Page 2 of A Secret Scottish Escape

My dad, though a landscape gardener by trade, was very handy, and had transformed the dark wooden fitted cupboards we’d suffered with for years into the wash of palest lemon we had now, ably assisted by a few of his local tradesmen friends.

I had dotted several potted plants on the deep brown worktops, ranging from sprouts of heather to trailing ivy, stationed an old-fashioned yellow silk lamp in the corner, and chosen a stainless steel oven and fridge to replace our original white goods that had seen better days.

My bare feet slapped on the burnished wooden floor as I drifted from the cupboards to the fridge. Mac hadn’t returned my call. Maybe he hadn’t received my message?

I cranked open the fridge door, reaching for a loaf of seeded bread, smoked salmon, and some leafy salad.

A sharp knock at the front door managed to fight its way over the sound of Stevie Nicks singing about paper flowers.

Through the frosted glass, I could make out the shimmery silhouette of a tall man.

A grin broke out across my face.

“Mac,” I started, tugging at the handle. “Have you forgotten your key as well?”

I blinked several times at the sombre eyes of Tom, our local policeman.

A kind-faced policewoman, whom I didn’t recognise, lingered at his back.

Chapter Two

My fingers clawed at my engagement ring. “There must be some mistake.”

Tom laced his fingers together. “I’m so sorry, Layla.”

I lurched from the chair and paced up and down in front of the two concerned police officers. “No. I don’t believe this.”

They stared up at me from the sofa, empathy etched into their expressions.

“But none of this makes any sense,” I stammered, my mind careering in all directions. “Mac was meeting his agent in town. Why would he be in some hotel in Stirling?”

My heart felt like a cold lump sitting in my chest and the colours of my sitting room were beginning to swirl into a smudgy claret and grey haze.

Tom stood and patted me on the arm. His companion, who had introduced herself as Constable Emma Nicholson, gave me the briefest of sympathetic smiles. “I think you should take a seat, Layla.”

I stared at her for a moment before nodding slowly and lowering myself back into my armchair.

Emma glanced at Tom out of the corner of her eye. There was an embarrassed silence. “Mac wasn’t with his agent when he suffered the heart attack.”

My brows knitted together. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

Tom and Emma exchanged another brief look, which made my breath judder. What was going on?

“Mac collapsed in a room at the Brookman Hotel – and there was someone with him at the time.”

Tom’s words pierced me and the breath caught in my throat. “Are you trying to tell me he was with another woman?”

Emma’s pale blue eyes blinked. “Yes. Yes, he was.”

Tom dropped his light gaze to my wine-red carpet and then looked back up at me. “Mac was with Hannah Darley-Patrick.”

This was ridiculous. None of it was making sense. “No,” I struggled. “That can’t be right. She’s his ex-wife.”

Tom and his companion said nothing.

“What were they doing?” I rasped, silently chiding myself over the stupidity of my question.

There was yet more silence.