Page 10 of A Scottish Country Escape

They belonged to a tall, handsome man with swept-back collar-length raven-black hair and a set of startling blue eyes that were topped by thundery black brows. His wide mouth carried an air of arrogance.

He was dressed in a moss-coloured T-shirt and dark-blue jeans.

My eyes travelled down to his dark-brown lace-up boots.

Everything about him made him look as though he’d just stepped out of some lavish magazine photoshoot at an abandoned LA viaduct.

I opened my mouth to deliver a verbal tirade, but Cate’s hissing voice in my ear made me stop. ‘Hang on! I know him from somewhere. I’m sure I’ve seen him before.’

‘On the front cover of Knobhead Weekly?’ I hissed under my breath.

Beside me, Mrs Carlucci was still examining the man and his beast of a car with a pale, wide-eyed expression. Upon seeing the man, she shot out her hand and clung to my arm. She stuttered something in frantic Italian. The poor woman must be in shock. And no wonder!

I continued to glower at him, but he was too preoccupied surveying our main shopping street with a combination of disdain and bemusement.

He angled his very attractive aquiline profile, and all at once I experienced the same jolt of recognition that Cate had. His face was familiar. But where from?

‘I recognise him!’ blurted Cate, sudden triumph in her voice.

Mrs Carlucci attempted to steady herself. Her voice sounded odd. ‘Who is he?’

‘That’s Dexter Grayling,’ hissed Cate to both of us. ‘You must have heard of him. He’s that crime writer everyone’s been talking about.’

I gave my throbbing arse a tender rub. Adrenaline was still pumping through me.

Cate nodded her curls. ‘It’s definitely him. He’s been described as the rock star of crime writers.’

Fleeting images of him that I’d seen in a Sunday newspaper supplement the other week shot though my head. There had been a set of arty black and white photos of him and quotes about the infamous louche parties he was always throwing. Yes, it was him.

I took in his flash car again. ‘More cock than rock.’

He must have heard what I said because he snapped his head round from critically examining the street. I found myself on the receiving end of a thunderous glower.

He swung his car keys around one finger before locking his car door by pointing the fob at it. The vehicle lit up like a firework, bleeping and flashing. Then he strode towards us.

‘Is there somewhere I can get some decent notebooks around here? And I’m not talking about the cheap, thin variety with paper you can spit peas through.’

His voice was deep and educated, but arrogant.

His attention landed on me again and he allowed his gaze to trickle over me, in no hurry to look away.

My cheeks felt like they were suddenly on fire and I almost forgot that he had been seconds away from totalling Mrs Carlucci and me with his car.

My indignation rose again. Was this man serious? Was that all he could say after what he’d just done? Mrs Carlucci and I had almost been pinned under his wheels!

‘Are you joking?’ I finally managed, struggling to control my voice. ‘You just sped down here and almost knocked us over and yet you stand there and ask where you can buy notebooks? Have you been drinking?’

‘I happened to take a wrong turning, that’s all, and I most certainly have not been drinking.’

Mrs Carlucci stared open-mouthed at him. It took her a moment to collect herself. I could see she was still trembling. Her voice quavered. She muttered something else in Italian. ‘You shouldn’t have been driving round here. It’s pedestrians only!’ Her breathing was ragged. She illustrated what she’d just said by repeatedly jabbing a shaky finger at the necessary signs. Her eyes glowed a furious green. ‘I take it you can read, young man?’

He blinked at her through thrusting dark lashes, as if she had interrupted his train of thought. ‘Of course, I can. Oh, never mind.’

Cate and I exchanged disbelieving stares as he continued on, unabashed. Had we just imagined the whole thing?

‘I’ve just moved in to the area. You might know it. Hawk West Hall?’

The three of us sported vacant, confused expressions.