Page 78 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

The powder-blue Briar Glen rose was said to have grown in abundance in the area.

Although no actual evidence of it exists, the image of this beautiful flower became closely associated with Briar Glen. It also provided an attractive emblem for the local stonemasons to use when the cottages were built.

Almost all of the local cottages possess an engraving above their door, depicting the mysterious blue Briar Glen rose in full bloom.

The blue rose was said to represent something impossible to comprehend or a dream that may never be fulfilled.

When falling in love, roses of this shade are said to bring hope when love may be unrequited.

Xander’s serious, dark features materialised in my head, but I pushed him away and riffled through a few more pages. This was ridiculous! Could I have chosen a more difficult man to have a crush on?

“Are you all right, Sophie?”

I turned with a start to look at Ophelia beside me. “Oh yes. Sorry. I’m fine.”

Ophelia set the notebook she had been flicking through down on her lap. “You’re tired. You’ve been working all day. It was selfish of me to suggest we do this tonight.”

I shook my ponytail vigorously. “Not at all. Come on. Let’s finish that pot of tea and carry on for a little longer.”

The July night sky had surrendered to darkness and the soupy streetlights were splashing across the cul-de-sac outside Ophelia’s sitting-room window. She rustled around, clicking on her table lamps.

Between us, we had gone through a number of the notebooks now and the more innocuous orange exercise books, but there had been nothing of note, apart from interesting enthusiastic mentions about a couple of local church ministers from ninety years ago, who had shared a deep attraction to an enigmatic widow.

There were also, according to Annabel’s research, rumours of a blue briar rose appearing in 1925 in the garden of a young woman who was in love with her piano teacher.

I passed across this section to Ophelia to read. She blinked, her lined mouth twitching with amusement. “Well. I had no idea our little town was such a hotbed of passion and lust.”

She noticed me stretch my arms behind my head.

“Let’s call it a day,” she suggested.” We can make arrangements to resume this another day.”

I angled my feet away from the pile of notebooks slipping over each other by our legs. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Would you like a coffee before you go?”

“No, thank you. I’ll ring and order my taxi home now. I’m working tomorrow. Thank you for such a delicious dinner.”

Ophelia beamed at me. “You’re welcome. I’m so sorry we can’t give you a lift home. That’s my husband’s homemade wine for you!”

I was about to propel myself up from the sofa to assist Ophelia with returning her tea set to the kitchen, when something caught my attention further down in the cardboard box.

At first, it appeared just like the other notebooks. It was when I leant forward to examine it further that I caught sight of something scribbled across the front of its red velvet cover.

Castle Marrian & The Grays.

I picked it up and turned the notebook round. My heart leapt with hope. “Ophelia. Look at this.”

Her hazel eyes widened. She hurried to sink back down on the sofa beside me. “Oh, my goodness. Well spotted! Let’s take a look.”

I passed the notebook to her and she opened it, so that it lay between our laps. Unlike the other notebooks we had looked at, this one contained grand black and white photographs of Castle Marrian pasted into its pages.

We exchanged excited glances.

The first few pages consisted of bullet points: dates of when Castle Marrian was built, who tended to its sprawling grounds, how many rooms it possessed. It was odd to see my former workplace captured at that particular point in time. It was still impressive, but there was something more formal about its appearance then, compared to now.

Perhaps my memories of its modern, lavish, confetti-strewn weddings were colouring my view.

Ophelia studied the pictures. “How long did you work there for?”