2016
It strikes me that the first thing I actually should be worrying about is whether Angus-the-possible-Aussie is actually who he says he is, or whether he's here to kidnap me and whisk me away into slavery or the like. But as I briefly glance away from his sparkling hazel eyes and down at my phone again, a message appears from Ryan. It was sent an hour ago so it looks like my phone signal was just bad.
There's a photo of Angus - nice, I might keep that for the spank bank - and a brief message.
This is who I've sent to pick you up. Just so you have a visual. Angus works in the bar.
Ryan hadn't left me hanging after all. I silently apologise for doubting him at all. It seems only polite to reply back.
Got him. Cheers.
"Shall we?" Angus asks, raising his eyebrows and picking up both my suitcase and bulging holdall with ease as I slip my phone back in my bag. "I couldn't get parked too close unfortunately so it's a five minute walk to the car, I'm afraid."
"That's no problem . . . As long as you continue to carry my bags for me," I say jokingly. Weirdly, despite his unreal good looks, I somehow feel instantly comfortable with Angus. There's just something . . . uncomplicated about him.
Much like Ryan 1.0, I find myself unwillingly thinking.
"Your wish is my command." He leads me through throngs of people to a nearby car park. "Enjoy the crowds while you can . . . It's about to get a whole lot quieter where we're going," he says with a grin as he opens the passenger door for me and slings my luggage in the boot of the car.
I'm already welcoming the idea of some peace and quiet. City life hasn't really been cutting it for me lately.
"How long is the drive?" I ask, clicking my seat belt into place.
"45 minutes or so," he replies. "We'll be there in no time."
It might take Angus 45 minutes but it's probably meant to take the average driver more than an hour. He probably isn't going that fast in the grand scheme of things, but with all of the twists and turns in the road I might as well be a passenger in Lewis Hamilton's race car at the speed he is going. I'm fairly sure my knuckles are translucent by the end of the journey.
"I love these roads," he chuckles as he hares around another bend and I wonder if I'm actually going to make it in one piece to my new job.
I try to distract myself by asking him questions. What brought him to Scotland, for example?
Unsurprisingly, given his first name, he's of Scottish descent. . . In fact, his parents were born in Scotland but both emigrated with their own families as kids and he's always wanted to come over here and visit.
"I think they both miss Scotland," he says, almost wistfully. "They fully supported me travelling over here for a while. They still do a Burn's night in January, tried to teach me and my brother Malcolm all the Robert Burns poems . . ." He grins ruefully. "Force-fed us whisky until we liked it. Joke," he adds hastily. "It was obviously just in our blood to like it. No forcing required."
"Hold on . . . Your brother's called Malcolm and you're Angus?" I ask slowly. "Like . . ."
"The Young brothers from AC/DC? Yeah, well spotted," he confirms with a nod. "Fellow immigrants from Scotland, of course! My parents are both big fans." He rolls his eyes. "It gets worse though."
"Don't tell me . . . Your surname is Young as well?"
He groans. "Got it in one."
I can't help but burst out laughing. "Sorry."
Angus shrugs. "I'm mostly over it." We're on a single track road now and he pulls over into a passing place to let a car coming towards us in the opposite direction pass us. There's another car a short distance behind it so he flashes his lights to allow it to go past as well. "So you and the boss are old friends, right?" He asks, throwing me a sidelong glance. It's a casual enough question but it feels slightly loaded. And I feel very uncomfortable.
I jerk my head in a semblance of a nod. "I've known him since we were 14. We met in a computer studies class in high school and then a couple of years later we ended up becoming neighbours."
"Wow, that's a long friendship," Angus observes, running a hand through his unruly hair as he pulls back out, the road ahead now clear. "You must be really close, I guess."
God, it's awkward. I really don't know what to say, how much to tell. "Well, we've kinda drifted apart over the years, but we were once pretty tight." My voice sounds weird, but that could just be my own paranoia.
He breezes past it though, whether he picks up on it or not. "I've only been working at the hotel since just before Christmas so I don't know Ryan that well. Although to be honest he's a bit. . . Hard to get to know. Between you and me, I think he needs to relax a bit. He just seems so tense and closed-off."
The Ryan he describes is not the Ryan I once knew. However, it does tally up with the brief interactions and contact I've had with Ryan 3.0.
"Maybe having an old friend around will do him the world of good though," Angus continues cheerfully as the road widens back into two lanes.
"Perhaps," I say doubtfully.
Maybe if the old friend was anyone but me, I add silently.
"So this is the village here; it's just half a mile from the hotel," he says as we enter some form of civilisation again. "You've got the pub, the local shop and . . . Well, that's pretty much it to be honest. If you need any proper supplies you probably would need to go to Inverness or Ullapool."
I bite my lip, anxiety forming a ball in my stomach, and tightening as I realise just how close we are to our destination. I wonder if Ryan is there right now.
I wish I didn't care so much.
We pull into a long drive leading to a gorgeous old fashioned building. This is, of course, it. The Thorne Inn. I've looked at so many photos of it that it feels like I've been here before. Despite myself, I exhale a sigh of delight.
Angus is pulling my bags out of the boot as he speaks. "Obviously, that's the main building there, so the bar, restaurant, gym and main guest rooms are in there. Our accommodation is in the converted stable building around the side so I'll take you round there first so you can drop off your stuff and make yourself comfortable."
"Sounds good," I say as I follow him down the prettily lit path and through some trees. The staff building looks nearly as grand as the main hotel itself, much to my surprise.
Angus lets us in, and we access a small corridor. "You're in here," he says, stopping outside a door with the key in the outside lock. He gestures down the hallway. "There's a small kitchen and a utility room at the end where you can make meals and do laundry if you need to . . . I mostly just eat at the bar though."
He pushes the door to my room open and I find myself smiling. This is so much better than I thought it would be.
I honestly expected cramped space and a single bed, and I was fine with it. But, no, this room has a decent sized double, a small seating area, an ensuite with a bath/shower and even a mini-fridge. The TV is small but I normally watch stuff on my laptop anyway, and while it's not a massive room, it's bigger than the one I was living in at home.
I walk over to the window and gaze outside. It's already pretty dark, being winter and all, but . . . "Do I have a loch view?" I dare to ask.
Angus smiles. "You do," he confirms.
Inwardly, I jump for joy and long for the morning so I can see my surroundings in proper daylight.
"I'll leave you here to get unpacked," he says, starting to back out the door. "When you're done, come find me in the pub and we'll get you a couple of drinks and a meal. You can meet some of the others too."
"Thanks Angus." I'm already eager to get my room sorted out. But my tummy is also starting to growl.
He winks at me. "Anytime," he says with a wicked grin, and I'm fairly sure there's more than a hint of flirtation there.
Do I want to go there? He's probably about ten years younger than me, for a start.
I pull the key out of the outside lock and push the door closed, surveying my space briefly before getting to work. I hang up the few items of dressier clothes that I've brought and stick everything else in drawers. Slip my laptop and kindle into the bedside cabinet, and place a pair of cosy pyjamas under the pillows, ready for later. I'm already looking forward to a peaceful sleep.
After organising my toiletries to my liking in the bathroom, I survey my travelling outfit - jeans and a slouchy jumper - in the mirror and decide it will be acceptable attire to wear to the bar. I do try and scrunch a bit of life back into my curls first though, and throw on a bit of extra mascara. Not for Angus' benefit, I tell myself.
A little voice inside of me responds cheekily with it's probably for Ryan's, actually but I squash that thought down and do my best to smother it. I don't even know where he is right now, after all.
I lock my door and pull my grey faux fur coat tightly around me as I walk along the path to the hotel itself. The grand reception area is deserted - although there is a bell to ring - but I walk through it towards the gentle hum of conversation I assume is coming from the bar area.
The room gives the illusion of being snug and cosy although it's actually deceptively large, and a log fire crackles invitingly in the corner. There's only a few patrons there as I walk in, and I see no sign of Angus . . . Or any other staff for that matter.
But as I'm two feet away a head pops up from behind the bar. I jump and yelp in fright as does the girl on the other side of the bar.
"I'm so sorry," she gasps in a strong accent, holding her heart momentarily. "I was just trying to put some glasses away, I didn't mean to give you a scare."
I realise I recognise the girl; she's the brunette from social media who I thought must be Ryan's girlfriend . . . Oh god, this has the potential to be uncomfortable.
She's even prettier in real life, and her eyes narrow slightly as she looks at me. "Wait . . . Are you Iona?"
She recognises me?
Now I feel even more nervous . . .
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