Page 5 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I ventured into our bedroom further down the hall, deliberately averting my gaze from our bed, with its coffee and cream covers and two vanilla-coloured scatter cushions. There was the faintest ticking noise from the alarm clock.

Lying on top of the white bedside cupboard on Mac’s side was his contacts book. “I knew it was in here,” I mumbled.

“What is?” pushed Dad, lingering in the doorway. “Look, darling, you’ve had a terrible shock. Why don’t you go for a lie-down and I’ll bring you a fresh cup of tea?”

I shook my head. “That’s the worst thing I could do. When I close my eyes, I just see them together.”

I rifled through the alphabetical pages until I came across Hannah’s mobile number under her new married name. A thought struck me. Not only was I wounded by all this, but her new husband Mark would be too.

But the selfish, furious part of me didn’t care.

Dad heaved a concerned sigh. “Layla. Think about this. It’s not really the right time—”

“So when will be the right time, Dad? You tell me when will be the right time to ask my fiancé’s ex-wife why he was in bed with her when he died?”

There was a weighty silence.

“My mobile is up on the mantelpiece,” I said to Faith, heading out into the hall. “Just by that photo.”

Faith hesitated for a moment before walking past me into the sitting room and reaching past the grinning picture of Mac. She handed the phone to me.

Mac’s gaze sprung out of the picture frame. He had such a ready smile. The lights of New York were popping behind him.

Ignoring the silent pleading of Dad and Faith, I set my phone down on the coffee table and rifled through the pages again until I located Hannah’s number. A ball twisted in my stomach at the sight of Mac’s spidery, dark handwriting.

My cheeks were hot and tear-stained. “Faith, you couldn’t make a fresh pot of tea please?”

She inclined her head, as if accepting defeat. “Of course I can, and I’m making you some buttered toast too. No arguments. You need to try and eat something.”

While the dial tone began ringing in my ear, Faith encouraged Dad to join her back in the kitchen. “Come on, Harry. Layla has made up her mind.”

Dad shot me a concerned look. “Oh, I can see that.”

I watched the pair of them meander back into the kitchen and begin pottering about with mugs. I knew they were worried, but ignoring what had happened wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all me.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sudden husky tones of Hannah bleating, “Hello?”

Chapter Four

“Hello?” she repeated again. “Who is this?”

“It’s me. Layla,” I said, as I began to pace.

“Layla,” she repeated in a flat tone.

I clung to the silence for a moment before a surge of resentment swept over me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the oval mirror above the fireplace and wished I hadn’t. I looked like a negative of the real me – pale with soulless eyes. I managed to force out the first few words that popped into my head. “You owe me an explanation.”

I needed to hear what had happened. I needed to hear it from Hannah.

“I don’t think now is the best time to discuss this,” she replied evenly.

Anger flared in my chest. “So, when would be the best time? How about over afternoon tea? Or would 3 p.m. next Wednesday suit you better?”

“There’s no need for sarcasm.”

My fingers clutched my mobile tighter to my ear. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me how I should be feeling right now.” I dragged a hand through my wayward hair. “I’ve just been told that my fiancé died while shagging his ex-wife. I think I win in the emotional stakes, don’t you?”

A cracking sob seeped down the line. I scrunched my eyes up tight and opened them again. Early afternoon sun was washing over my bare toes.