Page 77 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Xander was wrong-footed. “You’re kidding? He actually told you? And you’re okay with it?”

Right now, I didn’t feel like I owed him an explanation. The fact I had discovered Jake was an arrogant, childish prat was my business. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. We have customers.”

I gripped my mobile to my ear. “I’ll keep you updated on how things go with the notes Ophelia Walker’s sister compiled and if there is anything useful in there.”

Xander was distracted. “Who?”

“The lady who left the tea set with me.”

I could sense his momentary confusion down the line. What was going on with Xander? He didn’t sound like himself at all. He was normally so composed. Whatever it was, Jake telling me what had happened between them clearly hadn’t been something he had expected. Even from a distance, I could hear the calm and cool Xander North was lost for words.

I politely terminated the call but for the rest of the day I had a ball of unsettled frustration rolling around inside my stomach. In one way, it would have been far better for me if Xander had remained incommunicado.

The fact that he had been in touch had upset the rhythm I was hoping to achieve again in my life.

I did remove the Jake Caldwell painting though, with the assistance of Cass, who frowned at my decision to take it down but didn’t ask any questions.

Once we’d stashed it in the store room, I threw a spare sheet of purple canvas over it.

That made me feel a little better.

Chapter Thirty-Six

After a gorgeous dinner of roast chicken with all the trimmings, followed by a slice of warm apple pie and lashings of creamy custard, Hal insisted I sample some of his homemade red wine. “I know you’re supposed to have red with red meat, but I don’t think the Etiquette Police will be coming to arrest me any time soon.”

I slumped back against their sofa and took a sip of the wine. It was ruby-red, with a fresh, tangy taste that reminded me of warm fields of sunshine. It was glorious. “After all this, I won’t be able to move,” I joked.

Ophelia laughed as she reappeared from the kitchen and set down a tea tray. “You don’t need to. I’ll bring through Annabel’s notes in a jiffy.”

I set down my drained wine glass and eyed Ophelia’s tea set with appreciation. It was white porcelain and clotted with red poppies and butterflies

When she noticed me admiring it, I blushed. “Sorry. I can never switch off. Is that Victorian, by any chance?”

“It is,” replied Ophelia, impressed. “How did you know?”

“The cups and saucers have a particular wavy edge to them, which was indicative of many of the Victorian crockery sets. It’s lovely.”

“It was my mother’s. She received it as a wedding present from her parents and passed it down to me.”

Once Hal took himself off with a topped-up wine glass of his homemade brew into the conservatory, Ophelia vanished to retrieve the box of her late sister’s research into Briar Glen.

She bustled back a few moments later, carrying a large brown cardboard box that contained what appeared to be an array of exercise jotters and fancy patterned notebooks.

I jumped up from the sofa to assist her and took the box from her, setting it down on the fawn carpet.

“There isn’t a huge amount here,” she said with a ring of concern. “So, I don’t know how lucky we are going to be finding out anything more about Jonathan Gray, let alone any mention of Briar Forsyth.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “It’s worth taking a look anyway. It will be very interesting, I’m sure.”

Ophelia sank down beside me on her mink chenille sofa and then we began the process of looking through the material.

I noticed her start as she picked up the first notebook, which was a quilted, jewelled affair. “This is the first time I’ve been able to go anywhere near these things since Annabel passed. I didn’t have the heart to before.”

Annabel’s handwriting filled the lined pages. It was small, neat and controlled, in a mixture of black and blue ink. “At least my sister used headings. That might help us a bit more.”

Sure enough, headings breaking up the paragraphs, such as Local churches, History of the town clock and The Blue Briar Glen Rose, provided some sort of rough guide.

I read with interest Annabel’s notes on the Briar Glen Rose: