Page 103 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I let myself inside and clicked on the hall lamp, sinking down onto the carpet and yanking off my shoes. I had buggered things up spectacularly, charging up to Coorie Cottage with Tom like we were Batman and Robin.

What had I expected to achieve? Make a citizen’s arrest of that woman? Save the day? Have Mask sweep me into his arms?

Whoa.

I rocked back on the hall floor, staring at my boots lying in a tangled heap in front of me. Where the hell did that come from?

I was tired. I was emotional. I was bursting with apprehension over the opening of The Conch Club.

I balled my fists and rubbed at my eyes for a few seconds, only to flinch when my mobile chirruped in my bag. It was Dad.

“How did your date with Molly go?” I asked, pushing my voice into what I hoped was a normal range.

“Oh Layla.” I could hear him smiling into my ear. “She’s an amazing woman – gorgeous, funny, talented…”

I imagined his tanned face flushed with excitement and those pale grey eyes of his twinkling. “You’re on for a second date then?”

“You betcha,” enthused Dad. “I explained to her that the guys are coming back tomorrow for the weekend for another band rehearsal, but I’m taking her out on Monday night.”

He fell silent for a moment. “Are you OK, love?”

I sat up straighter in the hall. “Of course I am.” Crikey, he was good. I was certain I had drawn on all my best acting skills and yet Dad still sensed a certain reticence in my tone. Must be a superpower you are awarded when you become a parent.

“Well, as long as you’re sure,” said Dad, not sounding reassured. “You get to bed. I’m worried you’re taking on too much.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be me who says that to you?”

I couldn’t burden him with my woes. It wasn’t fair, especially as he was so happy. Dad hadn’t had a date for eons and I knew I would feel awful if I took the gloss off his wonderful evening with Molly.

I listened to him chuckle into my ear. “I think you might be onto something there.”

I wished him a good night and rang off. I paused for a few moments, gazing down at the blank black screen of my phone. Then I plopped it back into my bag.

Once I’d wriggled out of my top and trousers and tossed them into my wicker laundry basket, I threw on an old T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms.

I clattered about in my kitchen, the noise of the brewing kettle oddly comforting while I tried not to replay tonight’s events in my head. All I could see was the haunted edge in Mask’s eyes when he saw that mysterious woman.

Or was it horror that some previous crime from his past was finally catching up with him?

No. Surely not.

It couldn’t be true about Mask. I just wouldn’t accept it. She must have made some sort of serious mistake.

I swirled my camomile tea bag round and round in the mug, lost in a cobweb of thoughts and assumptions. But if she hadn’t been certain of what she was saying, why take a local reporter along with her?

I considered Shelley again. I had never heard of her at the local paper, nor seen a byline of hers in it.

I dumped the used tea bag in the bin before taking the mug into the sitting room. What the hell should I do? I wanted to know about Mask, didn’t I?

I just wish he’d felt he could have told me himself.

I fired up my computer, my fingers hovering over the black keyboard before I sat back for a moment in my swivel chair and stared at the screen.

Did I really want to do this?

I lowered my hands to touch the keys. How could I not do it? I had to see if I could find out anything about Mask’s past.

I steeled myself and tapped the name ‘Rafe Buchanan’ into the search engine.