“I can’t wait until Amy is old enough to do that. This will be her first Christmas, and we’ve already bought way too much, considering she isn’t going to remember any of it.”
“Did you have messages for me?” Sam prompted gently, and Charlotte produced her tablet from under her arm.
“Yes.” She tapped the tablet. “Eight messages. The Wilsons called to give the go-ahead for Lapland. They want the whole package—reindeer, elves, Santa—but they’re not sure about the husky sled ride.”
“They’d love it,” Samantha murmured. “Providing they dress for the weather they’ll have a blast. I’ll give them a call and talk it through. Next?”
She sat down at her desk, dealing with each message in turn, scribbling a few notes to herself. Some she asked Charlotte to deal with; some she chose to deal with personally.
“The Mortons are an adventurous family—they’d love Iceland. We’ll book them on a tour to see the Northern Lights, and they can do that snowmobile safari on a glacier that was such a hit with that family from Ohio.”
“The Dawsons.”
“Right. Also the ice caves. Anything else?”
“Brodie McIntyre called.”
Samantha didn’t recognize the name. “New client?”
“He owns that estate in the Scottish Highlands.”
“Kinleven?”
Charlotte checked her notes. “That’s the one. Amazing lodge, complete with fairy-tale turrets. You read about it in that magazine and then asked me to contact him after we had that inquiry from the family in Seattle. We talked about it last month and I called him.”
“Of course. House parties in a remote Scottish glen... Don’t they have an actual reindeer herd?” Samantha leaned back in her chair. “I know it’s not something we’ve offered before, but I feel in my gut it would work. Everyone is wild about Scotland—particularly for the holidays—and the place is by a loch, on the edge of a forest. Guests could cut their own Christmas tree. A fresh one that actually smells of the forest, and not of chemicals. The possibilities are endless. Whiskey in front of a roaring log fire... Maybe we could add a couple of nights in Edinburgh for Hogmanay.” She saw Charlotte’s expression. “New Year’s Eve.”
“Ooh.” Charlotte smiled. “I want to book that vacation myself. It sounds dreamy.”
“And that’s what we do. We give people their dream winter vacation. The Christmas they’ll never forget.” Samantha tapped her pen on the desk. “What did he say? Did you tell him that the demand for properties in the Scottish Highlands is going through the roof?”
“Yes. Also that you speak to all your clients personally, and that you’re wicked good at what you do, so he can expect to be busy.”
“And...?”
“He said that he’s interested in principle, but he’d want to discuss it further. Because the lodge is a family home, and before he accepts guests, he’ll need to know he’s entrusted the task of renting it out to the right person.”
“Get him on the phone and I’ll convince him I’m the right person.”
“He wants to meet you.”
“Why?” Samantha tried not to think of her packed schedule. “Never mind. Whatever it takes. When is he in Boston?”
“He’s not. He wants you to fly to Scotland.”
Samantha shot up in her chair. “Scotland? You mean Scotland, Connecticut?”
“No.” Charlotte frowned. “Is there a Scotland in Connecticut?”
“Yes. It’s a town. There are others.”
“I mean the actual Scotland. The country. Land of hill and heather. And those cute cows with horns.”
“Highland cattle. Are you serious? He wants me to fly to Scotland?”
Charlotte held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just the messenger. But is it so hard to understand? He’s emotionally attached to the place. It’s his home. He was born there. Imagine being born in a Scottish glen instead of a sterile white hospital room...”
“He told you all this?”
“Yes. We chatted for a while. He says it won’t suit everyone and that you’ll need to know what you’re selling.”
“He’s right, of course. And I usually do visit before we start recommending. But I’m snowed under.”
Samantha loosened another button on her shirt and paced to the window. The view always calmed her. From her office in Back Bay she could see Boston Harbor, the water glittering pale under the winter sun. It was barely December, but the first flurries of snow had fallen the week before—a reminder that winter had arrived.
Samantha was one of those few people who loved snow. No amount of cold weather could damage her love affair with this city. There were no memories here. No ghosts haunted the brick sidewalks and historic architecture. Moving from Manhattan was the best thing she’d ever done. Boston was her city. She loved everything about it—from the art galleries and upmarket boutiques of Newbury Street to Beacon Street with its vintage gas lamps. Even at this time of year, with a bitter wind blowing off the Charles River, she loved it.
“Boss?”
“Yes.” She turned to Charlotte. “Scotland. Fine. We’ll take the risk and have someone visit because I think the place sounds perfect. Send Rick. He’s been known to wear a kilt to fancy dress parties.”
“The laird insisted it was you.”
“The laird?”
“Just my little joke. I’ve been reading too many of those historical romances we love. I dream of being swept onto a horse by a man wearing a kilt.”
“With Amy attached to your breast? That does not sound comfortable.” There were days when she wished Charlotte, who wasn’t known for her discretion, hadn’t discovered her reading habit. “Please don’t tell Brodie McIntyre that we read historical romance.”
“Why? Read what you want, I always say.”
“I agree, but I prefer to keep my personal life separate from my professional life.” Also her inner self separate from her outer self. She’d been reading romance since she was a teenager. It had started off as a way of exploring emotions that were frowned upon by her mother, but then she’d discovered it was the perfect method of relaxation. She wouldn’t have shared her secret reading tastes with Charlotte, but she’d happened to notice a book in Samantha’s bag. The following day she’d bought a stack of books into the office, and they’d been sharing ever since. “I’m running a business, and it would be hard to keep my credibility with clients and these Scottish folk if they knew we spent our free time fantasizing about being swept into the heather by a sexy guy in a kilt.”