32. Elizabeth, Lighthouse Point“There! Right here.” Ghisèle nervously shakes the small hammer in her hand.
“The dent can’t be too deep,” adds Elizabeth.
I can’t believe that she’s really going to put a dent in a brand new still, thinks Ghisèle.
“How do you know it’s just there? Even if it’s the right spot, what makes you so sure that it’ll improve the whisky instead of the opposite?”
Elizabeth only has a vague reply. “All the stills of the old Glen Dubh had this dent.”
“Were you there in 1920, when the distillery closed?”
“No, but …” Elizabeth would like to confide in Ghisèle. But her friend’s reaction would likely be worse than her present scepticism. “Pass me the hammer.”
Ghisèle sighs. Elizabeth, in spite of her unfathomable decisions, has succeeded up to now. They’ve had to wait
