The Whisky Affair (Raymond Armstrong Series) (2 page)

‘It’s a Beaut,’ declared one whisky aficionado, on Twitter.

The Isle of Bute Distillery launched their 12-year-old single malt scotch last week. Apparently, a world-renowned whisky blogger from Canada sent a Tweet yesterday evening, after a blind tasting had been arranged on Twitter. This lady is responsible for the huge whisky following now on Twitter when she announced, ‘This whisky is a beaut.’

This morning the distillery is overwhelmed with orders from distributors all over the world. The ‘beaut’ quote went viral all over the industry news and social media. The Australians adapted the quote to ‘she’s a beauty.’

He could not believe his eyes and immediately wondered why Gordon, his best friend, had not called to share his good news.

Raymond went to one of his large, flat computer screens and clicked on Gordon’s Skype address. His friend came on the monitor within a second.

“Good morning, Raymond, and before you say a word, I have been swamped and was going to call you today.”

“I just found it on Whisky Today. You deserve it, mate.”

“Thanks. How are you doing?”

“It has been ages since I saw you and I have an idea. I’m completely up to date with work and need a break. How about I pop up to the Island for a few days? We can find a way to celebrate.”

“When were you thinking?” Gordon said, hesitantly.

“As it happens I’m free. I could come today.”

Seven hours driving. Damn it, he should have remembered how crazy the M6 motorway could be with all the trucks and speed restrictions and the crazy drivers who just ignored them. He slowed down as brake lights came on ahead of him. They were all doing 75 MPH but to cut down congestion the signs flashed from time to time to reduce speed to 50, causing a Concertina effect that just bogged down traffic. Bloody Genius.

Now he remembered the reason he hardly ever drove anywhere in the UK, preferring trains and planes. He didn’t like this type of congestion that ramped up his nerves. He should have known better than to travel by car...

Finally, he paid for his ticket and pulled into the lineup, ready to board the ferry. Luckily, he was on time for the last ferry crossing of the day, scheduled to depart at 19:45.

He looked across the ocean, focusing his eyes on the silhouette of the island in the distance. Bute. And the promise of a few days’ rest and some fun. Some whisky time with his friend was just what he needed.

He sent a text message to Gordon with an update: ‘How about mid-morning at the distillery? I am about to board the last ferry.’ He received an instant reply from Gordon, telling him a morning meeting was also much better for Gordon, too.

The ferry crossing from Wemyss Bay – on the mainland of Scotland, to the Isle of Bute – took thirty-five minutes.

He studied the passengers. They all seemed to be locals, without cameras, binoculars or knapsacks.

He knew that the end of May would draw a different crowd to board for Bute – at that time, with the tourist season well under way, seats would be at a premium.

The evening temperature was warm with no wind and the waters were glassy calm – perfect for a walk outside to take in the fresh sea air. He took the stairs to the top deck, the sea breeze cool on his face, and looking in the direction of the Island, he saw Rothesay looming in the distance. The scene before him was reminiscent of a scene described in a Victorian novel. Beautiful, tall, 19th century houses lined the main street. Decades before, the town had fallen into disrepair until the townsfolk started to restore these homes to their former grandeur.

Once the facades of the homes were repaired and painted, the attractive elegance of the Victorian era returned. As the ferry drew closer to the Harbor of Rothesay, Raymond looked at the many chimney pots on each roof. He counted eighteen on the main hotel alone. Each room had a fireplace, however, once these houses were modernized, the fireplaces were sealed to avoid expensive upkeep.

Gordon said that Rothesay had been a thriving and wealthy town from the late 1800s through to the 1930s. People on holiday came there from the mainland during the summer months. It was fashionable to take a steamship to the Island just prior to World War 1 and at that time a hundred steamers per day called at Rothesay. The town’s heyday ended in the 1960s when flying off on inexpensive packaged holidays to Spain and the Mediterranean became popular.

Now the Island was becoming a fine new whisky destination. The hotels and restaurants were thriving again and the tourist season had been extended.

Gordon’s distillery was partially responsible for that. In fact, all the Island distilleries on the west were taking advantage of his success to promote their own brands.

The ferry’s PA system instructed all passengers to head for their vehicles and within minutes Raymond was off the ferry and parked outside the Victoria Hotel. He smiled broadly; there were no restrictive parking signs and no pesky traffic wardens on the Island.

After settling into his room he walked the length and breadth of the town. Stopping on the promenade, he leaned against the seawall and gazed out across the jewel of an ocean. The ferry was on its way back to the mainland and evening was closing in. A flock of seagulls eagerly followed, looking for any food passengers might throw their way.

He took in deep breaths of the sea air and sighed with satisfaction.

I could get used to this, he thought.

Feeling on top of the world, Raymond woke up early, took a long shower, dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, and headed for the breakfast room. He ordered a full breakfast with a pot of coffee and picked up the local newspaper. He was busy reading an article on the new export initiative suggested by the Scottish Government, when he heard a familiar voice ordering coffee and French toast. He looked up in shock.

“Anne McCready… What a pleasant surprise! It’s been too many years.”

“Raymond Armstrong. You are the last person I expected to run into here.” Anne smiled broadly. “May I join you?”

Raymond was sideswiped by unfamiliar emotions and a loss for words as he looked into the eyes of the lovely woman he’d cared for so deeply, years before. In a blink of an eye the intervening years melted away and it seemed like only yesterday they’d been together – a cliché, but true.

“Of course, I’d love to have you join me for breakfast, Anne.” Raymond stood up and pulled out a chair for her, trying not to show just how pleased he was.

“Anne McCready, you haven’t changed a bit. Yes, you have. You’re even more attractive and you have an air of confidence that suits you wonderfully.” He kissed her on the cheek and tried to look composed as her subtle perfume braised his senses. He was more than excited to see her after all this time.

“Cormier, actually. My last name…”

Raymond’s disappointment didn’t deter him.

“So, Anne Cormier, how is life treating you in Canada?”

“Married for almost twenty years, a son and daughter taking exams, getting ready for university.”

“How time flies. Cormier… You have a French-Canadian husband?”

“He’s actually Acadian, from New Brunswick.”

“Interesting history. I know some of it. I met some Acadians in New Orleans on a trip and they told me about how their ancestors left Nova Scotia, and finally settled in Louisiana. Involved a fascinating journey down the Mississippi River, apparently.”

“Yes, true. Well at least some of them did that.” She smiled at the waiter who placed a glass of water beside the place setting. Raymond remembered when she’d smiled at him like that…

“What about you, still working for the government day and night?”

“Retired,” he told her. “Started my own small business. I research family trees and turn factual information into stories. Creative non-fiction it’s called. Facts with a little fiction added can make for interesting reading and it’s quite popular.”

“Well you must finally have time for a woman in your life,” she inquired, tilting her head to look through the window at the ocean.

“Not really. I’m still way too busy to really think about that,” Raymond said without missing a beat.

“I thought you just said retirement and a small genealogy company?”

“Well, I am becoming very popular for my researched stories. People are seeking me out. I might see about a publisher.”

“So on your own like always? A pet perhaps?”

“No,” Raymond replied. “No pets either. How about you?”

“Monty, my Russian blue cat. He barely made it when he was a kitten. Had some kind of breathing disorder but now – best cat ever. You should think about adopting one.”

“Tell me about the breed,” Raymond said. He had been thinking about acquiring a cat for quite some time.

“Well he may not be 100% Russian… You see, I adopted him from rescue. He definitely has the color and traits of a Russian. Loyal to one or two owners, distrusting of strangers until he gets to know them. Plays catch with a spring just like a dog does with a Frisbee in the park.”

“What else? You have me intrigued.”

“Loves to snuggle – just a mellow and loving guy. Not allowed outside and he doesn’t seem to mind.”

Raymond thought about how they used to snuggle when they were a couple but tamped that down. She was married and lived an ocean away.

“Would he hunt if you let him out?”

Anne chuckled, “Monty is far too laid back.”

“Have you ever heard of Towser?”

“Towser?” Anne leaned closer.

“Yes, the distillery cat in the Guinness Book of World Records, with over twenty-eight thousand mice devoured. Actually,” he continued, “I still don’t know how they calculated that number. Anyway, the whisky industry has never seen another cat like Towser.”

“Your knowledge of whisky and your interest in my cat are admirable…” She paused for a moment. They both sipped coffee. She leaned forward again, placing her hand softly on his arm. It’s like I’m talking to a new man but with all the same attractive qualities too.”

Raymond smiled at her. His eyes looked deep into hers for a brief moment. Yes, he was a new man, but a new man with a rekindled passion for Anne who had been his partner for five years… But that was many years ago...in the good days. The best days. Before she married someone else.

“We do a bit of trivia at our whisky club and I am always trying to find the strangest facts on the whisky industry to add to discussion,” he continued.

“Do they still have cats at the distilleries?” she asked, trying to stay focused. Her body tingled from head to foot as memories of how it had been with them twenty years before played over in her mind.

She’d never forgotten Raymond. He had been a tender and passionate good lover… And she studied him unabashedly, wondering what he would be like now. She shook that thought away and tuned in to Raymond who was still talking about cats…

“Some distilleries do have cats, although now the EU frowns upon them close to production. Not hygienic or some other stupid idea. The distillery on the Isle of Mull has dancing cats. They have an annual festival, where quite a few of the cats come out at night. It’s been said they wrap themselves around the guests’ legs and have been seen to dance with them.”

“Do they have any favorite songs?” she asked, laughing.

“Love Cats by the Cure, I believe.” He smiled at her and she melted a bit more.

“Good answer.”

“I try.”

“Funny.”

Talking about cats would have been the last thing on our minds, twenty years ago. Because of the attraction he felt for her, and the fact that she was married, he was nervous and guessed she was feeling the same way. We act like our love affair was only yesterday, but in reality, twenty years have washed under that bridge. Did she feel the same way?

“Anne, why are you staying in a hotel? You still have family on the Island, right?”

“I am actually on my way to an art conference in Paris. Both my parents passed away several years ago, and to be honest, I felt like a break and I wanted to be pampered. Growing up here, I always wanted to stay in this hotel. So here I am.”

“When do you leave?” He leaned forward and took her hand in his.

“Tomorrow.” She drew her hand away, but slowly.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist… Seeing you here is like of breath of fresh air, honestly. I often wonder what would have happened if––”

“So long ago,” she said with a smile. She paused for a moment, before extending her arm across the table to give his hand a squeeze.

Those touches were enough to cause a level of tension between them. A kindling of the fire they’d shared.

The arrival of their meals was more than welcome.

As they finished breakfast in nervous silence, Raymond downed his third cup of coffee.

“Raymond, have you ever walked around the town? I mean, taken a historic walk, not just to the pubs and restaurants?”

“No, and that’s quite strange, really, with the number of visits I’ve made here over the years. And all those times we never ran into each other. I’ve thought about you…”

She blushed and looked away. “This afternoon I could show you the history surrounding Rothesay, if you’d like…”

“As appealing as it is to spend time with you again, I will have to take a rain check. I am on my way to meet Gordon and the staff at the distillery. Do you have any time tomorrow morning?” Their meeting had been coincidence but now he had her full attention…

“Yes, actually my ferry isn’t until noon.” His heart tightened when she smiled at him and nodded.

He didn’t want their meeting to end. Or for her to leave the Island so soon. Halfway to the main hotel entrance, Raymond stopped and turned. Such fortuitous meetings didn’t occur without a reason, did they?

“Would you like company for dinner tonight?”

She thought for a moment. “You’re here to visit with Gordon and I don’t want to interfere. I would enjoy catching up more, but you need to understand, I’m not going back to how it was twenty years ago.”

“Really, Anne, you think I’d… Me?”