Page 16 of From Scotland with Love

“Thank you, but... no you can’t!” She barked.

Lori turned to head back to bed, evidently sulking.

“OK, just one then!” Gran sighed, giving in. Lori quickly grabbed a scone and opened the warm fluffy inside letting out a thin trail of fragrant steam as she applied salted butter, which melted immediately.

“On one condition though” Gran’s eyes never left the newspaper in front of her. “You come along with me!”

Lori inwardly groaned. “Well I guess I have no choice, do I?” She bit into the soft buttery cake, and contemplated how one might make sure at least one other scone didn't make it to the judging tables.

The Produce Show was set up just outside the village on the grounds of the big estate house, which was owned by the Grant family. Hector Grant, head of the clan, as it were, was a middle-aged, wealthy, single man who would have been a rather attractive catch if he wasn’t well-known as the local womaniser.

Lori and her gran walked to the show, basket of scones in hand and an umbrella at the ready. The clouds clustered above them threatening a downpour; not an unusual occurrence considering most years the Produce Show fell victim to the rain. Today Lori wore her new-old hiking boots, along with jeans and an anorak. She felt frumpy but decided it didn’t matter; she wasn’t strolling the charming streets of Manhattan, or at an executive meeting with models, but most importantly: Michael wasn’t here to bear witness to her countrified attire. Today was really about showing support for her gran, no-one would even notice her, hopefully! They walked past the grand entrance to the estate. Ivy wrapped around the gigantic pillars on either side as the black ornate gate stood ajar welcoming everyone for the day. Cars were parked all along the treelined road before them, getting more tightly compact the further they walked. A short distance on and past the oak trees, they came within view of white tents bunched together, in-front of the grand estate house. Its dark grey stone looked somewhat ominous against the dark sky, as if they were walking straight into a Gothic romance. After the hill, Lori tried to stop to catch her breath and take in the scene, but her gran continued walking with grim determination. Lori was mortified, even though she was by far the younger party, her grandmother could still run rings around her in terms of agility and speed. So, hastily, she leaped back into step, close on her gran’s heels, and just as stubborn, never showing her weaknesses.

Under cover at the baking tent, Lori helped set up a scrumptious pile of scones in their allocated spot. She glanced at the other tables; the displays of Victoria sponges, chocolate cakes, various loafs, tablet, jams, and marmalades made her stomach gurgle, and she sniffed appreciatively at the deliciousness all around her. Her gran placed a ticket number next to the plate, lifted out a small bag, and pulled out yellow petals and dried daisies; sprinkling a delicate smattering of colour around the dish. As if she knew what Lori was thinking, gran winked at her granddaughter, just as Flora Smith walked over to their table.

“Lovely to see you Mary!”

“And you Flora - entering scones this year?” Gran stood clutching her basket and Lori watched the two old ladies in awe, witnessing a rare side to her gran that she hadn’t seen before. The women nodded and smiled at one another, but Lori could see under the tight smiles lurked hidden truths. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, unsure of what might happen, like seeing two opposing cats frozen on the spot, unable to move, their spoken niceties barely concealing the passionate rivalry beneath.

“Of course I’m entering,” Flora continued with volume, “I can’t let people down. I know the judges love them so much, every year I send them off home with a few scones – they never let me leave without raiding the table! You know how it is Mary, we have to keep these people happy!” She gripped her own basket, smiling broadly.

“Well, I wish you the very best of luck, Flora!” Gran said through gritted teeth.

“And you, Mary!” Flora chuckled with confidence and strolled back to her display, rearranging her scones again with a backwards glance at her opponent. Gran grabbed Lori’s arm and tugged her behind their section.

“A bit of a gloat!” Lori raised her eyebrows, still looking over to Flora, who began setting her scones down like a pyramid, and calculating the angle with her own measuring tape.

Her gran giggled. “She is that!” she whispered. “Ach, it’s all just a bit of fun though!”

Lori and Gran passed the next half hour mooching around the tents, arm in arm, deciding on what delicious delights they would sample. The variety of produce on display amazed Lori, far more impressive an offering than any farmer’s market she had seen in Union Square. Gran stopped to buy some vegetables from a local couple she knew, as Lori walked past more stalls of local businesses. She stopped at a stand with a kayak laid down on the grass in front of a huge banner which depicted highly attractive people paddling in similar vessels in turquoise waters under the words: “Adventurous Tours” in bold yellow font. A pretty blonde woman came out from behind the stall desk holding out her hands. “Hi Lori!”

“Hi...?” Lori squinted at the girl.

The blonde giggled. “You don’t recognise me! I was a few years under you in high school. I’m Karen!”

Realisation hit Lori. “Yes, I do recognise you. Karen! You’ve certainly changed since high school! How are you?” Lori remembered a chubby, shy girl; the younger sister of one of her friends, certainly not one for platinum hair dye, or extreme sports.

“I’m good, busy with the business - it’s really taken off!”

“That’s great, it’s lovely to see local companies thriving. And how’s Rhona?” Lori hadn’t thought of her old friend in a long time, but they had spent a good deal of their teenage years together.

“Rhona is over on Shiel island. She’s got three kids now: two boys and a girl.”

“Wow, she’s been busy, too!” Lori laughed. “I’ll need to contact her, though I’m only here for a wee while.”

“She’d love that, I’ll give you her number!” Karen went in search of a pen.

“Lori,” came a stern greeting from behind her, making her jump. Callum walked past her, his light brown hair was scruffy today, and he looked tired. He wore a black t-shirt, also emblazoned with the words: Adventurous Tours. Lori noticed his strong tanned arms as he strode forwards, and for some reason she became a little tongue-tied.

“Karen’s getting me something...” was the only reply that came to mind. She stood fiddling with the umbrella in her hand as Callum looked at his phone. An awkwardness settled between them, and Lori panicked trying to think of something to say; what could she say? Thankfully Karen came back, her hand outstretched holding a piece of paper. “Thanks very much!” Lori smiled and gave them a wave goodbye, glad to be away from the stale atmosphere that she and Callum seemed to perpetually generate. Despite the relief, she found herself glancing back to see Callum touch Karen’s back gently, and mutter something in her ear.

Lori and Gran cheered the school children on during their egg and spoon race, watching their hopeful faces as they balanced their eggs towards the finish line. Lori remembered when she herself had taken part in the competitions, the Produce Show having always been an annual occurrence as long as she could remember. Her favourite had been the Coconut Shot, where she would throw a ball, trying to knock over one of the three hairy coconuts perched on their display-poles. She often won at least one coconut, only to spend her evenings trying to get into the shell with a screwdriver, much to her gran’s concern. In some ways, looking back now, Lori saw that she had been what you might call a tomboy; always playing with the boys, and forever cutting her knees. Even now, the faint scars still showed on her legs, like medals from an active childhood. On the green, people sat on blankets watching the day’s events, and munched on tasty treats from the food tent. Lori couldn’t listen to her rumbling stomach anymore, and led Gran towards food. Since being back in Scotland her appetite had grown rapidly, and with all her gran’s baking and cooking she knew she’d need to keep an eye on her figure if she wanted to fit into all her designer office-wear upon her return to the city. But right now, surrounded by familiar smells and tastes, she was determined to relish everything - the diet could begin tomorrow. In the food tent, Lori piled her plate high, taking samples of everything that was on offer. Her gran got talking to two ladies serving teas and coffees, as Lori went off in pursuit of a free table. Most of the tables were full, but as Lori scanned the room, she spotted the local laird who owned the estate and stunning manor house, sitting by himself. A thought jumped into her head, an idea that might possibly be the best contribution she’d had so far to the wedding. Lori saw that this could be her only chance, so she stood tall, and shimmied around the tables to the vacant chair.

“Hi there! It’s Hector isn’t it? May I sit down?” Lori smiled down at the man wearing a tweed jacket, a red tartan kilt, and a blue beret with a bobble perched on top. Lori couldn’t help but think that his appearance looked rather eccentric even for a Produce Show, but he was an unusual man after all. He abruptly got to his feet and bowed slightly.

“Of course my dear, it would be a pleasure!” His accent was different from the locals of Arlochy, and there was a faint courtliness to his movements that stood him apart from the rest of the fair-goers. Hector had spent his childhood away at private schools down in England, the usual tradition for lairds in the area Lori remembered. Abundantly apparent in his voice and manner were the marks of difference; he wasn’t really part of the festivities, and they would never be a part of him either. Something about that made her feel a bit sorry for him: he would never be a local, he would always be the laird. But he was wealthy, much more than anyone else she knew in the area, and he certainly wasn’t lonely, for all his uprooted schooling, so her sympathy could only run so deep. Lori sat down graciously, her gran still speaking with the serving ladies in the background.

“It’s actually been a long time since I’ve been home - I’m Mary’s grand-daughter.” She pointed behind her towards her gran, who at that moment gave a hearty laugh.