Page 18 of The Cottage in the Highlands

“Mrs Cruickshank? Are you alright?”

She took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me.”

“You don’t look fine…”

She reset her thoughts. The fleeting softness in her expression had vanished, as though it had never been there. “I’ve told you more than enough, Ms Baxter. You seem to know it all already. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get on.”

And with that, she vanished back behind her front door in a flurry of flour and amber apron.

Chapter Seven

I strolled back to my car at the picnic area, giving Merry Wood appreciative but puzzled glances as I passed by.

What had Lily Cruickshank meant about people behaving oddly when their heart was broken? Not to mention that there had been nobody living there for fifty years? What had happened in that house? Had there been some sort of family altercation or falling-out that had festered over the years? Or perhaps a crime had been committed there…?

I stopped and drew myself up. Now I really was allowing my imagination to go into overdrive.

Yet from the way Mrs Cruickshank had been speaking and the preoccupied expression on her face, it was clear something had happened, especially when the house had just been left like that. It was obvious Lily Cruickshank knew far more than she was prepared to say about this Talbot family.

I drove back to my parents’ house to collet Harley, my thoughts bombing around my head. It would be worth checking out Lily Cruickshank to see if I could find out anything about her background. Perhaps that might give me the vital starting point I needed.

Once I had fed Harley and thrown on my old jeans and slouchy white knitted jumper, I rustled up a chicken salad for myself and got to work on searching for any information I could find on Lily Cruickshank.

I started to trawl through the internet, finding one grainy photograph of a Mrs Lily Cruickshank pictured locally. That must be her.

It appeared in The Silver Ness News on July 3rd 1972 and showed a cluster of dignitaries outside a bakery on Silver Ness High Street.

I leant in closer, savouring a mouthful of crunchy green salad laced with olive oil. There was a caption underneath the photo, which said:

Mrs Lily Cruickshank (centre) who is opening her new bakery, Lily’s Loaves, on July 6th.

Surrounding her were a couple of officious-looking local councillors and a few other Silver Ness business owners, whose names were reeled off from left to right. I focused harder on the black and white photograph. Mrs Cruickshank was clutching a couple of loaves in the middle of the semi-circle and she was looking intent. There was a smooth, youthful lightness to her features, her long, thick hair swinging down her back.

I switched my attention to the background. It took me a moment to realise that Lily’s Loaves, with its striped awning, was now the handbag shop Bags of Style. I thought it looked familiar.

My mind returned to the memory of Lily Cruickshank’s hands as she stood on her doorstep, freckled and doused in flour. Of course! She must still be keeping up her bread-making.

I started to read the accompanying article.

Silver Ness is welcoming a new business into its community, with the launch of a bakery and café in the main street. Lily Cruickshank (26) who is from Perth, trained as a baker under the tutelage of the renowned pastry and bread chef Archibald Strang and worked for him at his bakery, Golden. Mrs Cruickshank, formerly known as Lily Bruce, married local man Bernard Cruickshank and the couple are now settling into their new home on the outskirts of Drummond. She said of her new venture, “Baking bread is one of life’s pleasures for me and being able to open my own business, doing what I love, is a dream come true. I feel I have learnt so much whilst working at Golden and from the legendary Mr Strang.” She added, “Hopefully I can bring a slice of something warm and delicious to the people of Silver Ness!” Lily’s Loaves will open officially on July 6th at 10am.

I studied the photograph of younger Lily again, all big, hopeful eyes and enthusiasm shining out of them.

I decided to ask Mum and Dad about Lily Cruickshank and her bakery. They might remember her or know a little about her.

While I was speculating about whether they might recall anything about her or about her past business, my inbox pinged.

Harley pushed herself down beside my leg in the kitchen and nuzzled against me. I brushed the top of her head with my fingers, stroking and rubbing the soft downy curls.

I clicked onto my emails on my laptop, half expecting a discount on my favourite shampoo or another offer on the installation of loft insulation.

But it wasn’t. It was from Goddess magazine, marked Confidential.

I made a weird nose – a cross between a gasp and a snort – and scrambled for my mouse. Oh God. It must be about my job application. Was it a no? A polite decline?

I felt conflicted as I clicked on it. Time became soupy and lethargic as I waited for the email to appear on my laptop screen. A large part of me wanted the job, while a tiny, apprehensive corner persisted in reminding me who I would be working for.

The email finally pushed its way into view.