Page 57 of The Cottage in the Highlands

The waitress set a black coffee down in front of Flynn Talbot and evaporated.

He shifted in his chair. “A mistake?” His brows knotted. “Look, I’m rather busy. What’s going on?”

I rubbed at my forehead. Good question. I was wondering the same thing.

“I discovered a letter. It was in a house called Merry Wood, not far from where I live in Silver Ness.” I forced out a laugh. “I’m sure it’s nothing to do with you.”

He shot forward in his seat like he had been punched. His eyes snapped from me to his coffee and back again. “Sorry. Did you just say Merry Wood?”

I scanned his face. Crikey. The mention of the house had snared his attention. “Yes,” I faltered, confused. “And this letter was written to an acquaintance of mine, a Mrs Lily Cruickshank, and was signed by someone also called Flynn Talbot.”

An odd expression took over his features. He sat back and folded his arms, a defensive fleck appearing in his eyes. They skewered into me. “Well, that is my name, but whoever this Flynn Talbot is, it’s not me. I don’t know a Lily Cruickshank. I’ve never heard of her.”

Dear God. This was agony. It was like ripping a plaster from an irritated wound. What the hell was happening here?

He glowered at me again. “Can I see this letter please?”

“No, that wouldn’t be right,” I explained. “It belongs to Mrs Cruickshank and I don’t even know if she is aware of its existence.”

Flynn Talbot’s light eyes locked with mine. “I see. Well, do you have a photograph of this Lily Cruickshank? Maybe I’ve taken her picture in the past, but the name doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t have a photo, I’m afraid.”

“Or perhaps she was a model I’ve worked with before under a different name.”

I reached for the teapot for something to do, only to find a pathetic trickle dissolve into my cup. “No, she isn’t a model. She must be in her early seventies.”

One of Flynn Talbot’s brows rose. He muttered something indecipherable under his breath, before taking a sip of coffee and setting down the cup with a decisive clink. I could sense his shutters were down and refusing to budge. “Right. Look, I have no idea what’s going on here. I don’t want to appear rude, but I don’t have a great deal of time.”

He studied me from under his lashes for longer than was necessary.

“Look, I’m going to be honest. I was intrigued when I received your Facebook message. That’s why I came here this morning.” There was a heated pause until his phone let out an insistent ring. I could see from where I was sitting that the person’s image on his phone was a platinum blonde.

Flynn Talbot declined the call.

“Yes, I can see how in-demand you are.”

He gave me an indecipherable look.

I thought again about the letter to Lily, nestling in my bag. “Please forgive me but the house – Merry Wood – do you recognise the name of it at all? You gave me the impression that you might.”

His clear silver eyes bored into mine. “You were mistaken,” he ground out. “In fact, you seem to have been mistaken on several fronts.”

My cheeks flared with embarrassment.

I noticed he possessed enviable, spikey lashes. “I’m obviously not the Flynn Talbot you are looking for, whoever he is.” His jaw clenched. “Where did you say you found this mysterious letter? In a house?”

“Yes. It’s called Merry Wood.”

Flynn Talbot looked troubled again

“What is it?” I asked, a kernel of hope unfurling in me at his odd reaction. “Do you recognise it? The name of the house, I mean?”

A pulse throbbed in his jaw.

“I’m sorry but I can’t help you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”

He shot up, fished about in his wallet and tossed a ten pound note down.