Page 83 of The Cottage in the Highlands

When it was clear that his grandson and I weren’t prepared to leave without answers, he threw his hands up into the air. “All right! All right. For the love of God! If it means I can return to the peace of my studio, then let’s get this over with.”

He grunted something else and directed us to the right with a jab of one irritated finger. “I suppose I was deluding myself if I thought I could keep this quiet forever.”

The room was an amber and toffee affair, furnished with two marmalade-coloured sofas and an armchair. I imagined sitting there, surrounded by all these rich, autumnal colours, losing myself in a hot chocolate and marshmallows on a dark, chilly evening. A Cary Grant movie would be on TV, the velvet curtains framing dancing leaves out on the lawn.

Flynn senior’s voice dragged my attention back. He ordered us to sit down, but Mrs Oates made her way to the door.

“And where do you think you’re going, Mary?”

Mrs Oates’s hand froze over the door handle. “I thought you would want your privacy, Mr Talbot.”

He let out a noise that was a cross between a sigh and a grunt. “For pity’s sake, woman! How long have you worked for me now? You know more about me than any other woman I can think of. Now please sit down.”

Mrs Oates carried an embarrassed flicker of a smile. She sank down next to Flynn on the other sofa opposite me, while Flynn senior took up residence in the lone armchair.

“So,” said Flynn, firing out his long legs in front of him. “Where do you want to start, Grandfather?”

Flynn senior’s shoulders sank a little under his checked shirt. He looked as if he wished he were anywhere else than sitting there, confronted by us. He cleared this throat. “It’s a cliché, but I suppose at the beginning might be a good idea…”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“She was the loveliest woman I had ever set eyes on,” reminisced Flynn senior.

“It was the 15th of December, 1972 at Merry Wood, and Lily was outside, shovelling snow away from their cottage path. She reminded me of a wood nymph – dainty, pale skin and that lustrous red hair that looked like it was a light, poking out from under her bobble hat.”

I smiled over at him. “Please go on.”

Flynn senior laced and unlaced his fingers. I could see as I sat across from him what he must have looked like back in the day. Even now, he was a handsome older man, with thick silvery hair and that moustache.

But all those years ago… My eyes drifted to Flynn and I conjured up pictures of his grandfather being tall, dark, and wolfish like him.

Flynn senior resumed his recollection. He glanced at his grandson. “Astrid was occupied on the phone in her office, talking in that strangulated, faux-posh voice she adopted on telephone calls. It sounded nothing like her. And Carl was at school, rehearsing for their school panto, Aladdin.

“I saw her move between the snow-drizzled trees, pushing the shovel to create a path out of their cottage.”

Flynn senior shook his head. “I remember wondering where that useless, lazy husband of hers was. Bernard. He should have been out there, giving her a helping hand.

“Lily was struggling to push the spade through an obstinate section of icy snow. Behind me and from down the corridor, I could hear your grandmother’s forced laughter. It grated against me.”

Flynn senior looked at the three of us in turn.

“I couldn’t leave her struggling like that, so I moved away from the sitting room window and fetched my gloves, hat, scarf, and coat. My heart was going like a piston as I crunched across that snow towards her. She was puffing out those rosy cheeks of hers, trying to make more headway with the spade.”

A warm smile spread over Flynn senior’s face as he thought of her. “We said hello and then I insisted on giving her a hand. She told me Bernard wasn’t able to help her as his back was playing up again.”

Flynn senior’s tender smile vanished.

His mouth flatlined with disapproval. “Bernard’s back didn’t seem to have bothered him in the pub the previous night, when he was hunched over the bar, flirting with the barmaid.”

Flynn confirmed that he had kept that piece of information to himself.

Thoughts of Lily being married to someone who didn’t deserve her made me prickle. “So, what happened next, Mr Talbot?”

“We chatted about what we were doing for Christmas and Lily mentioned all the charity work that Astrid did.”

Flynn senior’s lips hitched into an ironic tilt. “I commented that it was a pity her Lady Bountiful act didn’t extend to her own husband.”

I shot a look at Flynn, who frowned at his grandfather.