Page 57 of The Scottish Island Inn

She wasn’t Angus Balhennie’s natural daughter, but she was still a Balhennie. She loved her sisters. She loved Skye: the land, the air, the loch. These things were all pages in the book of who she was.

If this man was part of her story, part of her identity, then she was brave enough to open that book, too.

‘Hi. I’m looking for a man who works here.’ Sorrel approached the reception desk as she came in. A middle-aged woman in jeans and a black fleece branded with Ace’s Archery looked up with an open smile.

‘Oh. Which one, lassie?’ she asked. ‘Iain, Malcolm and Mike are here today.’

‘Err… He’s tall, sandy hair, tattoos. Looks like a workman.’ Sorrel remembered what Aunt Joan had said. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and her arms wrapped around herself in a protective gesture. She was aware that she was digging her fingernails into the soft flesh of her arm, and she made herself let go.

‘Well, none of them look like stockbrokers, my pet.’ The woman laughed. ‘But it sounds like you mean Malcolm. He’s over there.’ She pointed to a tall, strong-looking man, also wearing a black fleece with the Ace’s Archery logo, and a pair of worn cargo trousers. He was sorting arrows into pots on the ground along four archery stations. ‘Malcolm! Young lady to see you,’ the woman called out, before Sorrel could stop her.

The man turned around, straightened, and stared at Sorrel for a long moment. She didn’t know what to do: waving felt wrong. She wasn’t even sure whether to smile or not. So, she stood there as he approached her, an arrow still in hand.

‘You’re Sorrel Balhennie,’ he said, without any preamble.

‘Yes.’ She looked up into his eyes, which were just like hers. It was the man she’d seen in the café. The one who had stared at her.

He nodded. ‘Then you know who I am.’

‘No, actually. Your colleague just gave me your first name, but I didn’t know it before then. And I don’t know your last name.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘You’re right. We should be properly introduced.’ He stuck the arrow into the ground at his feet and held out his hand. It was callused and strong. ‘Malcolm Sinclair. I’m your dad.’

THIRTY-TWO

Sorrel stared at his hand.

If I shake his hand, is it some kind of agreement? she wondered. If I shake his hand, am I agreeing to be someone that I might not want to be?

For a moment, she felt like a child. Unfairly encumbered with responsibilities that she should never have had to hold. Sorrel remembered how she’d felt on the day she left Skye. She was still so young, then. Not a child, but a young woman. Confused and shocked by the revelation that she wasn’t the person she’d been told all her life she was.

If I shake his hand, does that mean I’m agreeing I am his daughter? Sorrel stared at his hand.

No. It doesn’t mean anything, apart from hello, her adult brain chipped in.

She shook it. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello.’

They stood there, quietly facing each other.

‘So. How did you know I was here?’ he asked, gently removing his hand from hers. Now that she was close to him, she could see the wrinkles around his eyes, the rough beard that looked more like a few days’ stubble, and how fit he looked. Not gym-fit, but like a man who was used to being in the open air, being active.

He didn’t have a mean expression. He was reflective, open, politely waiting for her to talk.

‘You spoke to my great-aunt Chrissie in the castle café the other day,’ she confessed. ‘You told her where you worked. She was pretty upset about it, but… I thought I had to come and see if I could talk to you.’

‘And here you are.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘If I’d known it would be so fast, I would have spoken to one of your great-aunts before.’

‘Why didn’t you? How long have you been here? Have you tried to find me before?’ The questions came pouring out of her.

‘Whoa. One at a time. Come on, let’s go and sit down.’ He led her to a wooden bench that overlooked a number of archery targets in a field.

‘This is a nice view,’ she said, shyly, as she sat down. ‘How long have you worked here?’

‘Oh, I don’t do much work nowadays. But I’ve been here – what? Ten years?’ He nodded.

‘Ten years?’ She looked at him.