Page 4 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Once Tom and Emma had departed my cottage, I slumped against the front door.

My attention fell on my engagement ring. The rose-gold band seemed to grin up at me. It might as well have sprung from a Christmas cracker.

What had meant so much to me was now taking on a meaningless, cheap hue.

As Mac’s life had drained from him, he hadn’t been here in Loch Harris with me. He’d been thrashing about in a hotel bed with her.

Chapter Three

“I could kill him!” thundered Dad into his mug of tea.

Faith, my best friend, folded her arms. Her three gold bangles jangled together. “Well, something tells me that’s going to be rather tricky, Harry.”

“You know full well what I mean.”

When I emerged again from the bathroom, snuffling into a hankie and still sporting a face that resembled a melted waxwork, Dad and Faith dumped down their respective mugs of tea and rushed towards me.

I gazed past Faith’s shoulder, the grey and blue twists of the loch visible out of my kitchen window. “Why was he with her? What was he doing with Hannah when he was supposed to be meeting his agent?”

Faith shoved a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair back behind her ear. “There’ll be time to mull over all that later. Right now, you just need to focus on yourself.”

“But how can I? I’ve just found out that my fiancé died while he was shagging another woman! And not just any woman at that…”

My dad’s lips morphed into a hard line. I noticed he was wearing his favourite Pink Floyd T-shirt.

“Have you heard from her? The ex?” he asked.

I dabbed ineffectually at my eyes with a corner of my hankie. “Not yet, but I’m sure I will at some point.”

My dad and Faith exchanged wide-eyed glances. “You don’t have to speak to this Anna, if you don’t want to, love,” he said.

“At least not yet,” added Faith.

“Her name’s Hannah, Dad. And how can I not speak to her? She was the last person to see Mac.” A dry croak shot out of my mouth. “Well, I say see, but we all know what they were doing and it wasn’t a sodding crossword!”

Dad gathered me into his arms. He smelled of damp earth and there were faint traces of dirt under his fingernails.

I let out a series of heaving sobs, until I was able to take a few breaths. “You need a haircut,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

Dad’s chest lifted. “I was going for the rugged landscape gardener look.”

I jerked my head up and eyed his collar-length salt and pepper waves. “Actually,” I conceded, rubbing my red nose, “it does quite suit you.”

Dad’s arms tightened again around me. “You do know we’re both here for you, don’t you? Anything you need, you just have to ask.”

Visions of Mac’s hooded blue eyes drifted in and out of my mind. I reached up and kissed Dad on the cheek. “I know.”

Then I flinched as Hannah’s powdered and pointed expression interrupted me again. She refused to leave me alone. Everywhere I turned in the cottage, I could see her and Mac in bed, going at it like two battery-operated bunnies.

I made an attempt to gather myself together. I knew what Faith and Dad would say to my suggestion, but decided to air it anyway. As far as I was concerned, it was just putting off the inevitable. “Actually, there is something I need.”

“What is it?” asked Faith.

I swivelled my wet grey eyes on her. “I really do need to speak to Hannah. Now.”

Dad and Faith’s appalled expressions followed me out of my sitting room.

“What are you doing?” asked Faith gently. “What are you looking for?”