Page 41 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Greg jerked his head towards the picture. “Faith doesn’t want to get involved with a single parent.” He sank dejectedly into his black swivel chair.

“No, that isn’t it at all. Up until now, Faith has had some serious commitment issues.”

Greg looked thoughtful. He gestured for me to sit down in the chair opposite.

I hoped I was expressing myself clearly enough. “That’s why she’s acting a bit weird about all this,” I went on. “It’s because she really likes you. She’s worried in case things go wrong between you and Sam gets hurt too.”

Greg rubbed at his clean-shaven chin. “It just seems to me like a whole raft of excuses.”

“It isn’t,” I insisted. “Since she stopped seeing you, Faith hasn’t been herself at all.”

My fingers reached for my bangle while I carried on talking. “She’s been so much more subdued and unhappy since you guys called it a day.”

Greg eyed me across the desk. “I didn’t call anything off, Layla. It was all her.” He shook his blond head, making his quiff tremble. “I think things are best left as they are.”

“Even though you really like her too?”

His jaw set. “Sam and I are a team.”

“And Faith knows that,” I stressed. I got to my feet, feeling dejected.

Was it worth one more shot?

I moved towards the office door, the wooden floor creaking underneath my trainers. “Maybe you should have stressed to Faith that it’s not only you who is prepared to take a chance on her?”

Greg frowned across at me. “What do you mean?”

I nodded over at the sunny smiling photograph of Greg and Sam. “You’re a team, remember?”

I pulled open the door and hesitated for a moment in the doorway. “Thanks for seeing me.”

Chapter Nineteen

Heather bounded out of her house and towards my car the next morning, like a gorgeous teenage puppy on steroids.

She was wearing her pale blonde hair in a French plait and was sporting diamante-studded cropped jeans, but it was the white, V-necked T-shirt, emblazoned with the word ‘Mask’ and a pair of eyes underneath, that made me smile.

Heather yanked open the passenger door. “Do you like it?” she gushed, pointing one pink nail at her T-shirt. “I had it printed up in Glasgow.”

I watched her eagerly settle herself.

“I hope you aren’t going to be disappointed,” I cautioned her. “These might just be all rumours about him living in old Tavish’s cottage.” I twisted round in the driver’s seat and smiled kindly.

Heather shook her head so ferociously, I thought she would give herself a migraine. I watched her fasten her seat belt. “Amy in my English class, well, her dad is an estate agent with that posh firm in town. He couldn’t tell her for definite – something to do with confidentiality – but he wouldn’t deny it either.”

She flapped her hands. “Amy only told me and we’ve tried to keep it quiet, otherwise Loch Harris will be overrun with his fans.”

I swung the car away from the string of cottages.

“I am SO excited,” she bubbled. “What a way to spend Saturday morning! Does my hair look OK? Do you think we’ll get to speak to him? I wasn’t sure about these trainers…”

She waggled her feet.

Recollections of my heart-wrenching crush on Johnny Depp at her tender age came flooding back. The teenage angst and the fluctuating emotions of despair one minute at the realisation of never meeting him, followed by soaring admiration the next.

“You look lovely,” I assured her. “But I don’t have to tell you that if the stories are anything to go by, Mask won’t be inviting us in for a cuppa and a slice of cake.”

Heather looked crestfallen. “No. I suppose you’re right.”