Page 21 of The Cottage in the Highlands

Mum sounded pensive down the line. “Nonna commented she always thought that sounded a bit odd though, about the shop failing, as it was always busy whenever she passed by and the girl seemed to love it here. She settled in so quickly and seemed to want to become part of the community.” Mum made a grunting noise. “So many folks around here used to say she was far more likeable than that husband of hers.” Mum paused. “So, you say you have seen Lily Cruickshank? Here in Silver Ness?”

When I confirmed to Mum again that I had, she relayed what I’d just told her to my dad, who was hovering in the background. “Ross! Wait till you hear this! Do you remember the stories about that red-headed girl who owned the bakery back in the day?”

There was a series of exchanges, Mum sighing at Dad for not recalling fast enough events from years ago when he was small and then Dad confirming that yes, he did recall tales about Lily, her bread was said to be amazing but that my grandparents never had any time for “that vile husband of hers”.

“And no one knew what happened to them after they left Silver Ness?”

“Nobody had a clue,” Mum sniffed. “When he moved away, there were no tears shed.”

My mum let out a little disbelieving chuckle. “She was said to be a damn good bread maker. You know, Silver Ness could be doing with another wee bakery like that. It would go down a storm, not only with the locals but with the tourists too.”

I agreed with Mum, still turning over in my head so many questions. “Have you or Dad ever heard of a house called Merry Wood, Mum?”

“Should we have?”

I shrugged, even though Mum couldn’t see me. “No. Well, maybe. It’s an impressive house, but appears to have been abandoned years ago.”

“Where is it?”

“Very close to where Lily Cruickshank is living now.”

Mum let out a snort of derision. “Well, that might explain a lot if Bernard Cruickshank was their neighbour. I don’t know anyone who would have wanted to live next door to him, if all the awful stories about him are true.”

Then she moved the subject on to more familiar territory. “Now, onto far more important matters, caro. What are you planning to eat for your dinner, because I have some leftover Italian sausage polpettina and macaroni bake?”

That evening, I entered Bernard Cruickshank’s name into the search engine on my laptop.

A briefly worded obituary emerged from the archives of The Silver Ness News. It was dated September 16th 2006.

It read:

Bernard Martin Cruickshank. Born January 5th 1947. Died September 16th 2006, aged 59 years. Husband of Lily Cruickshank (nee Bruce).

I sat back and blinked. I had read more passionate and detailed obituaries about a pet passing away.

No beloved or much-missed husband sentiments at all. Then my thoughts travelled to Lily dismissing my sympathy on hearing she had lost Bernard.

I considered what Mum had said earlier about Bernard not being a well-liked figure in the community, too. Perhaps Lily had been relieved at his passing.

An unhappy marriage and a business that didn’t survive. That could explain a lot.

Chapter Nine

The next week vanished in a haze of work, visiting Lily’s farmhouse again (I’m certain she was at home, but failed to answer the door) and preparing for my interview with Goddess, which was screaming up to greet me at an alarming rate.

As soon as I had received that email, informing me that I had secured an interview, I booked the day off as annual leave. I knew I would be too preoccupied before and after it to go to work.

I arranged a taxi to take me so I wouldn’t have to concern myself with traffic, flat tyres, or another accident which could befall me. I knew such scenarios would be unlikely, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I was led into the interview room by a buff-cheeked blonde with iron-straight blonde hair and a wide smile.

From what I could see of the other members of staff, stationed at their starched white desks, they too were all groomed and glossy. Shiny skin, dazzling smiles, and gleaming locks were the order of the day and that was just the guys.

I stood out amongst them, with my Mediterranean explosion of hair, curvy bottom, and ample chest.

The room was decked out with huge vases of white and green flower arrangements more in keeping with a glossy wedding and a set of uncomfortable-looking glass furniture.

Barbara McKinnon and Oli Noakes were already seated in front of me at a long table. She was sporting a severe conker-coloured bob and he a buzz cut and a look of faint boredom.