Page 32 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

He wasn’t what I was expecting.

I had envisaged Xander North as a crumbly older man, carrying a stick and wearing a cravat – perhaps a stately, mature gentleman with a handlebar moustache and a polka-dot handkerchief sticking out of his suit pocket. In reality, he was a towering, intense man in his late thirties, with a sweep of thick, dark hair and a scowl. The arch of his black brows was intimidating. There was no cravat either. Instead, he was dressed in an open-necked white shirt and a well-cut navy suit.

I stood there, lacing and unlacing my fingers. Oh God. He must have heard my dire James Bond impersonation. My cheeks flared with embarrassment. I was struggling to look him in the face.

I cleared my throat and extended one hand. “Sophie Harkness. It’s good to meet you.”

He took my hand in his and gave it a brief, but professional shake. Sarcasm dripped from his words. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

My skin cringed. No. Not at all. You were just watching me make an utter tit of myself.

“No,” I insisted. I pushed my mouth into what I hoped was an easy smile. “Would you like a tea or coffee…?”

He glanced down at his chunky watch with an air of impatience. “No, thank you. I am rather pressed for time. If I could see the tea set for myself, please.”

I blinked at his crisp attitude. “Yes. Of course.”

I indicated for Xander North to follow me through the shop towards the counter. My skin still crawling with embarrassment, I closed my eyes for a few seconds as I stalked ahead of him to retrieve the tea set. He must have thought I was a right muppet!

Ally and Finn took this as their cue to disappear up to the bakers for more fresh coffee and brunch.

I bent down and eased the case from the shelf and set it out on the counter. I flicked the lock and it opened up, to reveal the crockery set, all blues, greens and golds, glowing out of their respective compartments.

I risked a brief look at Xander North beside me. He made an appreciative murmur and examined the different shades, as they winked under the June sunshine pinpricking its way through the shop windows. He took one long, tapered finger and gestured to one of the teacups. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He eased it out of its setting in the black velvet surround and turned it this way and that. His arched brows rose and fell as he examined it. He turned it upside down. I noticed him studying the bottom of the cup. “And Howard tells me this set was just handed over to you?”

“Yes. A smartly dressed older woman came in here, thrust it at me and then left. She didn’t leave any contact details.”

I glanced up at him again. His profile was all sharp angles, a hawkish nose and powerful jaw.

The silence was palpable. Did he know who might have crafted it? If so, he wasn’t giving much away.

Xander North twisted the cup around again in his hand, before up righting it. “It’s strange,” he murmured, his anglified accent infused with faint traces of Scottish. “Usually, there’s some sort of mark or indentation on it from the artist, but there’s nothing here.”

He set the teacup back into its cushioned setting. “How much do you know about crockery, Ms Harkness?”

I raised my chin. “I have some knowledge. My grandmother was a very keen collector of antique crockery. That’s why I’m starting this business.”

Xander North’s stern blue gaze swivelled around, incredulous. “You’re going to sell crockery? But this is in the middle of nowhere. Don’t the locals round here already have a teapot each?”

I pinned on a tight smile, irked by his suggestion that The Cup That Cheers was the shopping equivalent of Satan’s armpit. “Briar Glen attracts many tourists and the locals have been very enthusiastic and supportive about a crockery shop. It’s going to be an eclectic mix of modern and traditional. The Cup That Cheers—”

He hitched a judgemental brow at me and I could feel my teeth grinding with indignation. He seemed to think he was the sole authority on all things tea sets.

“Howard said he would have assisted me with tracking down more information about it, but he’s in Venice on business – more’s the pity.” I let the implication hang in the air. It was such a shame Howard hadn’t been around to help. I would much rather have liaised with him than with this Xander North, with his flinty stare and brusque attitude.

Xander North appraised me. “You might not be aware, but I am an expert on antique crockery.”

I pressed my lips together. “I thought Howard said you were an art critic.”

“That’s right. I am. But I also buy and sell antique tea sets. Very successfully.”

I inwardly rolled my eyes. Nothing like blowing your own trumpet.

His attention fell on the peacock tea set again. “They are a particular passion of mine.”