Page 43 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I gave the letterbox a second louder rattle.

Still, the cottage was shrouded in silence, and the only noise we could hear was the odd car trundling behind us on the road and the insistent splash of Galen Waterfall.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

Heather groaned and indicated her T-shirt. “This was a right waste of bloody time. I could’ve spent that money on a new pair of trainers for what I paid for this.”

Trying to cast off my disappointment (although to be honest, I wasn’t rightly sure what I had expected) I started back towards my car, with Heather trudging behind me.

“Oh my God! Layla, come and see this!”

I twisted round to see Heather pointing to the back of the cottage. “Dad’s friend was right about the garden. It’s gorgeous!”

Pushing my car keys into my back pocket, I followed her. “Look, maybe we should leave. If he’s in, it’s not going to look too good if he sees two strangers prowling around…” I drew up behind Heather, my mouth slipping open. “Wow.”

It was difficult to know where to look first. Spread out like a palette of bright paint were peony flowers in baby pink and a magnolia, boasting rich butterscotch petals.

Beside those, meconopsis blooms in the prettiest shade of powder blue stretched outwards from the manicured beds. They were like electric poppies, with large saucer-shape petals.

To the right of a clump of sorbet-yellow daffodils was a section of bog myrtle which, when crushed up, delivers a delicious citrusy scent.

My overwhelmed eyes were drawn to the flower bed opposite, where a cluster of black and white dwarf cornel fluttered their veined leaves. They were accompanied by a cushion of pale lilac moss campion that reminded me of butterflies.

Two trees stood further down the freshly cut lime-green lawn. “That’s a sessile oak, like the Birnam Oak,” I explained to Heather, indicating its long tentacle branches spreading outwards, “and the one opposite it is a sycamore.”

I twisted round. “Until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane hill shall—”

Heather frowned. “What?”

“It’s a quote from Macbeth. You know, William Shakespeare.”

“Oh yeah. Right.”

I inwardly rolled my eyes.

Behind the two trees sat an herbaceous border groaning with blood-red hollyhocks and white foxgloves. They were surrounded by a sea of gold and tangerine heleniums with velvety petals which were reminiscent of daisies.

It was a masterclass of juxtaposed shapes, colours, and textures, all reaching a climax along a short grey stone path. It was as if a child had gathered all the shades of the rainbow and thrown them haphazardly together.

“It’s like something out of a painting,” breathed Heather in admiration.

I could smell the spicy, sweet aroma of oregano and the bitter liquorice of fennel, mingling with the buttery perfume of the blooms. “It’s beautiful,” I agreed. “All of it.”

I turned to Heather and jerked my head. “Look, I could stay here all day as well, but I really don’t think that’s a good idea. How about we come back another day? Hopefully, there will be someone at home.”

Heather’s blonde plait jerked with frustration. Her mouth turned down at the corners. “OK. Let’s go.”

We got back to my car and I was just unlocking the door when a deep voice stopped us, booming through the front door. “Who the hell are you? And why were you prowling around my garden?”

Heather and I froze for a moment, thrown by the realisation that there was somebody at home after all. We spun around at the same time.

A tall silhouette was just visible through the pane of frosted glass.

I straightened my back and pinned on a rictus smile. I felt like a child who had been caught with her hand in a jar of Jelly Babies. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we were looking for…” My words were interrupted by the thrilled bubble of Heather, who gushed, “We’re looking for the musician Mask.”

She bounded towards the shadowy, dark figure behind the door. “Is that you?”

There was a pause that seemed to last for an eternity. “Yes. But what do you want?” he growled in an Australian accent.