The Skye Collection, page 1
THE SKYE COLLECTION
LISA HOBMAN
CONTENTS
Dreaming Under An Island Skye
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Under An Italian Sky
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Wishing Under A Starlit Skye
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Together Under A Snowy Skye
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
More from Lisa Hobman
About the Author
Also by Lisa Hobman
Love Notes
About Boldwood Books
DREAMING UNDER AN ISLAND SKYE
For Grace, the brightest star in my sky. You continue to make me proud and I can’t wait to see you collect your first Oscar for directing.
PROLOGUE
Through gritted teeth, Juliette cursed the Victorian architect who’d had the monumentally stupid idea of utilising every inch of the high-ceilinged room for storage. If they’d been subject to health and safety regulations back then, there’s no way ladder access to shelves – that were ridiculously high in her opinion – would have been allowed. Although it was a stunning library, with its ornately carved oak posts and arches, it was simply not practical any more. In fact, she couldn’t imagine it being practical back in 1873 when it was originally constructed. But, of course, the University of Gloucestershire was proud of its heritage, and rightly so, Juliette reasoned. Who was she to demand changes, but a twenty-six-year-old former student turned librarian?
This wasn’t how she was expecting to spend her day, that was for sure; clinging precariously to the location where she had just replaced copies of The Modern Judge. Her fingers ached and her toes were going numb as she clung on for dear life and tried to formulate a plan. She could jump, but as there was probably fifteen feet between her and the floor, that would possibly result in bone breakages, muscle sprains or, worst-case scenario… death! Her alternative was to hold on and either: one, shout for help, or two, simply hope it manifested by chance, sooner rather than later.
Friday lunchtime was usually Juliette’s favourite time in the library. It was the one time of the week when no students were allowed in and the librarians were able to catch up on restocking the shelves with returned books. To be surrounded by millions of pages of knowledge just waiting to be soaked up… and, oh, the bibliosmia – was there a better smell anywhere in the world than old books?
There were usually at least two members of staff, but today, typically, her boss, Nancy, had gone home ill and her colleague, Claire, was on holiday, meaning Juliette was alone.
All alone.
Completely by herself.
Which would be fine if she wasn’t stuck up a bookcase, sans ladder, wearing a floaty skirt.
Bloody typical.
Anger and embarrassment heated her skin in equal measure as she realised the security guards would have a field day if they watched back the footage of this utter debacle. She could imagine it now. The two main ones, Bill and Ben, as Juliette liked to call them, sitting there in front of the surveillance screens, a mug of some steaming brew resting on each rotund belly as they stuffed biscuits into their gobs. Then, she imagined crumbs spraying everywhere as they were overcome with the hilarity of watching the ladder fall leaving Juliette dangling from the top shelf of the Law Reference section like something off bloody You’ve Been Framed.
She was still unsure how the attached ladder had become detached and had fallen to the floor, leaving her stranded and terrified. She would have serious words with the caretaker or, if anything bad was to happen, she’d be haunting the ratbag; those things were certain. What wasn’t certain, however, was how she was going to circumvent the small issue of the fifteen feet of air between her current location and the floor.
The lack of space at the edges of the lower shelves annoyed her. Nancy had obviously been tidying again. The woman had an aversion to spacing and each book was butted up to the edge, as well as being tightly packed in, making it virtually impossible to retrieve anything in order to use it but, more importantly now, it meant Juliette was unable to find a foothold.
So… climbing down isn’t an option, she huffed.
The door to the library gave the familiar high-pitched squeak as it was pushed open and Juliette closed her eyes. She couldn’t see the door from where she was, but she prayed it wasn’t one of the obnoxious new caretaking team she’d encountered in recent weeks. If it was, she could be sure this would all end up on YouTube with a gazillion views, meaning she wouldn’t dare show her face in public again.
She held her breath for a moment and listened intently for noises that would indicate the identity of the visitor.
When none came, she opened her eyes and cleared her throat. ‘Ahem… hello? Who’s there, please?’ she shouted with as much dignity as her situation would allow.
There was a pause and then, ‘Erm… It’s Laurie… erm Professor Fairhurst… Laurence.’
Oh shitty, shitty, shit. It just had to be him, didn’t it?
She had nursed a secret crush on the gorgeous, yet shy, man since the day she had started work at the university a year before and first laid eyes on him. The resemblance he bore to Superman from the DC movies wasn’t lost on her. She had noticed the lack of a wedding ring and had tried on so many occasions to pluck up the courage to speak to him; to actually have a conversation that wasn’t work-related. But, up to that point, the courage she sought had evaded her. And, much to her dismay, their relationship had been solely based on professional politeness and courtesy when he came to sign out a research book for his latest thesis.
She squeezed her eyes shut again and she called out, ‘Professor Fairhurst, it’s Juliette, I’m one of the librarians?’ – in case he didn’t remember her – ‘This is rather embarrassing, but… could you possibly come to the Law Reference section, please? I’m in a bit of a pickle.’
‘Sure! On my way.’ From the speed of his footsteps, he’d evidently sensed the urgency in her voice.
A couple of seconds later, she opened her eyes and turned her head slowly to find the handsome English professor staring up at her in bemusement. As always, he was immaculately presented in a tweed jacket, pressed shirt and co-ordinating tie, smart trousers and matching waistcoat. His dark hair was parted to the side and swept back in that Clark Kent way, and she tried her best not to swoon.
He shook his head. ‘How… I mean… why?’ From the way he held his hand over his mouth, it was clear he was trying not to laugh. Great. ‘Hang on, am I supposed to recite Shakespeare to you at this point, Juliette?’ He gave into the laughter he’d been holding back.
Anger flared inside her and her cheeks, by now, she guessed, would be a delightful shade of scarlet. ‘It’s not a laughing matter, Professor Fairhurst,’ she snapped.
His face squirmed and contorted into an expression of solemnity. ‘No, no, you’re right. I apologise. And, please, call me Laurence. Now, what exactly has happened?’
‘Well, Laurence, I think the ladder fixing is broken. The ladder fell when I reached across to grasp it and…’ She didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Laurence dashed to the offending article and lifted it up to rest beside her, but the top section was broken in two. ‘Ah, yes. It appears to have broken further in the fall. We can’t risk you climbing on it. Okay…’
Juliette prayed that her footless tights were not the ones with the hole under her left buttock that she’d meant to throw out. If they were, the Professor was getting an eyeful.
He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then scratched his chin and glanced at his surroundings, seemingly trying to formulate a plan. ‘Right. Okay…’ He returned his attention to her and pursed his lips as he appraised her, hanging there.
She was on the verge of pointing out the fact that time was of the essence when he spoke again.
‘You’re quite small, really, which means I can easily catch you… I’m… I’m pretty sure I can.’
Juliette scowled down at him, and with a distinct wobble to her voice, she said, ‘In spite of your positive assertion, the delivery of it leads me to believe the contrary.’
He squared his broad shoulders and took a wide, arms-open stance beneath her. ‘No, no, I can do it. Just be sure to push off the shelf so you don’t hit yourself on the way down. I’m ready when you are.’
She gulped. ‘If anything… you know… bad happens, my diary and my phone are in my bag, which is under the main desk. My emergency contacts are in both.’
‘Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.’
She peered down at him and saw sincerity in his beautiful eyes. Eyes that she had longed to gaze into ever since she first laid hers on him.
He smiled. ‘I promise I won’t tell everyone you fell for me.’ His smile turned into a grin, but it quickly disappeared as if he realised he had been rather inappropriate. ‘I mean… I didn’t…’ He appeared to be scrabbling around his mind for the words to undo his comment and blurted, ‘I’ll take you to the refectory for a cake when you’re down here, shall I?’ His colour drained, telling her he felt he’d made the situation worse. ‘I-I only mean because sugar helps with shock, I-I’ve been led to believe.’
Her heart melted at his awkwardness and she thought to herself. You can tell everyone I’ve fallen for you… it is the truth, after all. Instead, she said, ‘I’m holding you to that offer of cake,’ in the hope it would let him know she wasn’t offended.
‘Great. I’m quite partial to death by chocolate.’ He cringed again and she guessed it was at his mention of death. He clearly chose not to dwell on his faux pas. ‘Now, come on, before they run out.’
She nodded with determination. ‘Okay. I’m letting go now.’ She took a deep breath and released her grip on the shelves…
1
EIGHT YEARS LATER
Why the hell didn’t I drive into town? Why the hell did I come in the first place? Stupid, stupid woman. Why didn’t I realise going on a date was a mistake of epic proportions? Juliette pondered the answers to these and many other questions as she hid in the alleyway beside the upmarket restaurant.
She’d given up wiping at her eyes now. The icy rain that battered against her skin mingled with her tears so no one would even realise she was crying. Not that anyone could see her. The walls surrounding her were shielding her from public view but doing nothing to protect her from the deluge. For goodness sake, she couldn’t even hide properly.
Every time she thought of the confused expression on Peter’s face, and the way he glanced around in embarrassment as she completely lost it, her own face crumpled again. What the hell must he have thought? The poor, poor man. He hadn’t asked to date a neurotic, snivelling loony. He hadn’t asked for his date to freak out before the food was even ordered. But, then again, Juliette hadn’t asked to be a widow at the age of thirty-four.
A breeze whipped its way down the alley, curling around her bare legs, causing her to wrap her arms tighter around her body and ruffling her freshly straightened, mousy brown hair.
So much for spring.
Earlier in the evening, she had stood before her full-length mirror, but the reflection staring back was one she hardly recognised. Gone were the curves she had owned proudly when Laurie was with her. Gone were the bright eyes filled with hope and happiness. Now she was gaunt, pale and clothing that had once clung in all the right places hung shapelessly from her fragile-looking frame.
As she had riffled through her wardrobe, the only thing that had seemed suitable for a night out was her little flimsy summer dress. It hadn’t appeared to be such a problem when the sunshine had cast a merry gleam over everything outside her bedroom window. Her long, natural waves had been tamed with a straightening iron and she had even applied a little blush and lip gloss to detract from the bizarre glow her almost translucent skin cast.
‘I look like a bloody vampire,’ she had whinged as she stared into the eyes of the woman in the mirror.
