Page 7 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Dad’s freshly shaved jaw tightened. “I rang her and left several messages, but she hasn’t got back to me yet.”

“OK. Thanks.”

I turned back to the window, blinking.

I don’t know why I had even bothered to ask Dad such a stupid question. Of course she wouldn’t be at the funeral. No doubt she had many more pressing issues to deal with – like organising yet another of her charity lunches in some swanky London hotel.

What would it be this time? Raising money for traumatised hamsters? Highlighting the plight of the middle classes, who hadn’t had a holiday for three months?

I could feel resentment tightening in my chest as we approached the church. Pity Tina didn’t consider her own daughter a priority, or the funeral of her almost son-in-law.

She had only met him once, when I’d accompanied him on a book signing to London three months after we’d started dating, and Mum had insisted on meeting up for a bite of lunch afterwards.

I recalled the way she had openly flirted with him, dangling her strappy heel off the end of her foot and remarking in that raspy way of hers, “He’s far more my age than yours, darling!”

More painful reminders of Mac gripped me again, silly things that I took for granted – his languid, confident walk, the way he would bark with laughter at Monty Python…

What a bloody mess it all was.

We eased to a halt in front of the red scalloped porch and granite steps of Loch Harris church. They led up to a gothic oak door studded with two imposing Celtic crosses.

I flinched at the sight of the mourners dotted around the church entrance. They were hunched in conversation or milling around the cemetery in quiet contemplation, black coats flapping gently and the odd hat surfacing amongst the sea of heads.

I recognised the long and lean angles of Mac’s literary agent, Garth Keller, who was offering polite smiles to Mac’s fellow author friends and various members of his publicity team.

Mac’s parents had both passed away some years ago, so family members were in short supply, however, I was sure I’d glimpsed Mac’s younger sister, Lois. She was sporting a Spanish-style, black lacy affair on her head.

A glimmer of a flash made me shuffle forward in my seat. Dread pooled in my stomach. “Photographers.”

Dad jerked his head round and peered out of the rear windscreen. “There’s only a couple of them, love.”

“A couple is enough.”

Faith flapped her hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about them. Garth said he’ll take care of it.”

“Garth? So, you’ve spoken to him then?”

Faith offered me a smile. “I rang him a few days ago. I hope you don’t mind. Mac’s publicity team said a couple of reporters owe them a favour or two that they would call in.”

I blinked. “Is that why the details of Mac’s death seem to have been buried – if you’ll pardon the pun?”

Faith nodded, shooting my dad a glance. “I know Garth Keller can be an arrogant swine, but he has his uses.”

I jumped back as the driver materialised at my window and eased open the car door. I felt like a new-born fawn, all shaky legs and startled eyes. I gulped in the earthy scent of lavender heather and damp grass.

Dad and Faith emerged and stood either side of me, and I paused for a moment on the gravel. A shimmer of late morning sun was striking a helmet of sharply cut raven hair over by the church door.

Hannah.

I dropped my head and eyed the engagement ring on my left hand. “Why am I still wearing this bloody thing? It doesn’t mean anything. Not anymore.”

Dad slid his arm around my waist and gave me an affectionate squeeze. “There will be plenty of time for starting over. Just let’s get through today.” His grey eyes flickered over me. “Ready?”

I eased the ring from my finger. Its absence left behind the faintest trace of pale empty skin. Dad and Faith exchanged charged stares as they watched me fire open my quilted clutch bag and push the ring inside it.

“Now I am.”

Chapter Six