming up on the high street. I miss you, you miss me. We could rent it together.”
“Oh,” said Isla. “But I’d have to leave Mum.”
“You’re going to have to leave her sometime!” said Iona. “She was always trying to push you to university or something anyway. ‘Don’t you think you could do better, Isla?’” Iona made a passable stab at Vera’s voice. Isla sighed again.
“She means well.”
“But it makes you miserable.”
Isla shrugged. “It’s just not my day.”
“Don’t be daft. You’re famous and in the paper!”
“For being an idiot!”
“We’ll have fun, I promise. Come on. It’s Christmas, Loony Dook, Hogmanae, Burns Night, Valentine’s, and then it’ll be spring and all the tourists will be here, and you can enchant one of them to fall in love with you and he’ll stay forever and all will be well, because! We’ll have our own place and you won’t have to skulk about to get a lumber.”
Isla couldn’t help smiling at that. “You’re such an optimist.”
“That’s because we live on top of the world. Stay over?”
Iona was already pulling out the little trundle they’d used when they had sleepovers at eight and nine, talking excitedly about How to Train Your Dragon, and at thirteen, talking the same but about Justin Bieber and the fourth-year boys, and now, it was strangely incredibly comforting that here they were again, looking for the spare toothbrush, trying not to wake Iona’s mum, hushing each other, giggling, and to her great surprise, Isla slept.
Chapter 63
Konstantin did not sleep. Quite the contrary. As Candace stood at the bar, he considered going over to Isla’s, but remembered Iona’s ferocity and considered it a good idea not to. He was also very, very pleased he didn’t have a phone; the last thing he needed right now was to hear from his father about how he had somehow managed to bring even more disgrace on the family. Oh God. That was hellish in itself. It would be everywhere.
He’d just ignore it all. Presumably Gaspard wasn’t going to fire him—or even if he did, he thought defiantly, he could wash pots. He could find another job. Go out and seek his fortune. It hadn’t been bad here, not at all.
In fact, he thought sadly, he’d been enjoying it. Learning how to do something properly for the first time in his life. People liking him, really liking him, for himself, not for his money or his ridiculous house. He thought back to the camaraderie of the garage when they had built the statue, the patience (albeit laced with shouting) of Gaspard, taking him from knowing nothing to being actually reasonably useful. He’d been looking forward to the Christmas service, the first time to really stretch themselves at full mettle, to make a roomful of disparate people happy and warm and content. It seemed to him a rather fine way to live your life.
But now everyone was going to despise him, thinking he was just using their island to play Marie Antoinette, to pretend to be poor.
He hadn’t felt poor. But he felt every stare in the bar, every aggressive glance, as more and more people read and whispered about how he’d brought the island down.
In fact, here came the first person now. He stiffened, ready to defend himself, or if he couldn’t, at least take it.
It was Innes, whom he’d built the statue with.
“Well,” said Innes in his slow, careful way. “I see you’ve been shaking things up a bit.”
Konstantin winced. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“What about?” said Innes. “I don’t care that you live in a castle. Looks nice, if anything. And the statue is brilliant, so screw them.”
“But this might be really bad news for the hotel.”
Innes snorted. “I wouldn’t care about that. I don’t think Fintan wants anything to do with it and it’s killing Flora. I’d be happy if it fell in the sea.”
Konstantin smiled. “I like the way you think.”
They chinked glasses.
“How is Agot?” asked Konstantin. “Does she still hate me?”
Innes sniffed. “She hates everyone who tells her she can’t skate.”
“Have you got her ice skates?”
“There’s nothing to skate on, is there? All the water here is salt! Eilidh sent for some from Aberdeen, but they’ll be wasted.”