last week. Apparently Tab is going through a princess phase.”
“And, knowing you, you’ve already sent her four sparkling princess costumes.”
“Two...” Had she gone over-the-top? “I just happened to see a couple on my way home. I wasn’t sure which one she’d prefer.”
“The doting aunt.” Charlotte put the photo back. “Your niece is gorgeous. I can’t imagine Amy being four and a half. Tab must be so excited about the holidays.”
“She is. I’m going there this weekend, and we’re going to make decorations for the tree.”
“I can’t wait until Amy is old enough to do that. This will be her first Christmas, and we’ve already bought way too much, considering she isn’t going to remember any of it.”
“Did you have messages for me?” Sam prompted gently, and Charlotte produced her tablet from under her arm.
“Yes.” She tapped the tablet. “Eight messages. The Wilsons called to give the go-ahead for Lapland. They want the whole package—reindeer, elves, Santa—but they’re not sure about the husky sled ride.”
“They’d love it,” Samantha murmured. “Providing they dress for the weather they’ll have a blast. I’ll give them a call and talk it through. Next?”
She sat down at her desk, dealing with each message in turn, scribbling a few notes to herself. Some she asked Charlotte to deal with; some she chose to deal with personally.
“The Mortons are an adventurous family—they’d love Iceland. We’ll book them on a tour to see the Northern Lights, and they can do that snowmobile safari on a glacier that was such a hit with that family from Ohio.”
“The Dawsons.”
“Right. Also the ice caves. Anything else?”
“Brodie McIntyre called.”
Samantha didn’t recognize the name. “New client?”
“He owns that estate in the Scottish Highlands.”
“Kinleven?”
Charlotte checked her notes. “That’s the one. Amazing lodge, complete with fairy-tale turrets. You read about it in that magazine and then asked me to contact him after we had that inquiry from the family in Seattle. We talked about it last month and I called him.”
“Of course. House parties in a remote Scottish glen... Don’t they have an actual reindeer herd?” Samantha leaned back in her chair. “I know it’s not something we’ve offered before, but I feel in my gut it would work. Everyone is wild about Scotland—particularly for the holidays—and the place is by a loch, on the edge of a forest. Guests could cut their own Christmas tree. A fresh one that actually smells of the forest, and not of chemicals. The possibilities are endless. Whiskey in front of a roaring log fire... Maybe we could add a couple of nights in Edinburgh for Hogmanay.” She saw Charlotte’s expression. “New Year’s Eve.”
“Ooh.” Charlotte smiled. “I want to book that vacation myself. It sounds dreamy.”
“And that’s what we do. We give people their dream winter vacation. The Christmas they’ll never forget.” Samantha tapped her pen on the desk. “What did he say? Did you tell him that the demand for properties in the Scottish Highlands is going through the roof?”
“Yes. Also that you speak to all your clients personally, and that you’re wicked good at what you do, so he can expect to be busy.”
“And...?”
“He said that he’s interested in principle, but he’d want to discuss it further. Because the lodge is a family home, and before he accepts guests, he’ll need to know he’s entrusted the task of renting it out to the right person.”
“Get him on the phone and I’ll convince him I’m the right person.”
“He wants to meet you.”
“Why?” Samantha tried not to think of her packed schedule. “Never mind. Whatever it takes. When is he in Boston?”
“He’s not. He wants you to fly to Scotland.”
Samantha shot up in her chair. “Scotland? You mean Scotland, Connecticut?”
“No.” Charlotte frowned. “Is there a Scotland in Connecticut?”
“Yes. It’s a town. There are others.”
“I mean the actual Scotland. The country. Land of hill and heather. And those cute cows with horns.”
“Highland cattle. Are you serious? He wants me to fly to Scotland?”
Charlotte held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just the messenger. But is it so hard to understand? He’s emotionally attached to the place. It’s his home. He was born there. Imagine being born in a Scottish glen instead of a sterile white hospital room...”
“He told you all this?”
“Yes. We chatted for a while. He says it won’t suit everyone and that you’ll need to know what you’re selling.”
“He’s right, of course. And I usually do visit before we start recommending. But I’m snowed under.”
Samantha loosened another button on her shirt and paced to the window. The view always