Page 131 of A Secret Scottish Escape

My heart charged across my chest with pride. The five of them were all dressed in smart shirts and trousers.

Jack must have sensed Faith and me observing them, because he turned and said something to the rest of the guys. They all switched their attention towards us and delivered enthusiastic compliments about both our outfits.

“You lot have scrubbed up nicely,” I teased. “I almost didn’t recognise any of you.”

“Thanks very much,” joked Mikey. “The same could be said for you, young lady.”

My staff were flitting about, just blurs of smart black in their outfits, as they made sure the tables and chairs were lit with the tealights and that each table was adorned with a drinks and snacks menu.

Through the patio doors at the rear of the boathouse, the flicker of lights on the external tables was like a line of dancing fairies.

Faith and I made our way back outside and began heading for the marquee. But she drew up suddenly, her creamy skin blossoming into a fetching shade of baby pink.

I didn’t have to turn around; I knew who was making her blush.

When I did turn, I grinned. Greg was walking up the shale path, all suited and booted in steel grey, with Sam galloping ahead of him in a smart little waistcoat, matching trousers, and a sky-blue shirt.

“Doesn’t he look adorable?” cooed Faith to me out of the corner of her mouth.

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

I pecked Greg on the cheek and thanked him for his help earlier. Then I ruffled Sam’s crown of golden hair and left them to it.

The sky was crisp and welcoming – a stunning evening in Scotland, when the hills appeared to be shapeshifting under the lilac light.

I entered the marquee, to be greeted by trestle tables adorned with platters of Scottish salmon and cream cheese mini-bagels, crusty-bread sandwiches oozing with seafood, and an array of oatcakes topped with everything from plum tomatoes to mozzarella.

Beside that was another table, but this one was decorated with an array of mini-desserts, including raspberry cranachan and shortbread cookies, Scottish oaty walnut & raisin flapjacks and Scottish macaroon snowballs.

When Faith appeared with Greg and Sam, she did her best to encourage me to eat something by thrusting a plate and napkin under my nose, but I struggled.

I glanced down at my watch. It was almost 6 p.m. and time for the official opening of The Conch Club.

Faith followed me out of the marquee, and I recognised so many of the expectant faces gathering together outside the entrance. There was: Heather and her mum and dad, Alec and Pam; Molly, dressed in a full-length orange dress and colouring up every time she and Dad exchanged glances; Danielle from the tourist office with her boyfriend Josh; my dad’s assorted drinking buddies from the local watering holes; most of the local business people from Loch Harris; and of course, Jack, Stan, Mikey, and Ed.

Norrie and Clem were swigging their champagne amongst the throng too, and behind them I noticed Mac’s sister, Lois, who blew me a kiss and waved.

I made a gesture to indicate I’d speak to her in a few minutes.

Even David Murray, Mac’s solicitor, had accepted my invitation. He hovered close to Lois, making conversation with her and glancing approvingly around himself every so often.

I approached the steps of the boathouse and climbed up them carefully in my gold heels.

When I reached the top, I realised I was scanning the upturned smiling faces. Who are you looking for? whispered a mischievous voice inside my head. Rafe, perhaps?

I arranged my mouth into a smile.

Dad appeared behind me and gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

I opened my mouth, ready to welcome everyone on this Saturday evening in August with the scent of pine needles lacing the air, when I found myself muttering, “Oh shit. She’s here.”

Dad took a step closer. “Who?”

“Madame Guillotine. Mum.”

“Where?”