Page 52 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

I straightened up. “Thank you. I thought I should keep our first window display simple, by following the lavender and white colour scheme of the shop.” Once the blue rose Briar Glen tea set had arrived, I intended to place that at the forefront of the display and prop a couple more of the fake powdery blue roses either side of it.

Warming to my theme, I went on to explain my ideas about having themed windows. “I thought we could go for red, russet and amber sets on display at the start of autumn, orange shades for Halloween, and really go to town at Christmas with ruby and green shaded crockery, tinsel, fairy lights … the works!”

“And for spring, pale lemons and creams for a daffodil theme with Easter eggs and then for summer, maybe crockery featuring strong seaside yellows and blues, with perhaps the odd bucket and spade and toy sailing boat beside them?” suggested Cass.

I grinned back at her. “Absolutely! Oh, I can just picture it now.”

Cass nodded her swishy brown ponytail. “I bet that Briar Glen tea set will look gorgeous. Expect to receive a lot of enquiries about it.”

I leant towards the window space again to fiddle with a couple of the roses I’d placed there. “I hope so. I bet it generates extra commissions for the artist, Noah, as well. From what Ewan was telling me, the poor lad is the epitome of a struggling artist. He’s in the third year of his ceramics course.”

“Well, I’m sure you will both do well out of it.” Mum whirled round at the sound of a brisk knock on the locked, shop door. “Oh! That might be the Briar Glen tea set being delivered now.”

“That would be perfect timing if it is,” I said. “It will be easier to get the rest of the display finished, if I have that set to work around.”

But it wasn’t the commissioned tea set. It was Xander.

Cass and Mum admired the tall, dark-haired stranger as he strode in.

Xander nodded at them in greeting and indicated the crockery beginning to occupy the shelves. “Busy, I see? How’s it all going?”

“We are getting there. My dad is dropping by this afternoon to install a couple of small spotlights above each of the shelves.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Mum and Cass, who had taken themselves further down the shop to clear away some bubble wrap. “I just came by to see how it was all going. It’s looking good. I like the eclectic mix of…” He stopped talking, his attention alighting on the Jake Caldwell painting again, now adorning the far wall.

A pulse point throbbed in his gritted jaw. “I have to say I’m not keen on your taste in art.”

I looked at the picture, with its battered farmhouse table, stout teapot and cups daubed in a myriad of watercolours. What was it about that picture – or indeed Jake Caldwell – that Xander had taken exception to?

“What is it?” I asked, confused and recalling his initial reaction when he saw it propped up against the wall. “Why don’t you like that painting?”

Xander reached out and picked up a petrol-blue teacup from the shelf beside him. He studied it for a moment, turning it over in his hands before setting it back. “It’s not the picture,” he ground out after a few moments.

“Then if it’s not his brushstrokes, what is it? You’re looking at it as though you’d like to rip it off the wall.”

Xander lashed me with a charged look. “It’s nothing. Let’s not talk about Caldwell or his pretty paintings anymore.” He switched the conversation. “Have you got a moment?”

I blinked at him, not at all convinced. “Yes. Of course.”

I encouraged Xander to follow me down to the office. Mum and Cass pretended to be occupied as we walked past them.

I closed the door as Xander sank into one of the two new black and chrome chairs. My curiosity was still piqued about his issue with Jake but I sat myself down behind the desk. He wasn’t prepared to talk about it, whatever the problem was.

Xander chained me to my chair with his pensive expression. “Things have been rather hectic from my art interest point of view the last couple of weeks, but I’ve managed to read more of Saffy’s great-grandfather’s notes.”

I shuffled forward in my chair, intrigued. “That’s good. Have you discovered something?”

He gave the briefest of nods, making his dark, floppy fringe move against his forehead. “I think I might have.” He leant forward too. “It’s about Castle Marrian.”

My eyes grew. “Wow. Okay. That’s a little weird. I used to work there as a wedding planner.”

“Really? Well, in that case you might be particularly interested in this.”

“Why? What is it?”

Xander stretched out his long legs. “We will need to look into this, of course, to make sure it’s correct, but according to the notes Victor Prentice made, Castle Marrian passed through the hands of several wealthy local families in the late 1800s and the early part of the 1900s.”

“That’s right.” I screwed up my nose in recollection. “I know that there were two prominent families, the Masters and the Dayells, who owned it in the past.”