Page 65 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

She shot a loaded glance up at her husband, before wrapping her arms around herself in a protective gesture. “Why do you want to speak to me?”

This was ridiculous. It was obvious from her expression that she recognised me.

A seed of worry started to grow. She wasn’t delighted to see me hovering on her doorstep. Any moment now, she could slam the door in my face. What was it Ivy had said? “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

I smiled at her, hoping to ease her concerns. “I’ve just come from speaking to a friend of yours, Mrs Ivy Dunsmuir. She told me you might have some knowledge of a peacock tea set that was left with me recently?”

Ophelia Walker remained composed. “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Right. So, she had decided for whatever reason not to make it easy for me. I offered her what I hoped was a gentle smile. Her poor husband, standing beside her in the doorway, was observing us both with a bemused frown. “Mrs Walker, I just wondered why you brought the tea set to my shop? Or perhaps, if you don’t know anything about the tea set, Mrs Walker, you might know more about the letter that I discovered with it?”

Her cerise lips twitched. She swallowed.

“There was a letter from March 1900 that I found tucked inside the case that the tea set came in.”

Ophelia Walker composed herself. She raised her chin in an act of defiance. “I don’t know anything about tea sets or old letters. Whoever told you I would hasn’t got a clue what they were talking about. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Panic began to set in.

Ophelia Walker was lying. But why?

I blinked at her, scrambling around inside my head about what to say next. I had to persuade her to talk to me. To be honest with me.

“Mrs Walker,” I began in desperation. “I think the crockery set and the letter might be linked.”

Her husband flicked her a charged glance, but Ophelia Walker pretended not to notice.

“Your friend Mrs Dunsmuir mentioned that you found a tea set in your late sister’s belongings when she passed away and that you were looking into your family tree. If I could just have a quick word with you, please?”

She didn’t reply.

“That letter was written by a lady called Briar Forsyth … and I think this poor woman might have been accused of something that she didn’t do…”

I took a step back in surprise as Ophelia Walker barged past her husband. Her face was contorted with frustration and anger. “It sounds as though you don’t need to speak to me. You seem to know so much about me already.”

“Ophelia,” warned her husband.

She took no notice. “I can’t help you. Now, can you please leave?”

And with that, she banged her panelled burgundy front door shut in my face.

Chapter Thirty-One

11th December 1970, Cup of Joy, Briar Glen

The shop was like a Christmas grotto.

Helena knew she had gone berserk with the decorations, but she wanted to impress Chris so much and let him see she was serious about making the business a success.

She had arranged the bevelled windows with gold and silver tinsel from Woolworths to match the dangling baubles of the tree stationed there. She had even secured strands of the tinsel along the edges of the shelves. Their crockery stock glowed almost every bit as much as Helena’s slew of decorations; everything from vintage Denby to Kilncraft Bacchus teacups and saucers and more unusual and expensive designs like Royal Copenhagen.

Mrs Auld had been so supportive of Helena’s decision when she had told her she was accepting Chris’s job offer. She hadn’t seemed at all surprised. In fact, she admitted she had been expecting it. She had also been very helpful, surrendering the limited crockery stock she had to Chris, delighted that her only son would be staying in Briar Glen for the time being.

The whole process had been enthralling and bewildering, from Chris showing her around the shop (once a bicycle repair business, now transformed into this festive cornucopia) to recruiting staff, to their opening on 1st December, just in time for Christmas.

Helena had not been able to keep her new job quiet from Donald. She had chided herself for not telling him at the start. He had launched into a diatribe at first, going on about him being the breadwinner and Helena the homemaker. That was the way of things.

Helena’s fists had balled by her sides as she mentally compared her unambitious husband with charismatic Chris.