The Lost Dreams. Fiona Hood-Stewart

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      5

      It was already twelve-thirty and she was due at Cipriani’s at one. Sylvia wondered where the morning had flown. With a precise swivel of her beige leather office chair, she turned to her computer and deftly typed in some notes. After a quick check to make sure not a hair of her sleek, shoulder-length blond coif was out of place, she straightened the jacket of her well-tailored Armani suit and rose, ready for action. The luncheon was important, the clients were major. Brad was in Scotland, so she would handle it.

      A flash of irritation marred her patrician features before she picked up her voluminous black leather purse and moved across the elegant corner office toward the wide, light-wood double doors with a worried frown. Two weeks had turned into three, and now he was talking of six! Six weeks in Scotland, indeed. What on earth was Brad thinking? she wondered. Heading into the corridor, she adopted a friendly yet distant smile calculated to impart that she was in control but still accessible.

      She was going to have to do something about this sudden decision of his to prolong the visit. He’d sounded so odd on the phone, barely even commenting on her news about the Australian deal. Someone who didn’t know him as well as she did would have said he sounded bored. And then this bombshell about extending his visit. Spending that amount of time away from the company was simply out of the question, she decided, entering the half-empty elevator and nodding at the senior partner of a law firm that occupied one of the lower floors.

      As the elevator sank fifty-two floors, she began reshuffling her own schedule. It was definitely time to get her butt over to Scotland and assess the situation first-hand. No amount of sheep could merit a six-week absence, she figured, reaching the busy marble lobby, satisfied to find her car waiting at the curb. Once she got to Skye, she’d sit Brad down and make him see how impossible it all was. Then, matter-of-factly, she switched mental gears and focused on the upcoming luncheon. Slipping into the back seat of the vehicle, she pulled out her brief on the latest market trends, and allowed herself a small smile. Aside from sex with a sensibly chosen partner, nothing gave her the same high as the prospect of clinching another deal.

      It had taken Brad little more than a week to realize that, for the first time in his life, he was in over his head. Endless meetings in the study, reviewing accounts, and long sessions with Penelope discussing the histories of the different tenant families—the exact nature of their activities and problems—had been only one part of the daunting process of learning what running an estate involved. There were expeditions on horseback with Mr. Mackay—the factor, who was in charge of Strathaird’s administration—to view repairs to fences in spots too remote to be reached by car, followed by lengthy afternoon visits to the homes of the tenants, where he was met by men with wary gazes and women with soft smiles who welcomed him cautiously. He was offered home-baked cake and endless cups of tea laced with Talisker, the local island whiskey. The veiled hints of what they expected from the laird did not go unnoticed. All this and more had given him a fair idea of what was expected of him: his mind, his body and soul, and above all, his presence.

      He’d ridden the land on Colin’s gelding, enjoying the windswept moors, the ever-present breeze and the strong sea air. He had stopped by the roadside to listen to complaints regarding the falling price of sheep on the mainland, and the island’s lack of employment. And he was surprised to find himself being drawn into this far-flung web of concerns that until recently had been little more than another job to handle. But though it was a job—one that demanded far more than he’d bargained for—there was something else beckoning, something far deeper that he was unable to define. He couldn’t put it into words, exactly. He just knew he was destined to do this. Doing it right, he realized somberly, riding back to the castle under a light drizzle, would require a heck of a lot more time here than he could spare.

      He stared at the gray sky. It had rained all day, a tenacious drizzle interspersed with hearty wind gusts, leaving the air chilly and damp. But he didn’t mind. The rain felt good, just as the long exchanges with the locals gave him a better insight into this new way of life.

      He thought back to his earlier phone conversation with Sylvia, aware she was annoyed that he intended to stay longer than they’d originally planned. He’d tried to explain, but it was impossible for her to understand the need to be here, to show his face to those who depended upon him. Still, he was damn lucky he had her to stand in for him at Harcourts, he reflected as the horse clip-clopped into the courtyard at the rear of the castle. Dismounting, he led the horse back to the stables, wondering how he was going to divide himself between operating the company—a full-time job and more—and running Strathaird without stretching himself so thin he did neither job right.

      He let out a long breath, handing the horse over to Andy, a redheaded teenager who mucked out the stables in the afternoons, and dragged his fingers slowly through his thick chestnut hair, searching for a solution. There was always a solution—Dex had taught him that—but what first came to mind didn’t strike him as feasible. He frowned as he made his way through the back door, hanging his wet jacket on a peg among the mackintoshes in the entrance. Then, heading past the pantry, he climbed the stairs that led toward the Great Hall.

      What he really needed was time, a commodity he didn’t have. Time to find his feet; time to get to know these folks who’d lived on this land forever and now counted on him to understand their worries and needs; time to break down the silent wall of mistrust that he read in their unflinching looks.

      He reached СКАЧАТЬ