Page 36 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Ewan had rung to clarify a couple of minor details and was delighted by my enthusiastic response to his artwork. He confirmed he would send an electronic invoice within the next couple of days. “Oh, any luck with the tea set that woman dumped on you the other day?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “The auctioneer my late grandmother knew put me in touch with a guy called Xander North and…”

There was an impressed gasp at the other end of the line. “Did you just say Xander North? Seriously?”

“Yes. Why?”

Ewan’s voice was brimming with reverence. “He delivered a lecture at my college several months ago on the topic of whether graffiti was in fact fine art. Most of the girls in the class couldn’t take their eyes off him.”

I gave an indignant sniff. “Well, he wasn’t able to shed much light on the tea set. It even threw him. He did say he would do some research through his antique crockery archives, to see if they threw up any clues.”

Ewan still sounded starstruck. “From what I have read about him and from what he said to us, antique crockery is a labour of love for him. I don’t know if he was being modest, but he told us he struck it lucky with those mega auction sales. “

My eyebrows flexed upwards. “Modest” wasn’t a word I would have associated with Xander North. I was only in his company for a short time, but he gave the distinct impression he was the sort of man who winked at his own reflection every morning before heading out the door.

I made myself concentrate again on what Ewan was saying. “But he does know so many people in the art world, so I’m sure he will be able to get you a lead from somewhere.”

Remembering Ewan’s passion for anything arty, my eyes shot across my sitting room to the closed leather case. I’d tucked the letter back in its original place in the pouch, for fear of losing it. I thought of the desperate tone in the letter and the woman’s appeals for understanding. “As it turns out, there wasn’t just a tea set in that case,” I admitted after a considered pause.

“Oh?” Clearly, Ewan’s curiosity was fired up.

I told him about the letter, with its mysterious impassioned plea to “Jonathan”. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “And you said the woman’s first name was Briar? That’s cool. Do you think she’s a local then, with an unusual name like that?”

I picked up my half-drunk mug of tea from the glass coffee table, took a sip and grimaced. It was cold. “I wondered the same thing. It’s too much of a coincidence. She must come from here and be named after the town.”

Ewan murmured in agreement. “Did you ask Xander North’s advice?”

I rolled my eyes. The way Ewan insisted on talking about Xander North, anyone would think he was Captain America, Spiderman and Black Panther rolled into one. “I don’t think he would be anywhere near as interested in the letter as he was in the tea set.”

“I bet he would be, if there is some definite connection between the crockery and the writer of that letter. Do you think there might be?”

“It’s possible, but I’m not sure. This Briar Forsyth does mention something valuable in the letter, but I’m not sure whether she is referring to the tea set or not.” I fiddled with the ends of my ponytail as I sat cross-legged on my sofa.

“Well, I’ve still got a few months on my hands yet till I go back to college,” said Ewan. “Any digging about you want me to do, just say the word.”

That was welcome, especially as I was intending to open The Cup That Cheers in a little over three weeks and my list of final things to check over and follow up on was growing.

“Thanks, Ewan. I appreciate that. I’ll see if I can come up with anything on her too. In the meantime, I’m going to check online for any tea-set-related art to put up on the shop walls, play up the theme of what I’m selling.”

“I can recommend someone, if you like. He’s one of my new lecturers. His name is Jake Caldwell and his still life work in amazing. He has a website if you want to go and take a look at his work.”

“Oh, that would be great,” I enthused. “Thanks.”

I scribbled down Jake Caldwell’s name. “I’ll look him up.”

Once our call had finished. I entered Jake Caldwell’s name into the search engine and located his website.

It was a classy black and cream affair, with some examples of his work fading in and out for effect, beside a professional, moody-looking photograph of him. He was attractive, with Slavic dark blond cropped hair and twinkly amber eyes.

I decided I should be focusing my attention more on his artistic capabilities, rather than what he looked like. And his artwork didn’t disappoint either. In a section labelled “Gallery,” there were gorgeous, smudgy watercolours of tables groaning with Mediterranean-style breakfasts and vases of tropical flowers, portraits of pouty, pensive women at rain-lashed windows, and a chalk drawing of an elderly man asleep in his armchair.

Then one in particular leapt out at me. It wasn’t as showy as some of the other pictures, but was of a huge beige farmhouse teapot on an old wooden table.

There were two teacups, decked out with pink and yellow flowers around the saucers and brim, as well as a plate of sumptuous, flour-dusted scones. The mismatched colours and shadowy effect leapt out of the screen. It looked so real, so lifelike – my fingertips were itching to trail over the shiny, hot ceramic surface of the teapot. I was already imagining it on one of the walls in the shop.

There were no prices listed on the website, which made me wonder how expensively Jake Caldwell valued his work. The extensive bio beside his photo, listing his various commissions for minor royalty (an ex-UK Prime Minister and two, well-known Scottish actors) testified to that.

“Jake studied under the auspices of the much-lauded modern artist Dickens Muirfield in France, before making a name for himself in the London art scene with his thought-provoking, rich and considered interpretations of the human condition,” raved the bio. “He then moved back to Scotland ten years ago, to lecture at the City School of Art and continue with his passion for producing work that not only informs, but also reaches out and ensnares the senses.”