Page 44 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Heather let out the biggest scream and grabbed onto my arm. She proceeded to bounce up and down, as if she was on a pogo stick. “Shhh!” I whispered. “Try and calm down a bit until we’ve spoken properly to him.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m opening a live music venue in Loch Harris and I was wondering if you would be agreeable to making a personal appearance…”

I squinted through the glass panes of the door. Realising I was doing my utmost to get a clearer look at him, he thrust his arm up and hitched a hood down over his features. Now it was impossible to make him out at all.

Bugger!

“I don’t do public appearances,” he answered shortly from the other side of the door. “I thought that was common knowledge. And you still haven’t told me why you were wandering around my garden.”

But Heather was too overcome to pick up on Mask’s irritation. “Your music is just so wonderful, Mask,” sighed Heather, slapping one hand against her heart. “I love the lyrics to ‘Refuse Me Nothing’. That’s my favourite.”

There was a momentary softening to his tone. “Er ... thank you.”

“Heather. My name’s Heather.”

“Thank you, Heather. That’s very kind of you.”

I pulled at her bare arm as she jumped on the spot. “Oh my God! He just said my name! Did you hear Mask say my name, Layla?”

“Yes, I did,” I hissed out of the corner of my mouth. “But I need to speak to him…”

“I can hear every word you say,” he barked, his demeanour behind the door like a winter chill. “I’m sorry but the answer is still no. I let my music speak for me and I don’t need to prance around on a stage to do that.”

My brain scrambled around for something persuasive to say. I couldn’t give up yet. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but this would be in support of a fledgling music venue… I could install a screen so you couldn’t be seen.”

The hooded figure leaned in a little closer to the glass. Heather and I exchanged charged glances and I found myself taking a step backwards.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Layla Devlin.”

“Well, Ms Devlin, I’m not a Punch and Judy puppet that bobs up every now and then.”

My optimism was plummeting to the floor. This was not going at all well. “Look, I’m very sorry we were in your garden uninvited, but it’s breathtaking and we couldn’t resist taking a closer look.”

“Thank you.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I’m honoured you approve of my horticultural abilities but the answer remains no. I will not appear live at your venue. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I watched his silhouette evaporate.

Heather let out a frustrated groan. “Oh, that’s just great. What now?”

“I don’t know that we can do anything else,” I admitted. “You heard what he said.” I jerked my head towards the front door of the cottage again. “It’s a pity. I listened to some of his songs the other night and they are beautiful.”

Heather sighed into the air. “He’s a true artist.”

I glanced over at the gushing ribbon of waterfall across the road and then up at the bank of clouds looming. “His music would have been the perfect fit for what I want – something a bit different, but with lots of heart.”

I raised my hands helplessly, allowing them to fall back down by my sides. “He might change his mind, but I very much doubt it. I think seeing us in his garden didn’t help.”

Heather folded her arms, making her series of bracelets jangle. “It’s such a shame.” We meandered back to my car.

“Yes,” I conceded, unlocking the car door. “I don’t think he realises how talented he is.”

I was too busy negotiating my car away from Coorie Cottage to realise that Mask had remained standing just a little further down his hallway – and had heard every word of our conversation.

There was a deflated mood in the car as I drove Heather back home.

“Well, at least we tried,” I said, clicking on the car radio.