Page 40 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

If Xander North was excited, I wish someone had informed his voice. “Then it sounds like there is every chance it is a genuine Ernest Telfer.”

“Oh, God,” I gasped to myself. “Oh, God.”

There was a surprised pause on his behalf. “I have to say again that I was rather taken aback that you had heard of him.”

My mouth flipped into an Elvis curl of indignation. “Yes. You indicated that a moment ago. And why is that, Mr North? Is it because you assumed my knowledge of crockery only stretched as far as a Breville sandwich maker?”

An irritated sigh travelled down the line. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though he couldn’t see me. It made me feel a lot better.

Xander North continued, “We will have to have the set independently verified of course, but that should just be a formality. Then it can go to auction.”

I held the phone tighter to my ear. A concerned thought lodged itself. “But what about the letter?”

Xander North’s confusion was evident. “Sorry?”

Reluctantly, I explained about the contents of the letter concealed in the case. “Whoever this Briar Forsyth is or was, she sounded like she was in some sort of trouble.” I pushed a hand into the pocket of my jeans. “Maybe the woman who left it with me did know about the letter, or at least she had some knowledge of the tea set’s background. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why that lady wanted rid of it in the first place.”

Xander North made a dismissive noise. “I think you are rather romanticising all this, Ms Harkness. However, a letter from that era could potentially add value to the set.”

I jutted out my chin. Nice to see he was more bothered about the possible added financial value the letter could bring than about finding out its background. “It’s good to know what your priorities are, Mr North,” I bit back, “but I’m not letting the tea set out of my sight, until I have at least tried to find out more about that letter.”

“Right. Fine. Have it your own way.” There was a considered pause. “I suppose it is relevant to the provenance, so…” He paused as if trying out an alien concept. “I’ll help you look into it.”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh. Right. Okay. Thank you.” Xander North’s connections would no doubt prove very useful. “That would be much appreciated.”

“Yes. Well. Don’t get too optimistic about it all. It might have nothing to do with the provenance at all.”

The idle thought that Xander North was offering his assistance out of the goodness of his heart died like a flickering candle in a gust of wind. “Of course,” I ground out under my breath. “Silly me for thinking that beneath the frosty exterior existed an element of compassion.”

“Pardon?”

The glinting face of my wristwatch caught my attention before I could repeat myself. “Bugger! My mother’s Yorkshire puddings will be ruined!”

The Monday-morning light was spilling through the bottle-glass shop windows, as I let myself into The Cup That Cheers.

The smell of fresh paint had dissipated, the newly decorated pebbledash exterior of the shop glowed snow white, and the windowsills and door shone with their new gloss of deep lilac. Now the shelves were waiting for the delivery in a few days of the crockery and teapots.

Mum had offered to help set everything up, as had Cass, my new member of staff, who had already emailed me a few times, insisting I was to let her know straightaway if there was anything else she could help with, prior to opening.

Outside in the main street, the other shops were sleepily opening their doors and the plumes of trees over by the pedestrianised walkway, were stirring their leaf-heavy heads.

I had just removed my leather jacket and draped it over my chair in the office, when there was a polite knock on the shop door. Through the frosted glass, I could make out a tall, willowy figure, clutching something large and rectangular under their arm.

I took a closer look through the side of the nearest window. It was Jake Caldwell. He was prompt.

I straightened my sparkly T-shirt and opened the door.

“Sophie Harkness?” He had a wide smile and his amber eyes twinkled.

“Yes. Jake?” I asked, with a hint of blush.

“Guilty.”

I laughed and invited him in, noting he had concealed his painting in sheets of brown paper and tied it with string. He set it down on the counter. “One painting delivered as promised.”

I moved towards the counter and gestured to the wrapped painting. “May I?”