Page 45 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

I managed to screw the lid back on and shoved it back into the first-aid box. “There,” I exclaimed far too loudly. “All done.”

I turned back around to see Xander was studying me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I picked up the first-aid box, eager to put some space between us. “So why crockery for you? Why did you become so interested in it?”

Xander stared up at me. “My late father was always fascinated by antiques and often brought weird and wonderful objects home. It drove my mother mad.” There was a ghost of a smile. “Then, one day, he returned from an auction with this stash of crockery. One set in particular – it was a Royal Porzellan design, set in pearl porcelain – well, that was it. I was captivated by it.” He flicked me another look as he continued talking. “It depicted three mysterious girls on it. They looked like wood nymphs. I must have only been about eight at the time, but the craftsmanship and beauty of it stole my imagination.”

There was another faint twitch of his mouth, hinting at a smile. “Then I started wondering who had owned it and where it had come from. According to me, everybody from pirates to princes had used it.”

Xander explained that he and his parents lived in Jedburgh, a pretty market town in the Scottish Borders, and that his mum still resided there. “She is a keen landscape painter, so she gets plenty of inspiration with the scenery. I make sure I drive down there to see her as often as I can.” He gave a shrug.” I was surrounded by art from an early age. I think my future in the arts was preordained.”

“So, you studied art at university?” I asked.

“Fine art at Oxford and then I went on to study ceramics and glass for another three years in Glasgow. The pottery and ceramics side was always my first love.” He looked more relaxed. “That’s what I love about living in this part of the world. There are so many museums and art galleries close to town, which you can lose yourself in.”

Xander’s fingers reached for his forehead. “I think you missed your calling,” he teased to my retreating back. “That feels better already.”

I returned the first-aid box to the store room and loitered in there for a few moments, in order to compose myself.

I smoothed my hair before lifting my chin and striding back towards Xander, who was still seated behind the counter. His attention was locked onto the painting behind me. It was as though the air in the shop had frozen around him. His square jaw clenched as he examined it. “Is that a Jake Caldwell?”

“Yes, it is. Are you a fan of his work?”

Xander’s grim expression drew darker. “No.” He continued to stare at the painting with such ferocity, I half expected it to burst into flames at any moment. He swung back to me. “Where did you get it?”

It took me a few seconds to reconcile the almost flirtatious man of two minutes ago with the one now glowering at Jake’s picture. “From his website. I happened to notice the painting—”

“Do you know him?”

I blinked back, noting the rough edge that had crept into his voice. “No. But I did meet him earlier. He insisted on bringing the painting round himself.”

He allowed himself another scowl at the painting. Why had he flipped like that, from charming to morose? I glanced over my shoulder at the moody watercolour painting. It was something to do with Jake Caldwell. That was clear. But whatever the issue was, he wasn’t prepared to discuss it with me.

“So, I have some news, which I was going to tell you before my little accident.”

He rose from the stool and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his navy jeans.

“You don’t have the tea set with you at the moment, do you?” Xander had reverted to his regular stand-offish persona.

I shook my blonde plait. “Sorry, I don’t. I’ve left it for safe keeping in my flat.” A thought came to me and I moved towards the counter to retrieve my phone. “But I did take a couple of new photos of it. I concentrated on close-ups of the rose emblem.”

I pulled up the two photographs I took and passed my phone to him.

Xander’s long, spiked lashes fluttered as he studied the pictures of the just visible rose etching on the underside of the teapot handle. “It’s just as I expected.”

My heart quickened. “So, you think it is an Ernest Telfer original?”

Xander nodded his dark head. “Everything is pointing that way.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Bloody hell. I wish my late grandmother was here right now. She would love all this.” I swallowed and gathered myself together.

Xander flicked me an unreadable look. “So, this news I have,” he announced after a pause. “It’s to do more with that letter, rather than the tea set itself.”

I could feel my eyes widening in my face.

“Now, please don’t get all excited,” he cautioned. “It could all come to nothing.”