Page 73 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Monday morning brought a sombre sky.

But that didn’t deter the tourists, who still appreciated and exclaimed at all the beautiful flowered gardens Briar Glen had to offer.

The local schoolchildren were enjoying the last month or so of their summer holidays, so there were the usual demands for ice-cream or a bus trip into town as frazzled parents herded them past the door of The Cup That Cheers.

Cass was busy extolling the virtues of a dainty set of Theodore Haviland Apple Blossom China to two elderly ladies, who were explaining they were here visiting their eldest sister at the residential care home. “We just had to pop in,” beamed the one in a bright blue rain jacket. “We’ve heard so many lovely things about this place.”

Her sister, who carried the same proud profile, indicated one of our farmhouse-style teapots, a vintage Lingard, all painted and gilded English floral pottery. “I’m a bit more of a traditionalist.”

“Well, hopefully we have something to suit all tastes,” smiled Cass. “The Haviland Apple Blossom pattern was discontinued after 1989, so we think these were made some time between 1940 and 1989 in New York. Or perhaps you would like to take a look at something a little more modern?”

She gestured to a couple of open boxes littered with polystyrene, which had been delivered only ten minutes before. “You can see we haven’t even unpacked these yet.”

The two sisters admired the vintage Sadler teapot, with its pink lid and cherry blossom pattern, which Cass had lifted out of its box.

I smiled over at Cass and mouthed, “Good work,” while the two ladies continued their discussion. Someone had been doing their homework!

My attention travelled to Jake Caldwell’s painting on the wall and I could feel my admiration and appreciation of Cass waning and my eyes narrowing. I was in two minds about whether to remove it and stash it in the store room. I stung with embarrassment and anger at the thought of Saturday night. Then I pictured Xander’s expression as he saw Jake and me sat together.

They are as bad as each other, I concluded to myself, winding each other up. I could understand why Xander must have felt betrayed by Nadia, but crucifying Jake’s art career like that – and then Jake using me to stick two fingers back up at Xander. Bloody hell! It was like witnessing two warring toddlers!

A flicker of movement made me turn around, causing me to forget Jake and Xander’s rivalry.

My eyes widened.

It was Ophelia Walker.

She continued to linger there in the shop doorway, shadows of uncertainty crossing her face, despite the confident way she was dressed in a pale biscuit linen suit and a floaty printed scarf draped around her shoulders.

It was like one of those tense scenes in a spaghetti Western with Clint Eastwood. All that was missing was rolling tumbleweed and one of us chewing on a matchstick.

I took tentative steps over the wooden floor, worried in case any sudden movement or the wrong word would make her change her mind and vanish again. “Hello, Mrs Walker.”

She gave a brief nod of her silver hair. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Cass was occupied with the two ladies, who were now debating the finer points of porcelain versus ceramic.

Had she decided to talk about the tea set? What had made her change her mind? I tried not to feel too optimistic. I had no idea why she was here – yet. “Yes. Of course. We can chat in my office.”

Ophelia Walker tugged her long jacket tighter around herself, despite the cosy atmosphere in the shop and the muggy summer temperature outside. She scanned my office as I invited her to sit down. “Would you like a cup of tea or a coffee perhaps?”

“A tea would be very nice, thank you.”

I slid back out of my office and chose two of our prettiest pastel-green Tuscan China cups and saucers from the kitchenette, which we had converted out of a corner of the store room. Well, this was unexpected! And even though I’d only just promised myself that I wouldn’t speculate on why Ophelia was here, I found myself doing it anyway.

My excitement mounted as I watched the kettle boil and prepared a pot of tea in my and Cass’s matching Tuscan China teapot. It felt indulgent and satisfying to use something pretty and with an air of the antique for ourselves. My grandmother would have been proud.

I fetched a matching plate from the cupboard above my head, together with a packet of chocolate digestives. I set everything out on a tray and negotiated my way back to the office. I could hear Cass and the two elderly sisters sharing a giggle about “solid bottoms”. I presumed they were talking about teapot bases.

Mrs Walker was sitting in the same pensive position when I returned. I set the loaded tea tray on my desk and proceeded to pour the tea. Mrs Walker accepted her cup and saucer with a murmured “Thank you.” She flicked me a reserved look over its rim.

There was a charged pause, before she blurted, “I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you when you came to see me.” She took an embarrassed sip of her tea and set the cup and saucer back down on my desk. It gave the faintest chink against the mahogany.

I offered an understanding smile and tried to appear calm. “So, you do know about the tea set?”

On seeing Mrs Walker’s small, embarrassed smile and nod, my stomach performed an excited “Whoosh!”

“It was the discovery of the tea set that made me decide to investigate my family tree – well, that and the fact I’m now retired. Lots more time on my hands.” She clasped her fingers together in her nervous lap. “I was adamant I wasn’t going to speak to you but Hal, my husband, talked me round.”