The magic of the Highlands

He was a London businessman with a mission ...until this rickety old cottage cast its spell

Yes, I’ve heard it all before. Family’s lived there for generations; nowhere to go, blah, blah. Get on with it and get that woman out!”

Gordon Marshall slammed down the receiver and stared at the plans spread out before him.

No difficult woman in a broken-down old cottage was going to come between him and a development that would net him millions.

He’d made a generous offer for her cottage and the four-acre field that went with it.What was it with this woman?

He picked up his leather-bound diary and flicked the pages with a frown, then snatched up the phone.

“Martha, get me on the six o’clock flight to Inverness. I’m going to see this stupid woman myself. Book me into somewhere comfortable with a view.”

Gordon thought he was about to land in the Moray Firth whilst approaching the airport at Dalcross. Once inside the airport, a reception desk issued him with his hire-car keys.

“Well done, Martha,” he muttered as he pulled up on the gravel outside the hotel in Nairn.“How does she find these places?”

The hotel was an interesting building with turrets and towers. It also had a breathtaking view out to sea and the Black Isle beyond.

At supper, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time as traditional songs wafted from discreetly placed speakers.

As the light faded and was replaced with a burnt-gold sunset reflecting on a liquorice sea, the words of My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose caught him off guard. Would the pain of losing Sue ever lessen?

As he lay in bed that night he made plans for the following day. No rush in the morning.A stroll along the seafront, then a drive out to see if he could talk sense into this obstinate woman.

Maybe he should check out the local estate agents to see what they had on their books to offer her, instead of “The Bourach” which, in the words of one of his assistants, was in need of total refurbishment.

Yes, that was a good idea. He closed his eyes and prayed sleep would come easily.

A finger of early-morning sunlight spliced through the bedroom curtains and gulls shrieked.Ah, yes, he was in the Highlands, not noisy, anonymous London.

Getting out of bed seemed easier; standing under the squeaky shower was rather quaint.

At breakfast, the waitress seated him at a table in the bay window.

“I’m thinking you’ll be wanting the full Scottish this morning, Mr Marshall.” It seemed more a statement than a query. Soon the said breakfast appeared. “Here you are, Mr Marshall: black pudding, tattie scone, bacon, beans, sausage, mushrooms and two eggs.Toast isonitsway.”

The waitress laid the plate before Gordon with such relish that he felt sure she would be offended if he didn’t at least attempt to conquer this mountain.

He consoled himself that a brisk stroll to the harbour and the estate agent would work off all those calories.

“Shall we see you again tonight, Mr Marshall?”

“Er, yes, if that’s OK. Do you need my room?”

What was he saying? He should be flying back down to London this evening. His business would be done this afternoon.

He would make Molly Annand an offer she couldn’t refuse and that would be an end of it.

The track to “The Bourach” stopped well short of the cottage. He stuffed the property details of a smart-looking new bungalow into his pocket and made his way on foot down the sandy track.

In the distance a grey mare and foal grazed in the field.The cottage was surrounded by a drystone dyke bearing trailing ivy and white flowers.

A golden retriever bounded up, wagging his tail. Gordon patted the dog’s head, then stopped as a German shepherd hurtled towards him.

“Make no eye contact, keep moving and she’ll be fine,” a woman’s voice said from behind him.“I take it you’re not a walker?”

“No, I’ve come to see Molly Annand,” Gordon stated.“I have something to discuss with her.”

“I’m Molly.You had better come with me.”

Gordon sighed.A battle lay ahead. “Have a seat out here,” Molly said, pointing to a rustic bench under one of the windows.

She disappeared inside and returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits.The two dogs sat at her feet as wood chimes clonked in the breeze, and there was a sudden flurry of excited bird chatter.

“Why are they making so much noise?” Gordon asked.

Molly smiled.

“That’s the terns, making a fuss.They sense a stranger.Wonderful little birds, always busy, hiding their nests on the shore.”

“Do you live here alone?” Gordon ventured.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you get lonely?’”

“No.And who are you?”

When he introduced himself, her face tightened.

“I would imagine that you are a lonely man, Mr Marshall.They say London’s the loneliest place in the world.”

Gordon sighed.This was not going to be a pushover.

“I’ll get right to the point. I’ll pay you a very acceptable price, or if you prefer I have found the perfect place for you.”

He thrust the schedule for the house in Nairn under her nose.

“Do you think that I can be bought?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. But how can you prefer this to that?” He pointed at the bungalow with its clearly defined paths and smart garage.

“I feel sorry for you, Mr Marshall.You obviously have no soul.”

Gordon pulled himself to his feet.

“I can see I’m wasting my time here.” “You’ve got that right. Goodbye.”

His head pounded with anger as he walked back down the path to the car.

He began to realise there was no comparison between what Molly had here and the smart bungalow.This impossibly independent woman was not going to budge, and who could blame her?

He stopped to catch his breath a few hundred yards up the track. Nausea engulfed him, then blackness.

Sue was there, smiling, looking fit and well, with no signs of the devastating cancer that had destroyed her.Wonderful smells wafted near him, honeysuckle and something else he hadn’t come across before.

Light washed across his face and something cool rested on his brow.

“Welcome back, Mr Marshall. Just as well Jade found you. She’s a great dog. She knew you were in trouble. No wonder they make good police dogs.”

Molly lifted the compress from Gordon’s brow.

“That’s some fever you had.You’ve been out for hours.”

“I am sorry. I mustn’t inconvenience you.” He attempted to climb out of the bed, but his head started to spin.

“You’re going nowhere.We shall just have to put up with each other. Is there anyone I need to phone?”

She phoned the London office and the hotel, saying she’d keep them updated.

“I need to go into town, Mr Marshall,” she told him.“I won’t be long.” “Please call me Gordon.”

“OK, Gordon.”

He lay listening to the sea grasping the shingle and the screaming terns.

He drifted in and out of sleep, staring at the low-beamed ceiling and the artwork on the walls.They were small paintings of the surrounding area.

He slowly mustered the strength to walk outside, where Jade and Rupert the retriever lay obediently, listening and watching.

Molly soon returned, armed with various potions she assured him would help him recover.

How beautiful this caring woman was. She was not remotely like the person he had imagined.

“I bet you would rather be anywhere than here,” she joked.

A few hours ago, he might have agreed. “If you don’t mind, I need to get on with some jobs. It never ends.”

“Carry on.” Gordon waved his hand as she picked up a paintbrush and started rubbing and scraping at the windows to the left of the veranda. “Need to get these sorted before winter.” “Winter here must be daunting,” he observed.

“Not at all. I love it. I write and paint. It’s wild, but it’s beautiful.”

He could envisage her carrying in wood for the open fire and leading the mare and foal into a warm stable.

A blackbird hopped a few feet away, pecking at red berries and disappearing into the bushes.

When Gordon looked closer he noticed a little brown bird waiting to accept the berry gifts in her open beak. It was Mrs Blackbird.The gesture made him smile.

He walked down the garden path and watched the mare and foal.Then he heard footsteps behind him.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Molly said. “I rescued her from the meat man at an auction. No one knew she was carrying a foal. Her name is Blessing and her son is Dancer.”

Feeling somewhat unsteady, Gordon turned to go back to the house, but Molly grabbed his arm.

“Hang on.You are in no fit state to be wandering around by yourself. Let’s get you back inside.”

A mouth-watering aroma greeted him. “Do you think you could manage some chicken pie later? For now it’s back to bed. You’re obviously suffering from Londonitis.” He held up his hands.

“OK. I will do as I’m told.”

Family photographs were displayed on every polished table and covered large portions of the walls.

One photograph on a bookshelf showed a tall willowy figure in a stunning evening gown. Her hair was piled on her head as she stood on a catwalk.

There was no doubt the striking model was Molly.

As the day wore on, Gordon discovered many things about “The Bourach” and its owner. It was also home to Molly’s daughter when she wasn’t at university.

Rachel had aspirations to become a marine biologist. If she had half her mother’s determination, Gordon was sure she would succeed.

“I can’t thank you enough, Molly. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me, but thank you so much for putting up with me.”

Molly nodded.

“You were lucky I had my log transporter handy.” She chuckled and pointed to what looked like something a trapper would use in Alaska.“You can stay the night and if I think you are looking OK in the morning I’ll follow you to your hotel and make sure you get to the airport safely.”

That night, as the old cottage groaned in the wind, Gordon knew there was no way he could destroy what Molly had here.

As he lay beneath the thick patchwork quilt, he felt at peace.

The brochure for the bungalow lay discarded on the floor.

For once he was sure he’d done the right thing. Something was beginning and he felt good.

Almost too frightened to think any further, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, knowing that in the morning he had a few decisions to make.

Maybe it was time to do something sensible with his wealth.

And he had a feeling he knew someone who could offer him advice.

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