From the cover
1
May
You here for a wedding?" the driver asks, his cheery eyes focused on me and not on the tiny track we're careering up.
"No, no," I reply, as my fingers begin to ache from all the seat clenching they're having to do. He's got to be doing at least seventy.
"Aye, you're not dressed for a wedding," he agrees.
I look down at my shirt, self-consciousness pushing away fear for a moment. I'd bought a white silk shirt for sixty percent off from T.J. Maxx, but several hours into my journey I'd remembered that white silk shirts were only for rich people or anyone who liked doing laundry. The deal clincher for me, when buying clothing, is whether it will come out of the dryer like it's been ironed.
The car takes a sharp turn and the single lane thins to a ribbon before the woods clear completely and we drive through a simple iron gate fixed to two old stone pillars. Vast lawns rise slowly upward, and along the approach, rows of towering trees stretch their branches across to meet in a tunnel of crooked wood and leaves. Everything is sepia in the fog.
Ahead, the house comes into view, though in truth it looks more like a small castle. A gray-and-sandstone mother ship, with pointed turrets flanking the sides and an enormous staircase leading from the circular drive to the entrance. It's far grander than I'd imagined, but strangely bleak. I text Tim immediately.
I'm in a fucking gothic novel.
I'm pleased with my tone. Funny, irreverent, mysterious. I think about calling him to elaborate but I'm not entirely sure he'd get the joke. Tim isn't exactly well-read.
The car tires skid, jolting me back to the reality of the speeding vehicle. We are momentarily stuck as the tires spin hopelessly in the mud and the driver revs the engine. He switches gears and we thrust forward.
"Round the back there's a short road to the stables and cottages. And then a small car park," I say, double-checking the instructions on my phone.
"Staff entrance?" he questions, with a single raised eyebrow.
"Yup," I say, nodding, then stare wistfully out the window.
The back of the house is just as grand as but arguably more beautiful than the front. The ground drops away from a pebbled courtyard and rose garden down to a river, which I can hear but not see. The stables sit about a hundred meters to the side of the house, and the car pulls to a halt between them and a trio of small stone cottages. I look at the house, which is barely in view through a small grove of oaks.
The largest of the three cottages has wood smoke rising in pleasing spirals from the squat chimney, and there's a small slate-and-silver sign on the wooden door that I can just make out. staff only.
"This is it," I say, getting out and handing the driver 200 pounds in Scottish notes, trying not to wince as I say good-bye to all the money I had left in the world. "Thanks for the ride. Who knew you could get to the west coast in under one and a half hours from Inverness? It must be a world record."
He looks inordinately proud.
There are about a dozen cars in the car park, a white van, some four-wheel drives, a few of those big, black, expensive-looking SUVs, and a couple of golf carts-but still no humans. A dog barks once, far in the distance, the sound echoing ominously around the estate.
I feel my anxiety blossom into full nerves. This is it. The literal end of the road, and potentially the craziest thing I've done since walking out on that stupid West End play. Right before my first...
Narrator Emma Sidi performs this escape audiobook set in a resort in Scotland. Birdy Finch, at loose ends for the summer, impulsively decides to impersonate her best friend and take a job as a sommelier for an up-and-coming restaurant, despite knowing almost nothing about wine. She muddles her way through the job, avoiding near mishaps and tentatively starting a new romance. Sidi excels at projecting Birdy's emotional growth as the young woman begins to understand that her cavalier attitude toward the job and her friend could have serious consequences, though she does less well in voicing the various Scottish accents. Sidi's overall pleasing performance, however, cannot compensate for the unlikely premise that inexperienced Birdy could fool professional restaurateurs, food critics, and wine experts. C.B.L. � AudioFile 2021, Portland, Maine
