Page 86 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Xander, despite Saffy’s protestations, must have decided he could forgive Nadia after all and that he wanted her back in his life. Perhaps he had been attracted to me, but that must have been as far as it went. Maybe I had been some sort of temporary diversion and he had been waiting and hoping for Nadia to realise how stupid she had been.

“Sophie? Sophie?”

I stopped folding the tissue paper over and over and turned to look at Cass.

She was frowning at me. She aimed a brief glance at the customer, a well-dressed young woman in her thirties, who was clasping the hand of her little girl.

Cass switched on a pleasant smile. “Sophie, I think you’ve wrapped that enough. Any more layers and Houdini wouldn’t be able to escape from that.”

I stared down at my hands and the sheets of rumpled tissue paper. “Sorry. I was miles away then.”

Cass waited until the bemused customer and her daughter had vanished out of the door, the little girl carrying the glossy The Cup That Cheers drawstring gift bag with the weight of responsibility shining out of her saucer-like cornflower-blue eyes.

“Please don’t think I’m prying, Sophie,” began Cass, swivelling all her concern towards me. “But you haven’t been yourself for the last couple of hours.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I insisted. “Just feeling a bit off-colour.”

“Then why don’t you take yourself off home? I can manage here, and if things get hectic, I can give you a call. Or maybe your mum could come in and give me a hand?”

The prospect of rattling around the flat on my own, thinking about Xander, was an even worse option than staying to work in the shop. At least there was noise and buzz outside, now that the rain had dissipated.

I patted the arm of her lacy white shirt. “Thank you. That’s really kind of you, Cass. But I’m fine.”

Cass opened her mouth to argue the point, but was interrupted by the shop door swinging open, bringing with it a bubbling, effusive Ophelia. She was flapping a sheet of paper in her hand. “I have some more positive news.”

She grinned at Cass and me, as though she were auditioning for a toothpaste advert. “I was trawling through the Gray family tree and I came across this.”

She thrust the paper towards me.

I scanned what Ophelia had written in her elegant, big, looped handwriting. “Mr Carson Gray?” I stared up at her. “As in Carson Gray who owns the local bookshop, Cover to Cover?”

Ophelia nodded. “He’s a descendant of the Gray family, as you might have guessed. You’ll also notice his home address and that he lives locally, just up past St Barnaby’s Church.”

I glanced down again at Carson Gray’s details and then back up at her. “I don’t mean to sound pessimistic, but he might not know anything about his family or about Jonathan Gray.”

Ophelia folded her arms. “Well, that did cross my mind at first. That was until I did a bit of digging on Carson Gray himself.”

I couldn’t help but smile, despite my emotional bruises. “You’ll be giving Columbo a run for his money!”

Ophelia laughed. “I think my sister would be impressed, that’s for sure.” She gestured to the sheet of paper I was still holding. “It turns out that Carson Gray is an amateur genealogist. He worked for years as a history teacher at a private school in Glasgow.” She arched her brows expectantly. “You can bet he has looked into his own past. That would be like a manicurist not taking care of her own nails.”

Cass laughed. “That’s a great analogy and very true.”

Ophelia grinned at Cass, grateful for her support. “So, I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of calling Carson Gray on the way from the library and he said he would be happy to speak to us this evening.”

She pulled an apologetic face. “Is that okay with you, Sophie? Please say if you have other plans.”

Visions of me drifting around my flat, trying to find things to do and not dwelling on my missed opportunity with Xander, weren’t appealing. The best thing for me to do right now was to keep occupied.

I shook my head and waggled Carson Gray’s details in my hand. “No,” I smiled, “I’m not busy tonight.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Carson Gray was struggling to contain his enthusiasm as he greeted Ophelia and me at his Charles Rennie Mackintosh-inspired front door. He was a tall, wiry man with an abundance of salt and pepper hair and a long, friendly face.

He ushered us into a hectic but cosy sitting room, cluttered with heavy, ornate wooden furniture. I noticed a bookshelf at the rear of the room, packed with a jumble of books.

Carson Gray gestured to both of us to sit down in each of the two claret armchairs, while he took up residence on the opposite sofa once he’d made us all tea. “My wife is out at her book club this evening, so please don’t feel you’re taking up too much of my time.” His slightly lopsided mouth flipped into an endearing smile.