Highland Dew Page 15

  What next? She flopped on the bed and recounted the day’s events so far. It could have gone so much worse. In fact, she honestly expected an angrier response from Fiona. Maybe her dad and David had talked her down, but either way, plans were moving forward. Fiona agreed to have dinner with her. Now, who to get to help?

  She rolled over and grabbed her notebook, happy that she’d made a contact list from day one. First, check with Ian. She picked up her cell phone.

  “Ian Smith, may I help you?”

  “It’s Bryce, do you have a minute?”

  He chuckled. “Certainly, it’s good timing. I just hung up with Margaret in Chicago and Reggie phoned to say she’d be here in an hour.”

  “Did Margaret have any news about Leo?”

  “Actually, she did. They thought he’d be discharged in a day or two. He’s done very well in physical therapy and is becoming somewhat cantankerous.”

  Bryce laughed. “Of course he is. He’s not good at taking orders.”

  “He’s apparently not the only one.”

  “Oh, no. Reggie?”

  “Yes, she wants a phone meeting with the home office to discuss her treatment.”

  Bryce clenched her teeth to keep from saying something impulsive. “I’m sorry to dump this on you. Just send her home to cool off. I may have smoothed the stormy sea for now. I’ll be meeting Fiona later, and hopefully she’ll have the samples we need.”

  “That is good news. Don’t worry about Reggie.”

  “Good. Here’s what I need to know. If Fiona and her dad want to proceed, and if the whisky samples are as good as I expect, I need someone with distilling experience to help decide what should be done with the whisky. We need to think about a new brand because none of this whisky is the ten-year-old, like their last offering. There are some barrels that are twenty-one years old.”

  “We do have a couple of still-men that could help. It depends on how much they trust us. Of course, if that’s the case, we can arrange to have the whisky transported, bottled, and shipped.” Ian sounded pleased.

  “I thought I’d ask Tom Hobart to come over and offer his impression—just as a neutral voice. His master distiller, Liam, is the one working on the new blend.” Bryce offered.

  “That’s an excellent idea. No need to rush them. If they just want to start with one barrel, I think we could try that.”

  Bryce let the breath out she’d been holding. “You’re right. I don’t want to push, not now. But, I could offer some money up front to keep the wolf from the door.”

  “That’s up to you, if you think it will reassure them.”

  “Thanks for being there, Ian. You’ve been a good resource.” She jotted a note in her notebook, “tread carefully” and underlined it.

  “Don’t forget, this is a competitive business. Be kind but be professional.”

  She smiled. “Good thing to remember. I’ll keep in touch.”

  ****

  “Dad, do you know where Murray went?” Fiona asked her dozing father.

  He stirred and cracked one eye. “I believe he was going back to the office… Oh, I’m not sure.”

  Fiona bent over in front of him. “Dad, I need to get some samples from the cask room. Can you help me?”

  He appeared to perk up a little. He opened both eyes and they actually twinkled. “Oh, that, I can. Been a while, but it’s a lot like riding a bike, you know.”

  “I suppose it is.” She helped him up. “What do you need?”

  He grabbed his walking stick then scratched his stubbly chin. “Hmm, mallet, gloves, some bottles, and the whisky thief. They’ll be in the office, I think.”

  Fiona offered her arm as they negotiated the gravel between the kitchen door and the office. It was only about twenty meters, but the stones had worn a bit more from the years of foot traffic. Had her great-grandmother walked this path, and the generations before her? These old buildings had seen so many changes, and now maybe the most dramatic. Twenty-first century business was a far cry from the way her dad had been making and selling whisky. Was he up to the challenge? She smiled and looked at him. Heck, was she up to it?

  The office looked much like the way she left it, except for the newspaper, beer bottle, and a full ashtray. Her dad didn’t seem to notice; he walked to the cupboard near the still room door.

  “Here we are.” He stuck gloves in his back pocket, grabbed a wooden mallet, and carefully picked up the antique copper whisky thief.

  Fiona remembered him showing her when she was still a little girl. He had proudly polished it to a shine and showed her the faint etching of Archibald MacDougall’s name.

  “Have you the bottles?”

  Fiona held up the portioned cardboard box Bryce had given her. “All set.”

  She followed him through the eerily quiet, dark distillery. He moved quickly as he had for almost seventy years. How many MacDougalls had walked through this building carrying on a tradition? Her eyes teared up. I can’t let this die.

  Once they reached the cask room and she’d flipped on the lights, her dad grinned.

  “Dad, why wasn’t this room locked? I see the padlock. Aren’t there rules about this?”

  His face clouded over. “Oh, indeed there are. It should always be locked. I’m certain Murray has a key and there’s another on a nail by the mantel.”

  She pushed open the heavy door. “I’ll see to it, then.”

  “Which ones do you need?” Gavin said as they stood between the rows of barrels.

  She opened the box. Bryce had written a list with the locations for each of the three different samples and had labeled two bottles for each.

  “Let’s start over here.” She watched the rows until she saw one marked 1998.

  He slipped on his reading glasses and checked the barrels on the row end for one with a bung. “Here we go.” He grinned, pulled off his glasses, and twisted the wooden plug on the top side.

  Fiona opened the box and grabbed two bottles marked HD 2003. She uncapped them and watched him carefully slip the long copper tube into the barrel and cover the end with his thumb. “Ready?”

  She held one bottle out as he withdrew the whisky thief and angled it toward the bottle. “Hold ‘er still.” He moved his thumb and the dark amber liquid filled half the bottle. It was beautiful, even in the dim light.

  Her dad slid the copper thief back in for one more, which then filled the sample bottle.

  Fiona capped one bottle and opened the second so he could repeat the process. Once the samples were back in the box, her dad withdrew another small amount and placed it in the small tasting glass he got from his shirt pocket.

  “You don’t think I’d let anyone taste this first, do ya?” He lifted the glass to the light, sniffed a couple of times, closed his eyes, and took a sip. His smile said it all.

  “What’s next on your list?” He downed the small amount left, put the glass in his pocket, and replaced the wooden plug, using the mallet to secure it.

  Fiona felt nervous and excited. Her dad seemed like his old self. “This way.” She steered them back two aisles until she spotted the older barrels marked Distiller’s Edition 1989. “I can’t believe these are still here.”

  Her dad patted the first one. “This was to be a special anniversary bottling.” He looked for the wooden plug and meticulously repeated the procedure.

  Fiona watched him with a quiet reverence she’d never held before. When he dipped the thief for the sample he’d taste, she said, “Do you think I could taste it as well?”

  His eyes twinkled. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that. ’Course you can.” When he finished, he handed her the glass and watched her.

  She repeated the same steps he had, and then she sipped the aged whisky. Her lips got the sweetness first, then a complex assortment of flavors combined in a strong taste. Her eyes watered. “Wow, that’s much stronger that I expected.”

  He laughed. “That’s cask strength, probably a hundred and twenty proof. It’ll be dilute
d a bit in order to sell.”

  “It’s good. Very different than I expected.”

  “Aye, that’s the idea, lass. Did you say there’s another?” He returned the plug and pounded it into the barrel. “I’m not sure I remember the other.”

  She walked down to the last aisle and spotted six barrels that were slightly larger. “Here, Highland Dew-Sherry 1989.”

  He walked closer and put his glasses back on. “I’ll be…” He wiped his hand across the front of the barrel. “I said I wanted to experiment with sherry casks, but I kept thinking I’d just dreamt that.”

  Once he found the plug, he proceeded with the ritual, muttering occasionally. He pulled out his glass a dipped one more sample. “Sláinte.” He sipped slowly, twice, and then opened his teary eyes. “It’s even better than I imagined, Fi.”

  She took the glass, suddenly feeling like she was a part of the MacDougall family distillery. “Oh, I like this. It’s still quite strong, but lovely. Why did you only do a few in the sherry casks?”

  He put his things in his pocket and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “At the time it was too expensive because there weren’t many available. I’m done for the day. I’ll need to rest a bit.”

  She hugged him. “Thank you so much.”

  ****

  “I certainly understand your disappointment, Ms. Ballard. This has been a challenging task.” Ian leaned back from the table.

  Reggie felt as though she might explode. Why were these people so damn calm? She took a breath. “I’m sure that must be what it looks like, but I assure you, I believe I have been discriminated against and mistreated. Bryce Andrews is only interested in her pet project and wants all the credit. On the other hand, I was trying to be a team player. This is unfair, and I expect Mr. Edelman to be advised.”

  She felt her face flush and took another deep breath. It was not her intent to screech at Ian. It wasn’t his fault. Damn.

  Ian finished writing some notes in a leather notebook. He put down his pen. “These are serious accusations and I will, of course, submit them. But you must be aware that Ms. Andrews will also have her report.” He stood and pushed his chair in. “As I mentioned, Mr. Edelman is still too ill to be involved with personnel matters, but I will report your concerns. Meanwhile, I have taken the liberty of selecting a flight to Chicago departing at seven forty-five tomorrow morning. You’ll transfer at Heathrow and arrive in Chicago at three-fifteen in the afternoon.” He handed her the ticket folder and itinerary.

  “Are you seriously dismissing me?”

  “Certainly not. I thought you might wish to return your leased car and enjoy the evening.” He smiled warmly.

  Reggie bit back the sarcasm. “Ian, I thought you, more than anyone, would be understanding.” She sniffed and tilted her chin for effect.

  “Trust me, I do understand and will take your concerns directly to the top.” He held out his hand. “Have a safe journey.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Bryce looked at her watch. There might be time to catch Tom Hobart in his office, but not enough to meet. After she located her cell phone under the clean laundry on the bed, she dialed Speyburn.

  “Good afternoon, Speyburn Distillery, may I help you?”

  “Yes, this is Bryce Andrews. I’d like to speak to Tom Hobart.”

  One ring. “Hello, Bryce.”

  “Hi, Tom. I hope I’m not interrupting. I just need a minute.” She’d had the conversation a dozen times in her head.

  “No problem. I’m clear.”

  She heard him close the door.

  “I need to ask you a favor about a potential client.”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you ever run across Highland Dew whisky?”

  He repeated the name a few times. “I’m pretty sure I have, but I can’t recall where.”

  “The MacDougall Distillery produced it for many years, but it’s a small operation. Long story short, there were some family problems, and they haven’t produced any whisky for a few years and all but closed it down. It’s a very unique product, in my humble opinion.” She wiped perspiration from her temple. “However, it turns out they have discovered a large quantity in an old cask room that looks very promising.”

  Tom laughed. “This sounds like the plot to a movie.”

  Bryce hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was rather melodramatic. “You’re right, but here’s where we are stuck. The family needs to sell some of it to pay creditors, but they’re not sure how to do it or whether they want to reopen the business.”

  “I can understand that, but don’t they know you and Global can do that for them?”

  “Well…yes and no.” The perspiration trickled down both sides. “I thought we had reached a sort of agreement, but there was a glitch. Anyway, I called Ian Smith and he suggested you and Liam might be able to offer some good advice after you tasted the products.” She closed her eyes and held her breath. The vacuum went on in the hall, so she hurried out on the balcony.

  “That sounds reasonable and practical. How would you like to set it up?”

  She jabbed her fist in the air. Yes! “Great. They live over near Knockando, so I thought halfway might be a meeting here at my hotel. Maybe dinner?”

  “You’re staying in Craigellachie?”

  “Yes, the Highlander Inn. Can we try tomorrow night around six? Of course I need to clear this with them.”

  “It works for me, but I have to check to see if Liam can make it.”

  “Wonderful. Let’s plan on that—barring complications.”

  “See you then.”

  She collapsed in the plastic deck chair. “Thank you!” One more call…

  ****

  Fiona had all six sample bottles on the kitchen table. They looked lovely lined up in a row with the sunlight behind them. Each label was meticulously written out with all the information on each. She rested her chin in her hands and thought about what these little bottles could mean for her and her dad...and possibly the business.

  Her dad seemed excited earlier, but she didn’t trust that to last. Still, for a while, she felt closer to him than she had since she was little. It was evident that, at one time, making whisky was a real passion. She wished, now, she’d paid closer attention and had learned more about the operation. And what the hell was wrong with Murray? This disappearing act was getting old fast.

  The living room clock chimed five and she needed to plan supper. At the same moment her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Fiona. It’s Bryce Andrews. Is this a bad time?”

  “Bryce?”

  “Yes, I didn’t want to interrupt, but I wondered if you and your dad would like to join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

  She sat back down. “That’s very nice, but why would you want us to come over?”

  “I’ve thought a lot about your dilemma and what I would do in your place. Since you may feel like you don’t have enough information to make a decision, and right now you don’t exactly trust me…I wanted to provide some unbiased opinions.”

  Fiona listened carefully. “It sounds logical, but why would you do that?”

  “Because I still feel horrible about what Reggie did. It may not help, now, but I asked her to go back to the States.”

  “Oh. How would you want to do this?”

  “I would like you and your father to come over to the Highlander Inn tomorrow evening, bring the whisky samples…did you get them?”

  Fiona laughed, surprised Bryce hadn’t asked sooner. “Yes, my dad and I got them all, and he seemed to really enjoy doing it.”

  Bryce sighed audibly. “That’s great. I invited Tom Hobart, the general manager at the Speyburn Distillery, and his Master Distiller, Liam. My hope is that they can give you a fair evaluation of your product and your options.”

  She never thought of having more than one option. “You know my dad is unpredictable. He may not be any help at all.”

  “Or…he may enjoy the conversa
tion immensely. Either way, you’ll have a nice meal and conversation. There’s no obligation.”

  “That’s true. What time would you like us to come over?”

  “I told Tom six, but why don’t you come at five thirty so your dad can get comfortable?”

  “That’s very considerate. I’ll say yes, but things can change in a day.”

  “And we can reschedule, if necessary.”

  ****

  Bryce ended the call and let all the tension drain. This meeting could mean so much to so many, and especially for her. For the last couple of weeks, she felt driven by some other force outside of her business. But being in Scotland and being a part of the life here felt so grounding and hopeful. It was hard to describe, but it felt right.

  She jumped up and looked for her shoes. With her phone and notepad, she hurried downstairs. The desk clerk waved hello, and she waved back. The bar area was empty except for a young woman lighting candles on each table. It was still light out—and would be for hours, but it provided more ambiance to the rustic-modern atmosphere. Dark green walls provided a nice background for the whisky bottles and the rough-hewn ceiling timbers held brass and copper light fixtures.

  As she wandered to the end of the long oak bar, she smelled the faint hint of smoke from the large fireplace and the tinge of whisky in the air.

  She smiled. It felt like home after all the time she’d used the place as home base.

  “Good afternoon,” Billy boomed.

  It startled her, and she laughed. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Cleaning out this lower cupboard. I don’t believe it’s been done since before the war.”

  “What war?”

  “WWI.” He laughed. “What can I get you?”

  “I believe I’ll have some Highland Dew, if you have any.”

  “Did you finish the bottle you bought?”

  “Nope. I’m saving that, for now.”

  He poured her a generous dram and handed her a small pitcher of water. “Enjoy.”