Page 8 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I tried not to focus on Mac’s pale oak casket through the polished glass of the hearse.

He had never been a hearts and flowers type of person, and considering he had been having sex with Hannah when his heart gave out, I hadn’t had the urge to spend lots of money on a lavish wreath for him.

Dad had joked darkly that he could lay his hands on a “bloody great clump of giant hogweed”, and although rather tempting, I decided in the end to go for a simple, circular wreath decorated with purple and lilac flowers that included liatris, freesias and tulips.

The florist had interwoven it with lime green eucalyptus and aspidistra.

My floral tribute was seated at the front of Mac’s casket, with a riot of white and yellow lilies, tied with navy and green tartan ribbon, positioned on the other side. Its trumpet-shaped blooms were pressing against the window and almost obliterated the view of Mac’s casket from that side.

I could guess who that ostentatious display was from.

Sat beside my floral tribute was one from Lois, Mac’s sister. She had opted for an open book, crafted from yellow and white carnations, altogether a more modest and tasteful affair.

I could see myself reflected in the hearse glass, all pressed-together lips and wide eyes.

“Layla!”

Lois rushed towards me, her pale face etched with relief at seeing someone she recognised. She gathered me into her arms. Then she took a step backwards in her black kitten heels. She clutched both my hands in hers. “How are you bearing up?”

My brow furrowed. “I honestly don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She offered greetings to Faith and Dad who were standing behind me. “I think nearly all these people are Mac’s literary associates.”

“Well, not quite all,” I observed, indicating Hannah who was holding court amongst a small group.

Lois narrowed her dark eyes. “Oh, her! I’m so sorry she’s here. I didn’t want her to come but—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted. “Well, that’s a lie. It’s not fine, but she was his wife for twenty-four years.” I swallowed a ball of resentment. “And she was with Mac at the end. Well, under him at least. Or maybe she was on top? Who knows…”

My voice splintered and Dad pulled me into a fierce hug. “Don’t go there, darling. It’s not worth it.”

Faith nodded beside me. “Harry’s right … Oh shit. Cruella is coming over.”

Hannah was stalking across the gravel, parting the fellow mourners like a praying mantis in a black velvet trouser suit, needle-thin heels, and a Missoni hat. It was decorated with a silk crochet scarf of gold and turquoise that fluttered out behind her as she moved.

I could feel my jaw tightening.

“Hello Layla,” she murmured, through a slash of red lipstick.

I inclined my head. “Hannah.”

“I think we should go in for the service now,” ground out Faith as she delivered a swift glare at Mac’s ex-wife.

Dad took me by the arm but I gently unfurled his fingers from my sleeve. “Why?” I asked her. “Why get engaged to me if he was still hankering after you?”

Lois, Faith, and Dad swivelled their icy attention to Hannah.

Hannah’s ruby nails clutched at her tasselled purse. “He loved you in his own way,” she rasped in theatrical tones. “He really did. But I was an itch that Mac still needed to scratch.”

“Oh please,” burst out Faith, taking a protective step in front of me. “Spare us all the old clichés.”

“It’s the truth,” insisted Hannah. “Mac loved being seen with a much younger woman. It boosted his ego. But when it came to a meeting of minds—”

“So that’s what happened last week,” snorted my dad, folding his arms. “You and Mac were having an intellectual debate when he keeled over.”

Hannah fidgeted. “You know that isn’t what happened.”