Page 11 of The Cottage in the Highlands

I arranged my mouth into what I hoped was my most winning smile. “I was looking for my puppy.”

The woman jabbed an aggressive finger. “Well, you seem to have found him.”

“Her,” I corrected. “She’s a girl.”

The suspicious voice took a step closer. Shadows glanced down one side of her face. There was a an irritated glint in her lined narrowed eyes, which were a dazzling shade of lilac. She also possessed thick vanilla-white hair that was secured back off her face. Her chilly gaze travelled from me to Harley and back again. Her tone was accusatory. “Are you looking for someone?”

I shook my head. “Harley spotted a fox back in the field and chased after it. I was trying to find her.”

I willed the woman to come a little closer. Being confronted by a shadowy figure in the middle of a dark wood wasn’t doing much for my nerves.

She made a clicking noise with her tongue. She didn’t believe me.

“This house,” I began, sweeping one hand in its direction. “It’s very impressive. Do you know who lives here?”

The woman’s chin hardened. “Why do you want to know about Merry Wood?”

I blinked. “Merry Wood?”

She rolled her eyes at my apparent stupidity. “That’s Merry Wood. The house.”

I followed her gaze to a small wooden plaque, which was just visible through a tangle of ivy trailing over it. Sure enough, the words Merry Wood were inscribed on it. I had been so preoccupied by the hypnotic aura of the place that I’d failed to notice.

The woman emerged further out of the shadows. Lines travelled around her wide, flat mouth, which was pulled into a disapproving line. I estimated she must be in her seventies. There was something compelling about her. She had enviable cheekbones too. I bet she was very pretty in her younger years.

Her whole demeanour, however, was almost as buttoned-up as the floral shirt she was wearing. She arched her plucked silvery brows. “You haven’t answered my question. Why do you want to know?” She obviously didn’t go in for small talk.

Harley sniffed at my walking boots. I bent down to stroke her. It was a relief not to be in the direct line of fire for a few seconds. I straightened up. “I’m just curious.” I pushed another smile at her. “I’m from Silver Ness and I never knew there was a house like this out here.”

The temperature was dropping further and I didn’t just mean the weather. The older woman thrust both her speckled hands into the pockets of her linen trousers. “Why should you know? And why all these questions? Are you some nosey sod from the council?”

“Oh no. Not at all.”

She narrowed her eyes at Harley again. “You’re not a reporter, are you?” There was an expectant raise of her eyebrows again.

The temptation to lie tugged at my conscience. I knew only too well what the reaction from some people could be when I told them I was a journalist.

Something about this house though was teasing me and it would be great to find out about its background. But it would be wrong to be deceitful.

I set my shoulders and tried to summon up a more confident tone. “As a matter of fact, I am. I work for The Silver Ness News.” I heard myself say the words I had repeated over and over for the last couple of years and reality pummelled me. I wouldn’t be saying that for much longer.

I pulled my straying thoughts back to the woman. “But the fact I am a reporter is just a coincidence. I really did lose Harley and…”

Before I could elaborate again, she spun round in her flat leather sandals. “I think you should leave. I’ve got nothing to say to the likes of you.”

She tossed a fierce look at me from over her shoulder. “There’s no story here. It’s an empty house, that’s all.”

And with that, she marched away back through the trees towards where I could make out a faint and drizzly grey trail of smoke from a chimney.

It was a relief to arrive back at the car, bundle Harley into her seat, and escape back down the now inky-black country lanes.

For a minute I had worried that the woman was going to do a Hansel and Gretel on Harley and me and stick us in her cooking pot.

I made myself a cup of tea when we got home and, while Harley snoozed in her basket in the kitchen, I set up my laptop on the kitchen table and prepared to google the name of the mysterious house – Merry Wood.

Her insistence that there was “no story here” invariably meant that there was, going by previous experience. That fanned my curiosity even more.

But any budding hope of finding out some information about the mysterious house soon withered. There was nothing – not even a photograph of the house came up. I entered in various combinations of the name – MerryWood; Merry Wood; Merry Wood House – but nothing appeared. It was so strange.