The Antique Map Fair – Part 2: The Framed Coast

Moira returned to the fair on Saturday, in her best coat, with a flask of tea and a plate of her own shortbread, slightly burnt. The stall had been tidied. The map hung in the middle of the back wall, under glass, in a simple oak frame, with a small brass plate on the bottom: Achnasheen, number four.

"It is beautiful," she said.

"It is correct," said Hamish. "The frame is only an excuse."

"Where did you find the oak?"

"The same place I found you," said Hamish. "A church."

She laughed, and handed him a piece of shortbread. He took a bite and winced.

"It is a little crisp."

"It is a lot crisp."

"It is the best shortbread I have tasted in four years," said Hamish, and ate the rest.

They sat on the folding chairs as the fair emptied around them. The afternoon light fell through the high windows in long gold bars, and the dust turned slowly in the air.

"You owe me a story," said Moira.

"I do." Hamish turned his cup in his hands. "My wife died four years ago. She loved maps more than I did. She used to say that every line was a promise someone had kept. Since she died, I have sold maps for stories because I do not like silence in the shop."

Moira's throat tightened. She reached out and laid her hand over his.

"I am sorry."

"Do not be. It is a good story. It has you in it now."

She smiled, and her eyes were wet. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Would you come to Achnasheen with me? In the spring. There is nothing left but the pier, but I would like to stand where the house was, with the map in my hand."

"Yes," said Hamish, at once. "I would like that very much. Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Would you let me hold the map? Only on the train. I am terribly afraid of losing it."

"Yes," said Moira, laughing. "But I will hold the tea."

"Can I kiss you?" asked Hamish, very softly. "Here, behind the stall, where nobody is looking?"

"Yes," said Moira. "And if I say stop, you have to eat my shortbread without complaining."

"That is a harsh penalty," said Hamish, and leaned in.

He kissed her gently, his hand rising to her cheek, cool and papery and kind. The kiss tasted of tea and sugar, slow and sure. Outside, a church bell rang faintly across the grey stone city.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Moira. "Very green. Now put the kettle on, Hamish. We have a train to plan."

"I will bring the map," said Hamish.

"And the shortbread," said Moira.

"Only if it is burnt," said Hamish, and went to fill the urn.