Page 75 of The Cottage in the Highlands

In the background I could hear a rush of waves and the intermittent burst of passionate Spanish from what sounded like a busy taverna. Glasses chimed and chairs scraped.

“I’m Leonie Baxter. I’m a journalist with Goddess magazine in Scotland.”

“Right. And may I ask why you’re calling me?”

“It’s about your ex-husband, Mrs Talbot. Flynn.”

The line fell silent for a few moments. “Yes, I am aware of who my ex-husband is.”

Ok. Knuckles wrapped.

“What about him?” Her voice was prickly. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” I assured her. “It’s more to do with your former marital home.”

“Oh, that place. Merry Wood,” she said airily. “We sold that dump donkey’s years ago. Flynn dealt with all of that.” She hesitated. “Is there a problem, because if so, you’ll have to take it up with him.”

So, she didn’t know that Merry Wood hadn’t been sold either.

I pulled my thoughts together. I couldn’t drop a bombshell like that over the phone to Spain, let alone mention Lily. It just didn’t seem right.

A voice inside my head advised me to keep that bit of information to myself for now. I would hopefully have far more luck if I told her face to face. Gauge her reaction.

“I understand you’re travelling to Scotland for a few days on Friday?” I pushed on.

She sounded thrown by my knowledge. “I am. How do you know that?”

I didn’t answer her. “Would I be able to meet up with you for a chat please, Mrs Talbot?”

There was the clinking of a glass. “Is that really necessary? I have a busy schedule.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important, Mrs Talbot,” I impressed. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.” An idea careered into my head. “You would make a wonderful interview subject for a future issue.”

She considered this for a moment. “I would? What, in Goddess magazine?”

“Of course. Ex-pat Scot goes to Spain and starts over. It would be wonderful publicity for your new tapas bar.”

She hesitated down the line. “How do you know about my tapas bar?”

I scrambled around in my head for what sounded like a plausible explanation. “I hope you don’t mind, Mrs Talbot, but I googled you. A prominent Scot like yourself… well, I had to do some research.”

The sycophancy seemed to work. She didn’t take long to consider that particular carrot being dangled. “Oh, that’s sweet of you to say that. All right, but I can’t spare too long, I’m afraid.”

I heard a tip-tap of her nail on a screen. There were more Spanish exchanges down the line.

“How about we meet at my hotel on Saturday morning, say 11am? I will be staying at The Fontaine.”

I confirmed that was fine.

She broke into a burst of rapid Spanish, before turning her attention back to me. “Now, I’m sorry but I must go. I have an appointment for a hot stone massage.”

I was still recalling Astrid Talbot’s insistence that Merry Wood had been sold years ago as I rang Flynn to tell him.

When I relayed this information to him, he made a dismissive noise. “My grandfather must have fooled her into thinking he sold the house as well. Christ, he’s lied to everyone! And what did she say about Lily?”

“I didn’t mention her,” I admitted. “I just couldn’t. Revealing that to someone a thousand miles away in a phone call… it didn’t seem right somehow.”

“Good grief,” teased Flynn. “A journalist with a conscience. You should be knighted.”