Whisky Magazine Issue 2
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The story so far at our fictional distillery: under the new ownership Andrew had to reapply for his own job. Ruth has informed Andrew of the discovery of several casks of pre-war whisky in an old cellar at the distillery. Earlier; a lorryload of Glenweevil was stolen. Now read on...
Andrew here. Or ‘Andy', as our new English owners apparently prefer to call me. ‘Hi, Andy,' said this slip of a girl, arriving from the airport with the rest of them. ‘Remember me? I'm Virginia. You've forgotten, haven't you? I was a distillery guide, you can't have forgotten me. Three years ago, when I was a student. Talking of which, didn't we pass Ruthie on the way? She was wearing dark glasses, so I wasn't sure if it was her. Imagine, dark glasses in this weather.'
‘She has a lot of late nights,' I said.
‘Anyway,' she said, putting a confidential hand on my shoulder, ‘I thought this would be a good chance to have our little chat.'
‘What is “our little chat”?' I asked.
‘Um, you know, just a talk about your future, that sort of thing.'
‘You mean my interview. I take it this is a joke. You mean I'm to be interviewed for my own job by someone who worked here as a distillery guide three years ago?'
‘We don't really use the word “interview” these days, Andy. It's so, you know, formal. We're people people.' She suddenly went rather white. ‘Christ, who's that?'
‘That'll be Kevin,' I said. ‘Ruth's son.' Kevin was here yesterday, as well. He is a youth of unattractive aspect. Whenever he saw me he scowled and muttered something about having thought something was ‘effing videos, not effing whisky'. I don't know what he meant.
Roger glided over. He was wearing a tartan tie. ‘First time in Scotland?' I said.
‘Come from the car indus...