Page 77 of The Cottage in the Highlands

Her tanned, lined face broke into a surprised smile when she saw Flynn. “Goodness me! What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be meeting some girl reporter.”

Flynn shot me an embarrassed look.

“That’s me, Mrs Talbot. I’m Leonie Baxter.”

“And I’m with Leonie, Grandma.”

Astrid Talbot took my hand and shook it, but her attention was taken up with her grandson. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone and a journalist too.” She forced a smile but it didn’t reach her rheumy powdery-blue eyes.

“Oh, we’re not together. I mean, not like that! Good grief, no!” I rushed, letting out an awkward laugh.

Flynn examined me with a quizzical arch of one brow.

I was relieved when he stopped looking at me like that and moved in to embrace his grandmother. Astrid proffered a cheek, on which he grazed a brief kiss.

“Another reporter, eh Flynn? You certainly like to live dangerously.”

I almost gave myself a crick in my neck as I turned to look at Flynn. Another reporter? What was that about?

Momentary annoyance flickered across his face. Then he shook it off.

Astrid Talbot indicated for us both to sit opposite her in a secluded alcove section of the reception area. She rested her manicured hands on top of one another. “So, what’s this all about?”

“It’s a bit delicate, Grandma,” conceded Flynn beside me. “It’s about Merry Wood.”

“What about it?” She pursed her pink frosted lips. “You mentioned the house when you rang me the other day.” She gave a theatrical shiver. “I was glad to be shot of the place. I never liked it. Goodness knows what your grandfather saw in it.” She flicked back her hair. “We were lucky that someone else wanted to take it off our hands.”

I frowned at her. Merry Wood must have been a lovely house. It still was. It desperately needed some TLC, but it still had all the hallmarks of being a grand property and the gardens were spectacular. They could be even more wonderful once returned to their groomed, manicured state.

“That’s the point,” I ventured. “It transpires that Merry Wood was never sold.”

Astrid Talbot shook her hair, sending it flying against her cheeks. “No. That’s not right. I don’t know where you got that nonsense from, young lady.”

She pinned me to my seat with a frosty stare. “That house was sold years ago, straight after we returned from Africa.” Her expression became more defiant. “I already told you all this on the phone.”

“Grandfather led you to believe it had been sold,” said Flynn, explaining. “But it wasn’t.”

She stared across at him. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

When Flynn continued to stare at her levelly, she shifted in her seat. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I leant forward on the hessian sofa. “Mrs Talbot, do you remember a lady who lived opposite you when you were at Merry Wood? Lily Cruickshank?”

A strange expression took over her features. She nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. She was a pleasant but plain little thing with red hair.” Her mouth morphed into a smirk. “She was distraught when we left for Africa. I think she had a bit of a thing for your grandfather.” She rocked back on the sofa. “Deluded girl!”

I raised my brows. Oh God. This wasn’t going to be easy. “I discovered a letter,” I began, choosing my words. “It was addressed to Lily Cruickshank and written by your husband.”

She blinked several times at me. “Why does that not come as a bigger shock. He had a string of women during our marriage. It was all rather embarrassing.”

She shot out her hand. “Can I see the letter please?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m afraid not. That letter belongs to Lily. It wouldn’t be right for me to pass it around, allowing other people to read what is rightfully hers.”

There was a flinty expression charging through her eyes. “How very noble of you.”

I bristled but didn’t respond. Astrid wasn’t coming across as the wronged ex-wife to me.

She performed a theatrical cock of her head. “I wonder if he ever managed to get his leg over with her?”