Thank you for the delicious dinner – and for putting up with my very bad Scottish dancing. I hope you make a full recovery!
Good luck and goodbye.
Best wishes,
Emily x
My thoughts then turn to Céline, who must now be five hours into her flight – lunch service over, pushing the duty free trolley throughthe cabin, flogging Hermès scarves and giant Toblerone.
A sparkle of excitement flashes through me as I imagine her and Drew together, in matching tweed, hand in hand, roaming the heather-filled hills of the estate, stopping to admire a proud stag running along a craggy ravine, Drew putting out his hand to touch her face, parting her fringe, and kissing her gently on the forehead.
Sheso deserves to be happy. But then what if Drew turns out to be a no-good Celtic cad? Whatever happens now is not my responsibility. I may have given destiny a nudge, but I remind myself I can’t fix people or control situations. After the Mike misunderstanding, Céline and I have made a pact never to fall out over stupid men again.
I deliver the note to The Tam O’Shanter pub en route to theairport and leave Scotland for London, having found my friend a braw Scotsman for a boyfriend (bet he looks good in a kilt) and having mastered both the Withering and the Firm Look.
