Page 74 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Mask

My eyes scanned his writing again, picking up on the sincere brevity of his words.

I refolded the paper and slid it back into its envelope. Then I leaned it back against my vase.

I still suspected something had taken place up at Coorie Cottage the other night. It must have. Why was he so defensive about it if it had been an innocent misunderstanding?

And what was that strange guilt comment he had made just now, before he realised what he was saying and closed himself off again?

My imagination was halted by the melodic trill of my mobile. Faith’s warm grin appeared on my screen. “So how did it go with Harry and Ed?”

“Horribly. He clammed up, quit the band, and stormed off.”

Faith was every bit as sympathetic as I expected. “He might change his mind – Ed, I mean. It’s bound to have come as a shock for him too, finding out you might be his daughter.”

I set my mouth into a firm line. “Well, Faith, I’m determined to change his mind for him. I know I can’t force him back with the band, but I’m not intending to give up yet.”

“I also had a visit from Mask. He was here when I arrived home, leaving me a note. I invited him in but it all went badly.”

Faith listened as I shared the details, interjecting with her usual murmurs and noises of understanding.

“Maybe I offended him,” I suggested, biting my lip. “When he got up all of a sudden and shot off, I felt so embarrassed.”

“Sounds like he was the embarrassed one,” Faith pointed out. “He was obviously hoping you wouldn’t be there.” She paused. “I don’t know anything about him,” ventured Faith, “but it sounds to me as though he might be trying to deal with one or two issues, especially when you consider that he hides himself away up by Galen Waterfall all the time. I don’t mean to sound harsh, lovely, but what with Mac’s death, The Conch Club, and now the Harry and Ed situation, you really have more than enough to deal with right now.”

She dropped her voice a little lower, allowing me to detect the faint sound of a Spanish gentleman enquiring about hiking maps of the area and a chirping telephone in the tourist office background. “Whatever is going on up at Coorie Cottage isn’t your responsibility, Layla.”

I opened my mouth to speak again, but a third voice interrupted down the line and addressed Faith in almost apologetic tones.

“I should let you go,” I said. “I don’t want you getting into trouble at work because of me.”

There was a stony silence, followed by Faith muttering to the disembodied, female voice. Then she turned her attention back to me, apologetic. “Sorry about that. You forget I’m the office manager, so I can’t reprimand myself, can I?”

I smiled to myself.

Faith’s voice was carrying an element of excitement. “OK, so that was Danielle telling me that an Australian woman came in here first thing this morning, just before I started my shift, asking all sorts of questions about Coorie Cottage and its new occupier.”

I sat up a little straighter. “What sort of questions?”

There were a few more murmured exchanges between Faith and Danielle, which I was struggling to make out.

Faith then spoke to me again. “Danielle says she had a pretty aggressive attitude. She wanted to know if Mask was seen a lot in the village and what the locals thought of him, that kind of thing.”

A thought struck me. “Do you think she could be a journalist?”

“That’s what I wondered too, but Danielle said she was certain she wasn’t. She didn’t introduce herself as one either, although that might have been deliberate. Oh, I wish I hadn’t told you now,” she groaned, trepidation dawning in her husky voice. “I can hear your spidey senses tingling from here.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured her insincerely. “I’ve got to concentrate on The Conch Club.”

Faith made a snorting sound. “Yeah, right. Why don’t I believe you? You’ve always been a terrible actress, Layla Devlin.”

Sure enough, for the rest of the day, I couldn’t help but wonder about this mysterious Australian woman and what connection she might have to Mask.

Was she the one he had confronted up at Coorie Cottage the other evening?

Chapter Thirty-Six

I was slumped on the sofa nibbling on a bar of dark chocolate but not savouring its bitter, delectable taste like I usually did.