Page 12 of The Cottage in the Highlands

My optimism vanished.

My mind returned to the dusty stillness in those rooms as I looked through the windows and the expectant weary furniture in situ. Then there was that untamed gorgeous front garden. If the rear garden was anything like that, it must have looked spectacular in its heyday.

Where were the occupants? Why on earth would a house be abandoned like that, if the owner had decided to move away? And why was that strange woman so defensive? It didn’t seem like she lived in the house.

She must live not far from Merry Wood though, going by the way she materialised out of nowhere, and that chimney she was headed back to was very close by. She must stay there.

I reached for my notepad and pen and jotted down a plan of action. I would speak to my couple of contacts at the council and ask them if they had any information on Merry Wood. Maybe the Registration Office would have some details on who resided there or had lived there in the past. Perhaps a sift through the births, deaths, and marriages register might throw up something interesting? Might it be worth speaking to my contact at the local police station too?

The anticipation of having stumbled over an intriguing story was diluted by the sobering reminder that in a matter of weeks The Silver Ness News would be no more – at least as it is now.

The initial thrill of discovering a possible human-interest story had managed to take my mind off my so far fruitless search for other employment.

I took a mouthful of tea and decided I should have another look at media job vacancies. There would be plenty of time at work tomorrow to check out Merry Wood.

My eyes zipped over a couple of sites to which I had started subscribing. There were a couple of adverts for PR and marketing executives, but nothing in journalism. My chest deflated like a pricked balloon. This was useless.

I was just about to click off the second site, after again reading a series of appeals for advertising representatives, when a striking pink and white advert shimmered up on screen. I didn’t remember that being there the other day when I checked.

I leant forward and began to read.

My eyes widened as I processed what it said.

Chapter Five

We are looking for an investigative journalist who can produce sharp, incisive copy and is an excellent communicator. Goddess, the successful weekly Scottish print publication, is seeking a first-rate individual who is keen to make a difference and who isn’t afraid of asking the difficult questions. A degree in journalism, together with at least two years’ experience of working in a newspaper or magazine environment is desired.

I swallowed and read on:

You will be working directly under editor and Goddess owner Athena Mayhew. So, if you want to be a part of Scotland’s premier magazine for today’s independent woman, apply now with your CV and a two-hundred-word article on why you should become the next member of our team.

My eyes flew to the competitive salary and employment benefits, but all at once they appeared insignificant when faced with the biting reality that Athena Mayhew would be the successful candidate’s boss.

Oh bugger. Athena Mayhew was like the feared lioness of the glossy magazine world. Anybody who worked in journalism knew of her, had heard infamous stories about her or – if you were really unfortunate – had been on the receiving end of one of her tirades.

She was known for not suffering fools gladly and would often take great delight in reminding anyone who cared to listen that she had worked her way up the demanding and competitive ladder of magazine journalism.

There were tales that she had reduced hard-bitten senior executives to quaking jellies prior to staff meetings and instructed her minions to leave their mobiles permanently switched on so that they were never incommunicado.

Athena Mayhew had started at a small weekly publication for women twenty years ago, Promises, answering phones and undertaking clerical work in the advertising department. Within a couple of years, she had become the same magazine’s senior features editor, before leaving them behind and moving on to become editor of several much higher profile fashion and beauty publications. Now she actually owned her own magazine.

I tried not to dwell on the heart-stopping prospect of working for this tyrant and turned my attention back to the job advert. The deadline for applications closed in one week, on October 15th.

I then clicked on the link to Goddess magazine that was quoted in the advert. It took me to Athena Mayhew’s bio. My cursor hovered over her challenging profile:

I have journalism running through my veins and expect the same high standards from my staff as I have for myself. From humble beginnings, I have worked my way up to being in charge of some of the most famous publications on the planet. I believe that women’s magazines should not only inform, but challenge, debate, and inspire. Here at Goddess, we strive to deliver the best journalism to our readers and that will never change. If you want to change, if you want to become a stronger woman, then read us and find your inner Goddess!

Bloody hell! Her bio read more like a party-political broadcast. At one point I thought I might have to stand up and salute.

I sat up straighter.

Jobs in media were scarce right now, what with online news and various publications shedding rather than recruiting staff. I couldn’t afford to be choosy. I had bills to pay.

I set my shoulders. I liked to think I could relate to most people. Perhaps Athena Mayhew wasn’t as horrifying as she was reputed to be… yeah and a Bengal tiger was really a cute kitten. I swallowed. She was brilliant, but ruthless.

There was no guarantee I would even get an interview anyway.

Right now, my options were very limited and time was moving on. In a few weeks, The Silver Ness News would be no more. Well, not in the form it was now.