Page 42 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Helena would smooth down her floral shift dress or wing-collared shirt and murmur something about going to the shops.

She felt a stab of guilt about not telling her little girl the truth, but she knew it would only take one excitable slip of the tongue from Marnie to Donald and her secret would be revealed.

There had been a summer shower, which had decorated the trees and the pavements, and gilded sunlight was now brushing its way over everything, like a delicate paintbrush.

Mrs Auld (whose first name, Helena discovered from one of the submitted invoices, was Catherine) had popped to the bank to pay a couple of bills.

Helena wasn’t sure she looked like a Catherine – she seemed more of an Alexandra or Victoria – but even if Mrs Auld had insisted on Helena calling her by her first name, she would have found it difficult. Although friendly towards Helena and the customers, Mrs Auld carried a perpetual air of authority and Helena considered it was only right to continue to address her with her official moniker.

While her boss was no doubt trapped in a queue at the bank, Helena buzzed around Sparkling Gifts, titivating the tea sets and serving an elderly lady and her daughter, who were visiting the area. “We were hoping to see the blue briar rose,” admitted the older lady, fishing around in her handbag for her purse.

Helena’s soft smile was sympathetic. “As far as I know, Madam, the rose hasn’t been seen blooming here for years, but you never know your luck.”

Helena wrapped up their purchase of a jar of Briar Glen honey and a couple of postcards of the village and waved them a cheery goodbye.

Being in the snug, welcoming surroundings of Sparkling Gifts sent her imagination into a spiral. She pretended the shop belonged to her and that it was her name gliding across the sign above the door.

Mrs Auld’s brown and chrome transistor radio was delivering a fuzzy rendition of “Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)” by Edison Lighthouse. Helena felt herself swaying along in time to the music.

If she owned Sparkling Gifts, she would run regular competitions in the local newspaper to promote the new business. Should she suggest that to Mrs Auld? She didn’t want to seem as if she were trying to tell the woman what she should do, or come across as a busybody. Briar Glen had its quota of people like that and they didn’t need any more. She just wanted the shop to reach its full potential, that was all.

The sharp rattle of the doorbell made Helena swing round from behind the heavy wooden counter. That must be Mrs Auld. Oh dear! She had been away for a good twenty minutes now and would no doubt be gasping for a cuppa. Helena grinned, ready to tell her bustling boss that she was on her way to put the kettle on.

But it wasn’t Mrs Auld. It was a pair of tawny eyes that belonged to a man who made her draw up.

The man, who she estimated was about thirty-five, had sweeping, collar-length dark blond hair. He gave her a wide smile.

Helena found herself flicking her hair and she didn’t know why. “Can I help you?”

“I wondered if Catherine was about?”

It took a few moments for Helena to realise he was referring to Mrs Auld. The way he said her boss’s first name with such confident ease threw her.

“Mrs Auld,” she began, “is out at the moment. Can I take a message?”

The man’s grin grew. “No, that’s all right, thanks. I’ll just wait for her. That’s if you don’t mind.”

Helena noticed she had become more self-conscious under his gaze. Good grief. Was he just intending to clutter up the place until Mrs Auld returned?

Helena thought of the usual frustrated queues at their local bank. The tellers there tended not to be known for their speed or customer service. “She could be a while.” She watched him swagger backwards and forwards between their new acquisitions of boxes of Briar Glen clotted cream fudge and tartan pin-cushions.

Well, he wasn’t lacking in confidence. He was making her straighten the winged collar of her top. Helena scolded herself and dropped her hands. She cleared her throat, pleased that the shop radio was now churning out Mungo Jerry.

The man was tall and clad in bellbottom jeans and a denim shirt, which seemed to enhance his louche persona. He also possessed a full mouth and a cleft in his chin, like Kirk Douglas. Helena realised she was staring and averted her eyes. He didn’t appear to have a briefcase with him and the casual clothes he was wearing weren’t the usual smart suit and tie that the other sales representatives wore.

Was he here looking for a job? He didn’t give the impression he was keen to work in a gift shop, but then you never could tell.

The way he was strolling around the shop though, lifting and examining things, was unsettling her. Yes. That’s what it was. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was very attractive. “There’s no need for you to hang around,” stated Helena with a greater degree of firmness. “If you leave your name and details, I’ll tell Mrs Auld that you called.”

To emphasise the point, Helena reached for a notepad and pencil on the counter.

The man picked up one of the tiny crystal figures in the shape of a West Highland terrier and peered at it, before placing it back on top of its gift box. He turned to Helena and said nothing for moment. His rich light brown eyes twinkled at her. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m suddenly in no great hurry.”

Helena swallowed and fiddled with some change in the cash register.

Relief enveloped her when the shop doorbell announced the arrival of a couple of tourists. She waited until the new customers were distracted by the swirling plastic rack of postcards. “Look. Please don’t think I’m being rude, but if you are a salesman, could you leave your details? Mrs Auld isn’t very keen on cold callers.”

The man’s smile was teasing, which infuriated her. “Oh, I know that. The old dear is a traditionalist.”