Five Days in Skye: A Novel Page 6

  Andrea returned the smile, and the knot in James’s gut tightened another degree. He’d always gone to great lengths not to compete directly with his brother. Not in school. Not in sports. Certainly not with women. He’d be daft to think Ian hadn’t already guessed his interest in Andrea and decided to show him up as a matter of principle. These things just never ended well. If he won, Ian could never let it go. If he lost, he’d never let James forget it. Just more proof his older brother had rotten timing.

  This time James wasn’t in the mood to back down.

  Chapter Seven

  Being in the same room with the MacDonald men was like standing in a demilitarized zone. It seemed safe and cordial until someone got trigger-happy and started sniping. Even with Ian’s departure, the tension in the living room remained so thick Andrea thought she might trip over it on the way to the kitchen.

  Ian MacDonald was not what she had expected, either as James’s brother or as his chief operations officer. For one thing, he looked more like an athlete than a lawyer, lean and broad shouldered, dressed casually in a cabled sweater and khakis. And he was nearly as good-looking as his younger brother, which was saying something. Taken with their ethereally pretty sister, it was obvious the MacDonald children had gotten more than their fair share of looks from the family gene pool.

  The enmity between the two men, however, took her by surprise. What on earth had happened that they couldn’t even stay in the same room together? And why did Ian remain an officer of James’s company if they’d had such a drastic falling out?

  She followed James through the attached dining room into a small kitchen. “May I ask what that was all about?”

  James grimaced. “Old, ugly business. He didn’t tell me he was coming, because he assumed I wouldn’t put in an appearance if he did.”

  “Would you have?”

  “Probably not.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at her and gave her a crooked grin. “Then again, that was before I laid eyes on his consultant.”

  And back to business as usual. “Nice change of subject.”

  “I thought so.”

  “What can I do then?” Andrea leaned against the counter and watched him gather ingredients from various cabinets.

  “You can pour.” James opened the pantry and came out with a bottle of red wine, followed by four glasses and a corkscrew. He popped the cork and set the bottle back on the counter, then frowned. “Serena! You raided my wine cellar again!”

  Serena ducked into the room and gave James an exasperated look. “Do you mind? I just put Max down. And yes, I raided your wine collection in the cottage. You’ve been holding out on us.”

  “That’s because you don’t know Syrah from Chianti,” he said, his tone affectionate. He glanced at Andrea. “Or so she claims. She managed to find my best bottle of reserve Cabernet, which I am very sure I hid in the back.”

  “I know how you think. You’re not just going to stock your cupboard with a collection of ten-quid Chablis. They had to be decoys.”

  Andrea picked up the bottle and filled the four glasses with a flourish. Then she raised her own. “To a sister who isn’t fooled by the decoys, then.”

  “Well said, Andrea.” Serena grinned and clinked her glass against Andrea’s. “Now I’m going to go enjoy the quiet. Give a shout if you need me.”

  Andrea turned to James as Serena exited the kitchen. “What else can I help with?”

  “Since you already boasted about your water-boiling skills, you can fill the stockpot under the sink.”

  Andrea chuckled and found an enameled stockpot in the cupboard, then filled it with hot water and carried it to the stove. “This cooking thing is easier than I thought.”

  “You’re a natural. I can do the rest, though. Have a seat and enjoy your wine.”

  Andrea slid onto a barstool at the island, shrugged off her suit jacket, and placed it neatly on the stool beside her. They’d strayed far enough from business matters for one day. Time to get back on point. “Tell me about the dining room you’ll have in the hotel.”

  “The concept will be similar to my other restaurants in Scotland.” James doused the pan on the burner with a healthy dose of olive oil and then began dicing an onion across from her on the island. “Locally sourced, heavy on the seafood, some grass-fed beef and lamb. A limited menu and no more than ten tables, I think.”

  Andrea watched his expert movements with the knife, fascinated. She’d probably chop off a finger if she tried to work that fast, but he’d done it so often, he didn’t seem to give it a thought. The tension melted from him as he performed the familiar movements, the lines of his face softening.

  “You want visitors to have a taste of the real Skye,” she said. “Do you expect mostly tourists?”

  “In the summer, yes, though the restaurant will probably draw as many locals as hotel guests. There are a number of excellent restaurants on Sleat, but they tend toward traditional. I want to do something a little fresher.” He scraped the diced onion from the cutting board into the pan. Immediately the kitchen filled with a heavenly aroma.

  Andrea inhaled appreciatively and leaned forward onto her elbows while she watched him score and scald tomatoes for the sauce. She’d wondered more than once how someone made the leap from chef to celebrity, but now she understood. Handsome, masculine, and capable was a lethal combination. Add in the appealing Scottish accent, and it was no wonder women fell at James’s feet.

  She watched him for a few more seconds, reluctant to broach the subject they really needed to discuss. “It would be helpful for me to understand the situation with you and Ian. As it relates to the hotel, of course.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he nodded. “When our father died, he left this house to Aunt Muriel and the hotel to the three of us.”

  “Then Serena’s an equal partner?”

  “She was. She said she couldn’t be as involved in the renovations as Ian and me, but I really think she didn’t want to play peacemaker the whole time. I bought out her share last year.”

  “So why is Ian here if he doesn’t have a controlling share? It seems to me you could do whatever you wanted.”

  James turned, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I could, but I wouldn’t. He may be a sorry git at times, but he’s still my brother.”

  “So both you and Ian need to sign off on this proposal? He wouldn’t refuse out of spite, would he?”

  “Of course not. Regardless of how we may feel about each other, his business sense is sound. I wouldn’t have kept him on as an officer of the company if I didn’t believe he’d make the right decisions.”

  Andrea couldn’t even begin to understand the dynamic between them. Brothers who couldn’t stand the sight of one another yet still maintained enough trust to remain in business? Apparently, James compartmentalized as well as he claimed. She doubted she could stay so objective. What in the world could have driven such a wedge into their relationship?

  But that wasn’t her concern. She hopped off the stool. “I’m going to go sit down out there. Call me if you need your sous-chef back.”

  “I will,” he said. “You boil water brilliantly.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  His laugh followed her out, and she took a gulp of her wine to control her own lingering smile.

  The living room was empty except for Serena, who stretched out lengthwise on the rose-flowered sofa, her feet propped up on the arm and her eyes closed. Andrea halted in the doorway. The woman looked exhausted. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb her few moments of peace.

  Serena opened her eyes and turned her head just as Andrea was planning her hasty retreat. “Come, have a seat. I was just resting my eyes.” She swung her legs to the floor and patted the cushion next to her.

  “Are you sure? With a little one, you could probably do with some alone time.”

/>   “I’d really rather have some adult conversation. And don’t say I can get that from my brothers, because as you can see, they turn into little boys in each other’s presence.”

  Andrea navigated around a scatter of blocks to sit on the sofa. “I’d noticed. Are they always like that?”

  “To some degree.” Serena reached for her wine glass, which rested on a side table. “I’ve never seen two people so completely opposite in temperament. And when you consider they didn’t really grow up together …”

  “What do you mean?” Andrea asked before she could think better of it. She really shouldn’t be asking such personal questions. It wasn’t as if this were a social visit. But Serena was so welcoming, and she seemed genuinely eager to talk.

  “There’s almost five years between Ian and James. When our parents divorced, Ian was already headed off to Eton. James was barely eight. That was the last time any of us really lived under the same roof.”

  Interesting. Ian had attended the most exclusive boys’ school in the UK, but James had refused to follow in his footsteps and had attended school in Scotland instead.

  Andrea tried to steer the conversation to lighter topics. “You seem close to them both though.”

  “They’re good uncles, and Emmy especially adores them. She needs that now.” Serena threw her a bare smile. “My husband died over a year ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” This was definitely treading on topics Andrea didn’t want to discuss with a complete stranger, but Serena wanted to talk. She forced herself to ask, “What happened?”

  “Heart attack. He was on a business trip when it happened. He was only forty-two.”

  “I’m so sorry.” What else could she say? No wonder Serena looked so exhausted. She would have been pregnant with Max when her husband died, leaving her to raise the children alone. The thought shuddered through Andrea, twisting her stomach. That might have been her if things had turned out differently.

  Andrea took a drink of her wine and thought about how to turn the direction of the conversation. She was saved when the front door banged open, followed by a rush of cold air and a rosy-cheeked girl.

  “Look, Mum. See what we found!” Emmy rushed over to the sofa and opened her hand to reveal a clutch of tiny, sandy seashells. Andrea moved her expensive shoes out of reach of the girl’s damp sneakers just as Emmy turned to her. “Did you see, Andrea?”

  “Ms. Sullivan,” Serena corrected immediately, but Andrea shook her head.

  “Andrea’s fine. And they’re lovely. What are you going to do with them?”

  “Put them in a jar with some sand so I can take the beach home,” Emmy said immediately.

  “Not your typical business trip, is it?”

  Andrea looked up from Emmy’s treasures as Ian seated himself in an armchair on the other side of the coffee table, one long leg crossed ankle to knee over the other. “No, not so far.”

  “That’s Skye for you.” The wry twist of his mouth brought to mind his brother. “A family welcome whether you want it or not.”

  “Ian,” Serena said reprovingly.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. I just meant the situation’s more informal than Ms. Sullivan probably expected.”

  “Call her Andrea, Uncle Ian,” Emmy said.

  Ian met Andrea’s eyes over the girl’s head. “Andrea, then. Don’t worry. We’ll get down to work tomorrow.”

  “Will you be joining us for the walk-through in the morning then?”

  “No. I have plans. I thought we might discuss your observations over lunch tomorrow. I’m staying in Broadford.”

  Andrea studied him for a moment. If it had been James speaking, she would think there was a hidden agenda behind the invitation, but Ian just stared back at her, his expression placid, unreadable. That was the biggest difference between the brothers, she decided. With James, she always had a pretty good idea what he was thinking, and it generally wasn’t business. Ian, on the other hand, was a complete blank.

  “I’ll let you work the schedule out with James,” she said finally. “But it’s fine with me.”

  He nodded and turned his attention to his niece. “So, Em, I hear you’ve been taking piano lessons. Want to demonstrate?”

  Her face lit up, and she jumped to her feet, scattering seashells over the coffee table. Andrea leaped forward to scoop them up before they rolled off the table. Emmy skidded by on her way to the piano and shoved the fall board carelessly back from the keys with a thud. Andrea winced.

  “Come watch me, Andrea!”

  Serena held out her hands for the newly corralled seashells. Andrea stood and skirted the coffee table, smoothing the wrinkles from her slacks as she went. Emmy placed her hands awkwardly on the keys and began a halting rendition of “Ode to Joy,” her feet swinging beneath the piano bench as she played.

  When she finished, Ian and Serena clapped lightly. “Very nice,” Andrea said with a nod. “What else can you play?”

  “That’s it except for scales.” Emmy wrinkled her nose. “They’re boring.”

  Andrea smiled down at her. She remembered how she felt at her age, plodding away at simple sheet music. “I agree. But the more you learn, the more skills you have to make it interesting.”

  “Do you play, Andrea?” Serena asked.

  Her pulse sped up at the question. She could lie, of course, but after the woman had been so honest with her, it hardly seemed right. “Some.”

  “Play something, Andrea!” Emmy hopped off the bench to make room for her.

  She glanced between Serena and Ian. He lifted a shoulder. “You might as well. She’s not going to stop asking until you do.”

  Stupid, stupid, the voice in her head whispered. She didn’t play in public anymore. But “Ode to Joy” hardly qualified as playing, and the pleading look Emmy shot her made it hard to refuse.

  “All right.” Andrea pulled the bench farther back and settled herself so her feet comfortably touched the pedals. Then she placed her hands on the keys and began to play a very calm, respectable version of the choral piece.

  Emmy was right. It was boring. She glanced at the little girl’s unimpressed expression. Apparently, this sedate arrangement wasn’t enough to convince her that piano could be fun. Andrea bit her lip. Why not?

  She started into her own interpretation of the piece, upping the tempo, throwing in triplets and changing chords to arpeggios, playing with the notes around the central motif until it only barely resembled the original. A smile spread across her face, and she had to stifle a laugh. If this didn’t convince the little girl music could be fun, there wasn’t much else she could do.

  Suddenly, she realized the room had gone still and every eye was fixed on her. Ian stood to one side of the piano, Emmy backed up against him, her eyes wide and sparkling. Andrea broke off abruptly, and her smile faded.

  “Very impressive.”

  Andrea jerked her eyes toward the doorway where James leaned, a towel in his hand. His expression made her heart skip.

  She had to swallow before she could manage an answer. “I don’t play much anymore.”

  “You should,” Ian said quietly. “You’re very talented.”

  The brothers exchanged a glance above her head she didn’t understand. Whatever was behind the look, though, she knew she didn’t like being the object of it.

  Chapter Eight

  James called the family to dinner while he set out the food on the small oak dining table, though he gave it only half a mind. Just when he thought Andrea couldn’t surprise him, she did something completely unexpected.

  Where had she learned to play piano like that? It wasn’t the playing of someone who merely remembered her childhood music lessons. The variations she had spun off Emmy’s simple melody had felt completely improvisational, and her smile hinted at pure, unabashed delight. It reminded him of how
he felt when he had nothing to do but experiment in the kitchen, testing new recipes and trying out unusual flavors.

  Muriel had arranged everyone around the table when he returned with the first of the dinner plates. He was pleased to see she’d left him a seat beside Andrea, though that was dulled slightly by the fact that Ian sat directly across from her. He set the first plates before Muriel and Andrea.

  “Fresh fettuccini with a traditional tomato and basil sauce,” he said, as if he were reading from one of his menus. “Caprese salad, of course. And Serena’s legendary garlic knots.”

  “Hardly legendary.” Serena rolled her eyes.

  “You should have been a baker, sis.” Serena had a touch with breads and cakes he envied. He had never been able to get his baked goods to come out right, but then again, unless he was writing a cookbook, he rarely measured ingredients. Baking was far too precise for his taste.

  Once he brought the rest of the plates to the table with a second bottle of wine, Muriel looked to his brother. “Ian, will you bless the meal?”

  James stole a glance at Andrea from the corner of his eye, wondering what she thought of the gesture. She just bowed her head and folded her hands, but whether out of respect for their traditions or her own reverence, he couldn’t tell.

  Ian prayed simply and quickly. “Almighty Father, thank You for Your blessings of health, family, and fellowship. Amen.”

  The rest of them echoed Ian’s closing, including Andrea. James waited for her reaction while she took her first bite.

  Her eyebrows flew up. “Are you sure Italian isn’t your specialty? This is amazing.”

  He looked across the table at Muriel. “Auntie loves Italian food. I always make it when I come to Skye.”

  “You two have always been close?”

  “Aunt Muriel raised us,” Serena said, bouncing Max on her knee. “When our parents divorced, Mum moved back to London, and Auntie came to stay with Dad. She just forgot to leave.”

  Muriel chuckled. “What did I have to go back to? Besides, heaven only knows what Jamie would have gotten up to without supervision.” She leaned toward Andrea with a conspiratorial expression. “Ian was always the responsible one. Serena, the quiet one. Jamie, on the other hand, good Lord help us, is responsible for every bit of gray hair you see now.”