Highland Dew Page 7

  “If you’d get us a table, I’ll go wash up,” Fiona whispered.

  A delightful hostess showed her to a small table near the bar. Crisp white napkins proudly sprouted from the cobalt blue water glasses. The room was tastefully decorated with a modern flair. This is nice. Bryce couldn’t remember the last time she had lunch with a woman that wasn’t work-related. That was pitiful.

  “I hope you like this. It’s a favorite spot of mine.” Fiona came up from behind and took her seat across from Bryce.

  “It’s really lovely.” A ripple of sadness washed over her. “Americans don’t seem to value older things. Every day wonderful old structures are bulldozed for huge modern buildings…Sorry.”

  “I understand. It happens in our larger cities, but not as frequently. Scots have a thing about our history.” She grinned.

  “As well you should. Scotland is often neglected for its contributions to history.”

  “Thank you for that.” Fiona flipped open her menu.

  The menu looked amazing. “These all look delicious. Do you have a favorite?”

  Fiona smiled and her eyes twinkled. Much better than the tense teary look an hour earlier.

  “I like the beef and venison meatballs and apple sage mashed potatoes with red onion sauce.”

  Bryce closed the menu. “Sounds awesome. Would you like something to drink? Wine, or beer?”

  “You know, I think I’d like some whisky. It’s been a long time.”

  “Good choice. You choose. Surprise me.”

  Fiona’s laugh sounded almost joyful.

  “Something to drink, ladies?”

  “Yes, I believe I’ll have the Balvenie Double Cask. Neat.”

  “And for you?”

  “I’ll have the same,” Bryce said.

  Fiona unfurled her napkin. “Perhaps you could tell me a little about you, since I forced you to listen to my saga.”

  Bryce would be perfectly happy to listen to the mellow brogue all afternoon. “First, you didn’t force me. I’m the one who showed up unannounced.”

  The waiter set two tasters down along with a small crystal pitcher of water.

  “Slainté.”

  They each added water and raised their glasses.

  Fiona nodded. “To new surprises.”

  “Cheers.”

  ****

  “…after graduating. I went to college at the University of Illinois.” Bryce sipped her whisky. “My interest in the chemistry of fermented beverages started at a summer job in a small local vineyard, and then to production and distribution. With my business studies background, I got involved in sales.”

  “But now you’re looking for new kinds of whisky?”

  “Yes.” Bryce smiled. “Our company represents several large and small distilleries for global distribution, but lately, there’s been a new wave of young distillers changing things up. It’s exciting to see their enthusiasm for trying new methods.”

  Fiona smiled. “I enjoy the excitement in your voice when you talk about this new challenge. It’s certainly unlike my students.”

  Her eyes danced with merriment and she was delightful company.

  “Have you had any luck finding some good candidates here?”

  “Yes. I’ve gotten a few leads and tasted some remarkable whiskies. Sadly, some are already taken, some need more time to get into a groove, and others are no longer available.”

  Fiona swirled the mahogany colored liquid in her glass. “It’s an interesting business.”

  “But you chose teaching?”

  “My mother desperately wanted me to follow her footsteps into music, but sadly as I got a bit older, I lost interest. Instead I devoted myself to a passion for literature. That’s what I teach.”

  “Gave up on music?”

  “Not really. I still play fiddle for relaxation.” She covered her mouth. “Wow, I just remembered I left it at my flat in Edinburgh.”

  The meal was served and they both turned their attention to the food. Fiona was watching as Bryce tasted the meatball and mashed potatoes.

  Bryce let out a satisfied groan, Fiona smiled.

  “Oh, this is incredible.”

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s a real comfort food for me.”

  The time passed quickly until Fiona said sadly, “I hate to leave this, but I think I should get back.”

  Bryce looked at her watch. “It has been a while.” She quickly signed the credit slip and put her card and receipt in her pocket.

  ****

  It felt bittersweet. It had been a lovely afternoon, but Fiona had to get back to reality. Maybe it had been inappropriate to discuss her financial concerns, but Bryce was very familiar with the business, and her suggestions were good ones. An appraiser would be able to give her a better vision of the overall viability of the business.

  She leaned her head against the car window as they drove through familiar countryside that she was seeing as a passenger on a new journey. The warm air felt good on her face. The scent of apple blossoms wafted through the air. A petal blew through and landed on Bryce’s shoulder, she leaned over and pulled the petal off.

  Bryce smiled

  ****

  The ride was too short. “Here’s my card with my cell number and email. If there’s anything I can do to help you figure out your plan, let me know.”

  Fiona retrieved her grocery bag and stood by the driver’s door. “This has been so enjoyable. Really. I can’t thank you enough.”

  The sun seemed to reflect off the emerald green eyes like gemstones. “Fiona, this has been a perfect break from work. I enjoyed every minute.” Her voice caught when she realized she might never see this woman again.

  Fiona gently squeezed her wrist. “We’ll keep in touch…”

  “Take care.” She steered the car down the drive and watched in her rearview mirror as Fiona stood and watched her leave. The tightness in her throat moved to her chest. She coughed and opened the window farther. Probably ate too much. She tried rubbing her chest, gave up, and turned on the CD player and selected one with some short pieces by Eric Satie. It had been a soothing favorite from college because of a roommate.

  The ride back to the hotel seemed faster. It was after six when she parked at the Highlander Inn. She paused at the door and realized she wasn’t hungry, and would instead opt for a hot bath and some tea. She’d no sooner settled in the warm water when her phone rang. Fiona? Nope. “Hi Reggie, what’s up?’

  “I couldn’t wait to tell you. I think I found the hidden gem, the one in a million, the perfect small-batch whisky.”

  Bryce had to laugh. Reggie’s excited drawl accosted her. “So happy to hear that.” She grabbed the mug with the hot Lady Grey. “Can you describe it, or do I need to wait expectantly?”

  Now Reggie laughed. “I should be back in a couple of days, but I’d say…the nose is like Oban, with some rich fruit and berry, then a smoky finish. I don’t know. Never tasted anything like it.”

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “It’s down off the Cromarty Firth near The Dalmore. The guys bought an old rundown single-still site about five years ago. This was their first bottling. It’s got time and room to grow, but I think they’ve found a good recipe.”

  “Are they interested in signing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. I’ve got two new leads to check out tomorrow. But right now my bathwater is getting chilly.”

  “Got it. Take care.”

  Bryce turned the hot water back on and closed her eyes. An image formed of a laughing green-eyed woman. She groaned. Another image replaced it—her lying, cheating ex rearing its ugly head and sneering.

  She shut off the water and slid down till her head submerged.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bryce hit send. Her report for Leo was brief and uninspired. Two new prospects and Reggie’s news might soften the blow. After a restless night, her determination had flagged a little. She poured more tea and added cream and sugar. Breakfast ha
d been a quick bite of toast and soft-cooked eggs, so a little shortbread might taste good.

  The morning clouds faded, and she took her phone to the overstuffed chair by the window. The lounge pants and sweatshirt felt good as she curled up in the chair. The email note from Tom listed numbers for a Brian Townsend and a Kurt Morgan.

  She dialed the first one.

  “Hullo?”

  “Hello, I’m calling for Brian Townsend.”

  “That’d be me.”

  “Hi, Brian. My name is Bryce Andrews and I’m with Global Distillers and Distribution. I was given your name by John Marsh, because I’m looking for some new small-batch distillers interested in expanding their reach in the market.”

  “You’re from the States?”

  “Yes, I am.” She wrote his name and guessed his age to be mid-thirties.

  “That sounds cool. Did you want to come see our setup?”

  “That would be terrific. Would today be too soon?”

  “Fine. When could you be here?”

  She smiled. “Well, I’d need an address…”

  He laughed. “Duh, of course. We’re near Dufftown…”

  She crossed out mid-thirties and wrote early thirties. The address was clear. “All right, I can be there in about an hour.”

  Kurt Morgan wasn’t available, but she left a message about meeting with him and added her number.

  Fingers crossed these guys might have something. It wasn’t so much competition with Reggie as it was giving Leo some solid choices. The notebook entries showed some solid leads but nothing that really jumped out and screamed winner. Well, except the mystery whisky called Highland Dew, and sadly, that was a non-starter. Even if they could find a few bottles, it wouldn’t help. But, it might be nice just to have. Note: ask Billy to check around for her.

  Even with a stop for petrol, Bryce was in Dufftown within fifteen minutes and took her time cruising through the quaint town. She had driven past the Balvenie and Glenfiddich distilleries and made a note to stop by later. The area’s water had to be good—could be the River Fiddich.

  Downtown Dufftown bustled with activity. She turned right and continued out of town until she saw the red and yellow sign.

  The small distillery was nestled at the base of a hill. It looked old but solid. The grounds were well tended and the signage looked professional. All were indications they took their business seriously. She parked in front of what appeared to be an office. A small door sign read “Townsend & McClure, Ltd.”

  “Hello there.” A voice called from behind her. She turned as a tall young man trotted toward her. His wild red hair and beard made him look like he should be running down a gorse-covered hill brandishing a broadsword.

  “You must be Brian.” She offered her hand.

  “Yes, ma’am. Hope you weren’t waiting.” He took a deep breath and shook her hand.

  “No, I just got here.”

  “Please come in.” He opened the door and held it for her.

  The office was larger than it appeared from the outside. Wooden barrels and barn-board planks made up most of the furniture and shelving. Bright yellow walls made the wood stand out. Chairs were covered with bright red fabric. A dozen small pin spots highlighted the bottles and awards.

  “Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?” Brian sat in a barrel chair across from her.

  “This is very attractive—and unusual.” Bryce smiled. “No, I’m fine. Why don’t you tell me a little about your vision?”

  He crossed his foot over his knee and Bryce smiled at the Paddington socks poking out from under his worn jeans and trainers.

  “My daughter…she’s three.” He blushed crimson.

  “Very stylish. Please go ahead.”

  “Gary and I were friends long before we served in the RAF. We had no family history in whisky making, but loved the tradition, and, of course the product.”

  “This seems like a big endeavor to start.”

  “Och no, we started in Gary’s basement years ago, just for sport. Our early starts were godawful, if you pardon me. But we found some old-timers willing to give us advice and taste the samples.” He laughed and shook his head. “Since we had time, we tried so many methods and ingredients. Some were quite good. It was great luck that Henry Walker decided to merge his business with another. So this distillery was already registered when we leased it and were ready to start selling.”

  Derring-do was always a good start. “How much have you produced?”

  “Just a few liters at a time to start. Since Henry offered to lease it to us, we’ve gone from liters to barrels and registered our product. And we’ve settled on two kinds, instead of continuously experimenting.” He pointed at the shelf. “Wouldya like to taste a dram?”

  “I would.” Bryce smiled at the young entrepreneur. He’d done his homework.

  He poured a dram into a whisky glass and set down a glass of water.

  She carefully proceeded to look, sniff, and taste with and without some water added. The delicate balance surprised her. When this was aged it would be delightful. She sipped again and held it. Soft finish with a hint of oak.

  “This is nice, Brian, very nice. How old is it?”

  “Five years.”

  “Do you plan to continue aging?”

  “Oh, aye. We’re still not sure whether to use sherry casks—they’re expensive.”

  She understood that that would be risky for new starts. “If it were me, I’d try one or two. That would round this out.”

  “Good to know. Here’s the other, we tried a malt mix with a little rye.”

  It was darker with a strong cereal nose mixed with a caramel note. The flavor was complex but indistinct. The tail was lingering licorice. The color was slightly cloudy. She thought of how to describe it politely. “This might need some work.” She shrugged apologetically. “Maybe less rye?”

  He shrugged, too. “I appreciate your honesty.”

  “Brian, I like what you’re doing and would like to recommend the pure malt for greater distribution. Are you interested in discussing it with my home office in Glasgow?”

  “I’ll talk to Gary, but I’m pretty sure he’d be interested.”

  “Great. Here’s my card for now. I’m going to have the Glasgow office send you some material about our company and our long-term vision.” She stood. “Would you be able to give me a sample to take back with me?”

  He grinned. “Hell yeah.” He grabbed a bottle off the shelf and thrust it toward her.

  She laughed out loud at his enthusiasm. “Cleary you’re a man who loves what he does. This has been great. We’ll talk again, I’m sure.”

  Once in the car, she scribbled a note: Run financials on Townsend & McClure

  As she turned north on the A941 through Dufftown, she spotted the restaurant and decided to stop. “A Taste of Speyside” sounded intriguing. A parking space opened up a few doors past it. She parked and looked back to the clock tower in the center of the roundabout. It had to be at least three stories tall and very elegant. The village looked so well maintained. Clearly, the people took a great deal of pride in their homes. It certainly wasn’t like that in some of the American small towns. She felt an odd wave of shame at what must look to others like a throwaway society. Why didn’t they value things the way other countries did?

  The small restaurant oozed warmth and comfort. Forest green walls showed off the wonderful red plaid carpet. Wallace, maybe? She chose the small window table and asked for water. The jacket wasn’t necessary, so she took it off.

  The phone beeped with two messages.

  The first from Kurt Morgan. “Sorry I missed your call, I’d like to meet with you. I’ll be here all afternoon. North of Dufftown on the A941, there’s a curve, just look for the black and white signs. Turn right to Duff’s Whisky.”

  She jotted down the name and hit next.

  “Hi, it’s Fiona. I wanted to thank you for dinner and quite a lovely afternoon. I’m sure you’re
tracking some wonderful new whiskies, but…I just wanted to say thanks.”

  Bryce hit replay. No, thank you.

  The waitress interrupted her memory. “You ordered the Taste of Speyside platter?”

  “Yes, thank you. It looks wonderful.” A mouthwatering sample of local favorites circled the platter. There was even a small dollop of haggis with whisky sauce that was surprisingly good. Her appetite awakened with gusto.

  ****

  Fiona stretched the wet towels over the clothesline and clipped them so the spring breeze would dry them quickly. The apple blossoms glazed the newly cut grass and the smell was wonderful. It felt good to be outside doing something physical instead of going through hundreds of invoices and collection letters.

  She turned toward the orchard and beyond to the road. This was the only home she’d ever known, and the thought of selling everything cut deep. It wasn’t fair. Her father had always been there for her and supported her dreams. It wasn’t his fault that some horrible disease robbed him of his life. She grabbed another towel.

  From inside, she heard Murray and her father talking. Rather loudly.

  “Gavin, you’ve got to help me find it. I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “I just don’t remember, man. I keep trying, but there are just dark holes where my memory should be.” He sobbed.

  “There, there. I know, but things are bad and there’s no money coming in and nothing to help us. Fiona is using her savings to pay off the bank loan. We have to find the envelope with the list you made.”

  “But where’s Mary? She’ll know. She’s always kept the secret.”

  “Good lord, man, can you stay with me for ten minutes without going daft?”

  “Murray. When did you get back from Stornoway?”

  “Twenty-five years ago, man,” Murray mumbled.

  Fiona clipped up the last towel and hurried to the back door with the empty basket. Murray was halfway across the gravel parking area.

  “Murray.”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn. “Something you need, miss?”