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“What’s it like?” Harry wanted to know.
Predictably, I might add.
“You’ll be happy to know the neighbors own a sheep farm.”
“Perfect! Can you see them from the cottage?”
Trust Harry. More interested in sheep than the cottage itself.
“Absolutely. With lots of lambs, you’ll be happy to hear. Wobbling about and bleating in the field across the road all day. And a fabulous view of the famous Scapa Flow.”
“What’s that?”
Charles had filled me in on this illustrious body of water during our return drive to Kirkwall, so I was prepared to be the pedant.
“These islands sit smack dab at the juncture of the North Sea and northern Atlantic,” I explained. “Wild and windy seas, both. But the Scapa Flow is ringed and sheltered by the islands. It’s a large bay, really. A natural harbor that also happens to have strategic importance. Apparently, the entire German fleet was scuttled here at the end of first world war — ”
“View of the water,” Harry concluded (he’s never been big on history).
“They’ve named a single malt scotch whiskey after it,” I added.
“Really? Fascinating. Maybe you can bring us back a bottle.”
Did I mention that Harry is sometimes predictable?
But he did finally get around to asking about the cottage itself.
“According to Charles,” I told him, “it’s a traditional Orcadian cottage.”
“Who’s Charles?”“He’s a boy, Harry. My driver. I told you about him.”
I love it when Harry gets jealous.
“Okay then. So, Orcadian cottage. What does that mean?”
“All stone. Two bedrooms, and what we would call a great room. But not great in size. All the rooms are small and the furniture is diminutive. A dining table just large enough for two dinner plates and a bowl of mashed potatoes. A love seat instead of a sofa. The fridge and washing machine both fit underneath the kitchen counter. No drier, but there’s a drying rack next to the water heater, which, by the way, is half-size and in full view at the foot of the bathtub.
“But Harry! The outer walls are eighteen inches thick. Can you picture the window sills? Gran has an entire herb garden in her kitchen window. Southern light, too, so it’s perfect.
“And three fireplaces, one in the great room and the others in the bedrooms. Apparently they used to burn peat, but they’re all electric now. The kitchen and bathroom have electric heaters mounted on the walls. So every room has its own heat and every one of them has a door. A great way to conserve energy, when you think about it. You only heat the room you’re in. We could learn a lot from them there.”
“Sounds like you like it,” Harry observed.
I could hear the ambivalence in his voice, and I knew his thoughts were likely following the same trail mine had that morning.
“Whether I like it or not is beside the point, Harry. I’ve suddenly got a whole lot of responsibility sitting away over here on the wrong side of the Atlantic. We have to decide whether it’s to be rented or sold. Either way, it needs work. And then of course there’s the whole big shebang of actually following through with either renting it or selling it. Makes me shudder just to think of it.
“And Harry — ”
I hesitated.
“What?”
I took a breath.
“It appears to be haunted.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
