Page 24 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

I could hear an efficient tapping of his computer keyboard in the background.

“The Lichtenstein, Paragon and Josiah Spode were much sought after, especially by buyers in the States and Italy.” There was a dramatic pause. “So would you like me to tell you the total earned from our private auction?”

“Yes, please.”

I snatched up my notebook and pen and began writing. My pen froze on the page. That couldn’t be right. There seemed to be rather a lot of zeros. I took a sharp intake of breath. “Er … sorry. I don’t mean to sound rude, but are you sure that’s correct?”

I could sense Howard Thrall smiling down the line. “I can assure you that is correct. Those tea sets are a collector’s dream, Sophie. They’re rare and in excellent condition and, in the world of antiques, such items attract genuinely serious bidders. There was quite a squabble between two individuals in the end to secure them.”

I gazed down at the considerable amount I’d just scrawled in black ink. I fought to keep my voice level. “I only wish I knew where on earth my grandmother got them from. I always knew she had a collection, but nothing like this!”

I wouldn’t need anything like that amount of money to pump into the crockery shop. “I’ll give donations to at least a couple of Gran’s favourite charities,” I blurted out to a bemused Howard. “And then I’ll give some to my parents. The rest I will save for now, in case this shop idea turns out to be an unmitigated disaster.”

I could feel my cheeks stinging with red, as I remembered Howard’s role in all of this. “And of course, I’m not forgetting your commission.”

“I should hope not!” he said in faux indignation.

Howard confirmed he would arrange payment straight into the business bank account I had set up for the shop within the next five to seven working days and deduct his commission from that. “And don’t forget I’m on hand, should you have any queries about the value of any other tea sets that might come your way.”

“Thank you,” I sighed with relief. “That’s very comforting to know.”

We were about to hang up when he said, “Oh, and Sophie – about this new business of yours failing… It won’t happen.”

I unfurled my legs from underneath me. “I wish I had your confidence. What makes you say that?”

He laughed. “Because I sense you have too much of your grandmother in you.”

Chapter Eleven

The end of May passed in a hive of activity and the start of June saw the redecorating of the shop about to commence. Mum and I pushed up our sleeves, donned old clothes and wiped down the shelves and dusted and hoovered in preparation for Dad’s painter friends, Ally and Finn, to come in the following day and begin painting.

Finn had recommended his student artist son, who would be able to make me a new shop sign, and I gratefully accepted his offer.

I just couldn’t come up with a suitable name for the business! I had narrowed my preferred list of names down to four, but was still struggling to decide.

I had been browsing online and racking my brains, but without success so far.

Dad had joined Mum and me that morning. I’d noticed one of the sink taps in the staff toilet was leaking, so he set to work with his toolkit.

The sun was doing her best to struggle through a gauze of cloud and the main street saw a few quizzical faces wavering behind the bottle glass of the shop window, as they strolled past and had a peer in.

I emptied the hoover into one of the bin bags and stretched.

I was sure I could still detect the faint fragrance of tea roses from when my shop was in its previous guise as a florist.

My shop.

I was still struggling to process this a lot of the time.

“So, Mum, you don’t know why Gran was so insistent on this shop, rather than Hair Apparent?”

“You’ve asked me that already. I have no idea.” She rolled her eyes. “Your grandmother was a law unto herself.”

I wondered whether this place brought back happy memories for her or had a connection in some way to the family. But sadly, I would never know for sure.

“Right,” I exclaimed, planting my hands on my hips. “It’s almost lunchtime. How about I pop up to the baker’s and get us a sandwich?”

At the mention of food, my overall-clad father appeared from the back, a spanner glinting in his hand. “Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”