Page 12 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Both my parents did mention Gran’s letter and her valuable crockery stash on several more occasions, but I brushed it off. The thought of running my own business triggered flurries of panic and pessimism. It just wasn’t realistic to think that someone with my lack of experience could run a business of their own.

Friday arrived in a fanfare of phone calls, emails waiting for replies and plenty of preparation ahead of Saturday’s Bollywood-inspired wedding which I was looking forward to.

The couple whose wedding it was, Nina and Dev, had been a delight to work with over the past twelve months and it was such a joy to see the fruits of my organisational labours when they were appreciated. Then I had Sunday off again.

I had planned to do very little, except sleep, eat and catch up with Money Heist on Netflix, although I did mention to Mum and Dad that I would be available for giving them a hand with more sorting of Gran’s house. There was no way I was prepared to let Mum deal with the emotional fall-out from that and not be around.

Mum had insisted I relax. “Me and your dad can deal with things. You need a break, lovey. Recharge your batteries.”

But I had already decided that if they needed me, I would be there, despite Mum’s protestations.

On Friday morning, I parked up in the humble employee car park at Castle Marrian, with the usual array of Lamborghinis, Porsches and Aston Martins, glossy and glinting in the lemon sunlight from the guest car parking area.

I had only got as far as the theatrical display of spring flowers of creamy roses, lemon-sorbet tulips and indigo irises inside the grand entrance, when Carrie, one of the receptionists on duty, came hurrying towards me.

“Morning, Carrie. How’s things and how is that gorgeous little boy of yours?”

Her pretty, elfin face was carrying concern. She hesitated, failing to make eye contact. “Morning, Sophie. Carter is great, thanks. He’s obsessed with tigers at the moment.” She shifted from foot to foot. “Look, you should know Taylor McKendrick is here to see you.”

I was aware of a couple of smartly dressed guests meandering past, morning newspapers thrust under their arms.

This was a surprise. Taylor McKendrick was head of HR at The Marrian Hotel Group.

She was feared and admired in equal measure. She also didn’t conduct courtesy calls. If she ever did show up unannounced, it was never a positive sign. A squiggle of nerves invaded my stomach. Had I done something to upset management? I wasn’t aware that I’d done anything illegal, immoral or underhand. I searched my mind for a clue but couldn’t think of anything. “Oh. Right. Did she say what it’s about?”

Carrie shook her halo of brunette curls, but I could read the unsaid apprehension in her hazel eyes. She dropped her voice. “She’s waiting in your office. I took her a coffee five minutes ago.”

“Hopefully with lots of sugar in it,” I remarked, trying to play down my growing concern with a smile. “She could do with sweetening up.”

I thanked Carrie for the heads-up and for supplying Taylor with a coffee, and clipped over the polished toffee-and-white tiled floor of reception and down towards my office. The sound of mesmerising harp music emerged from the spa, together with the scent of lime candles and essential oil.

What did Taylor McKendrick want? And why turn up unexpectedly to see me, first thing on a Friday morning?

My kernel of concern grew. I wasn’t aware of committing any heinous crime, but …

Oh, stop it, Sophie! You’re catastrophising!

I reached my office door, making out the long, angular shape of Taylor McKendrick through the frosted panel of glass.

I raised my hand and then felt an utter idiot. Hang on! It was my office. I didn’t need to knock!

This was the effect this woman had on most people. One look and you folded in on yourself and became a gibbering wreck.

I straightened my back and smoothed my swish of ponytail. I arranged my mouth into what I hoped was a warm but professional smile.

I pushed open my office door to see Taylor sitting poised and clasping the cup of freshly brewed coffee Carrie had made for her. She was all glossy red pointed heels and severe peroxide bob. She coiled upwards out of her chair. “Sophie. You’re looking well.”

I knew this was a lie. I had craters under my eyes from the long hours I’d been working and a washed-out tinge to my complexion. “Thanks, Taylor. As are you.”

Feeling her studious gaze on me, I was about to slip off my tailored jacket and then thought better of it, deciding I looked more professional with it on.

I slid behind my desk, feeling like an awkward teenager who was too long for her limbs.

“So how are things at Head Office in Glasgow?” I asked her.

There was a measured look. “All is well, thanks.”

Then why are you here to see me?