Page 67 of The Cottage in the Highlands

As if reading the myriad of questions swirling around inside my head, Flynn let out a defeated sigh. “Look, let’s just get this over with, shall we? You want to know more details about my grandfather and I have work to do.”

“You were the one who contacted me, Mr Talbot. You were the one who initiated this meeting. I didn’t force you here.”

He took a steady mouthful of his macchiato, his eyes never leaving my face. It was unnerving. For something to do, I reached for my cup of tea and took a sip. It had gone cold.

I grimaced and set my cup back down.

“My grandfather lives in Cairntilloch,” he announced out of the blue.

“Cairntilloch?” I repeated, not able to disguise the surprise in my voice. “But that’s…”

“Only a matter of miles up the road from here,” supplied Flynn. “Yes, I know.”

Good grief. The man to whom Lily had lost her heart all those years ago was living a dozen miles away from her. He had left her for Africa fifty years ago but was now just a handful of country lanes away.

Had he never tried to see her again when he returned to Scotland?

I wondered how she would react to that revelation.

“Merry Wood is still furnished but unoccupied,” I blurted, as if all the questions I had were breaking apart a dam and spilling out in one big tidal wave.

Now it was Flynn’s turn to look blank. “What do you mean? My grandparents sold it when they returned from Africa.”

I shook my head. “They didn’t. Your grandparents are still the legal owners of the property.”

Flynn stared across the table at me, incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“This is crazy,” he half laughed. “Why the hell did they tell everyone that they sold it?”

“I have no idea.”

Flynn made a dismissive grunting noise. “I don’t get this at all.” He flashed me a loaded look. “My grandfather doesn’t deserve anyone’s loyalty. More fool this Lily woman for believing in him.”

He folded his arms. “He’s not some romantic hero, so don’t be getting any ideas that he is. From what I’ve been told, he led my grandmother a merry dance during their marriage.”

Questions about why he was saying all this, why he was tarnishing his grandfather’s reputation, burned bright in my chest and stoked my curiosity even more. “Are your grandparents still together?”

Flynn shook his dark head. “No. They got divorced in the 1970s.”

“And where is your grandmother now?”

Flynn cocked one thick brow again. “You’re very persistent, Ms Baxter. Nobody would ever guess you were a journalist.”

I eyed him. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Not at all. It was meant as a compliment.”

I could feel myself becoming self-conscious under that hypnotic hammered-silver gaze of his. “Thank you, but you’re not managing to distract me from my line of questioning, if that was your intention.”

Flynn Talbot’s mouth hinted at a smile. Then he shrugged. “My grandmother became a bit of a thrill seeker after the divorce. Last I heard, she was investing in a tapas bar in Spain.”

We took more sips of our respective drinks as excited children debated over the array of flavours of ice cream, despite it being a grotty winter’s day, and the rain finally gave way to watery weekend sunshine.

Flynn’s fingers tapped up and down the side of his coffee cup. “I don’t mean for this to sound hard-hearted, but I don’t have much sympathy for this Lily woman. My grandfather was married to my grandmother at the time.”

“I can appreciate things from your point of view, but Lily isn’t well,” I repeated.