Page 95 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Xander took a step closer, so that the curve of his lips were inches from mine. “This.” He took my lips with his and I pressed myself against him. We held one another, our mouths moving together slowly at first, before becoming more urgent and greedy.

My stomach swooped and dived. Xander let out a tiny moan from the base of this throat, which sent my heart cartwheeling. I held him tighter, feeling the broad solidity of him against me. His scent of cedarwood body wash and the sensation of his dark stubble against my skin sent my thoughts in a spiral of joy and emotion I was struggling to control.

As my nerve endings sizzled and Xander stroked my hair, I was sure I heard a triumphant giggle and a hiss of “Yes!” from Cass in the store room.

Chapter Forty-Nine

13th October, Glasgow Art Gallery Auction Hall

Halloween was only a couple of weeks away.

Copper leaves spun from the trees and tumbled over the pavements; shop windows were crammed with pumpkins and the air was laced with woodsmoke.

The Cup That Cheers continued to attract an increasing stream of customers.

The sale of Gran’s house had been completed and a young couple with their baby had moved in last month. Whenever we passed by, we were reminded of my late grandma’s teasing blue eyes and raspy, mischievous laugh. That would never change.

For today’s auction of the peacock tea set, I had treated myself to a new dress in town. It was a bright blue polka-dot affair with a white collar and I’d matched it with my long navy suede boots.

Today seemed to be a culmination of months of speculation, investigation and deliberation, so in my mind it was an important milestone.

The granite steps of the Glasgow Gallery were damp from an earlier downpour.

Xander parked his car over by the trees in the rambling grounds and took hold of my hand. I lingered by the passenger side door, huddling into my swing coat. “I hope after all this that the tea set sells for what it’s worth. I will be so disappointed for Ophelia if it doesn’t.” I blew out a cloud of anticipatory air. “It would give such a decent kick-start to Annabel’s foundation.” I felt Xander’s warm fingers clasp tighter around mine. I pulled my eyes away from the striking Georgian architecture, with its arched windows and sharp spires.

“Stop worrying. You’ve seen yourself what major interest there is in the tea set. Look.” Xander jerked his head to the right. Several feet away, a cluster of journalists and photographers were nursing takeaway cups of coffee and shuffling from foot to foot as the stiff breeze whipped amongst them.

Xander’s hawkish, handsome features broke into an encouraging grin. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

A security guard checked our IDs before we were directed through an archway on the right to a huge auction room, which possessed an impossibly shiny wooden floor and rows of high-backed velvet and gold chairs.

Stern portraits of important-looking individuals examined us as another art gallery official guided us to our seats up a short flight of stairs and into a balconied area overlooking all the action.

Ophelia and Hal were already seated, as were my parents, Cass, Ivy, Carson Gray and his wife. We all exchanged nervous, excited smiles and pleasantries.

The chairs below were filling up fast with intended buyers. A sea of people flowed in, adorned in everything from bow ties and trilbies to expensive jewellery and vintage coats.

Xander seemed to know who everyone was, or at least who they were here to represent. “The lady in the pink leather boots and fascinator is Melody Vincent. She is like a freelance bidder for some of Scotland’s richest families. And if you look to her left, there’s a guy wearing red spectacles. He’s Albie Cyrus-Hughes.”

The name was familiar. “Is he connected to the Cyrus-Hughes family that own that wildlife park?”

Xander nodded. “He’s their eldest son. Apparently, Albie is a bit of a wheeler-dealer.”

Up on the polished dark wood platform, a serious man in a loud checked suit appeared from behind a billowing black curtain. Autumn light was pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and glinted off his balding head. He reminded me of an egg. On a nearby table was the tea set, concealed beneath a red cloth. My stomach performed an impressive forward roll and I swallowed.

To my surprise, the auctioneer’s severe expression broke into a wide smile. He thumped his gavel on his wooden platform. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you are all well on this rather dreich October day. Welcome to this very special auction of the Ernest Telfer peacock tea set.”

I shot a charged glance at Xander sat beside me in his smart dark three-piece suit. His steel-coloured shirt and ghost-grey silk tie highlighted the Mediterranean shades in his eyes. “Stop worrying,” he urged me with mock exasperation and squeezed my fingers.

The auctioneer, who introduced himself as Raymond Curtis, must have made a witty remark, because there was a ripple of laughter and a couple of bouts of applause. “Raymond Curtis is the best auctioneer in Scotland,” muttered Xander into my ear. “Do you remember all that fuss about eighteen months ago, when a brooch belonging to a Scandinavian queen was discovered on a Norwegian beach?”

I nodded, recalling the news story being covered here.

Xander gestured to Raymond Curtis. “Raymond was asked by the Norwegian authorities to conduct the auction over there. He’s a legend in the art world.” He twisted himself round in his chair and offered a smile of reassurance to a pensive Ophelia along the row of seats. “Your tea set couldn’t be in better hands.”

A hush fell across the crowd downstairs. From this view, it was like a child had upturned their dressing-up box, what with the extravagant hats, splashes of paintbox jackets and garish shoes.

Xander sat up straighter. “Oh, here we go.”