Page 11 of A Scottish Country Escape

‘Well, that’s what I’ve named the place,’ he continued on. ‘It used to be the local council offices or something.’

He surveyed me, Cate, and Mrs Carlucci in turn. ‘I’ve just moved in up there.’

It took a few moments for my brain to catch up.

Dexter Grayling narrowed his cobalt eyes. ‘So, anyway… as I was saying, is there somewhere round here I can get leather-bound notebooks? A Smythson’s perhaps?’ He grew more irritated by our shocked silence. ‘Look, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got writing deadlines to meet and I’m hosting a house-warming party tonight.’

He scanned the high street. ‘Well, if there’s no Smythson’s, I doubt there’s anywhere round here where I can pick up some gold disco balls?’

Mrs Carlucci was incandescent beside me.

I frowned at her and said, ‘Are you all right?’ But she didn’t seem to hear me. She was too preoccupied, pinning Dexter Grayling to the spot with the full force of her ire. ‘No, there isn’t anything like that here!’ she ground out, trying to gather herself together. ‘I suggest you pop into the local supermarket. They stock jotters in there.’ She hoisted herself up to her full height. ‘And as for your balls—’

Horror at Mrs Carlucci’s suggestion shot across his face. ‘Are you kidding me? Jotters from the local supermarket?’

Mrs Carlucci flapped one hand that wasn’t clutching her collection of heather. ‘You still haven’t apologised for careering down here and almost running us over!’ She gestured again at his car. ‘Those things are death traps.’

His mouth tightened. ‘I did not career down here, as you so colourfully put it. It’s not my fault if you don’t look where you’re going.’

What?

A bubble of anger burst inside of me. ‘We weren’t in the wrong, you were! And as we’ve just told you, this is a pedestrianised area anyway.’

Bored with our conversation, he peered up and down the cobbles again. He was muttering to himself. ‘Dear lord, is this it?’

Cate’s mouth twisted. ‘Sorry?’

‘Is this the extent of the shops around here?’

Adored crime writer or not, my skin was sizzling with indignation. The sight of Mrs Carlucci, still so distressed, fired up my annoyance even further.

Cate whirled to look at me, as if to say, Bloody hell! He really is a prize prick!

I ground my teeth together. ‘Well, if your impression of the town is so poor, why are you here in the first place then?’

Dexter Grayling blinked and Cate prickled on the other side of me.

As threads of sunshine appeared and rippled through his dark hair, he indicated to himself, completely ignoring what I’d just said. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard of me,’ he announced, attempting to sound bashful and failing, ‘but I’m Dexter Grayling.’

The three of us raked him over with disbelieving stares.

‘Yes. We know. You’re that crime writer,’ commented Mrs Carlucci, her voice still raspy and odd.

‘That I am.’ He struggled to sound self-deprecating.

Dexter Grayling appeared momentarily startled as Mrs Carlucci edged closer to him. She swallowed hard, drinking in his features for a few moments. ‘So, am I to assume we won’t be receiving an apology from you?’

He made an exasperated noise.

Well, I thought, when I do stock fancy notebooks in my new business, I won’t be rushing to sell them to him, the conceited sod.

After reading Mrs Carlucci’s annoyance, Dexter Grayling muttered an unconvincing apology. ‘Look, sorry, OK? No harm done.’ He began to move back towards his car. He examined the row of main street shops, deciding that he wouldn’t find his extravagant notebooks or disco balls within the immediate vicinity.

But Mrs Carlucci moved after him, shot out a hand, and snatched at his arm. Her emotional green eyes were trained on him like searing radar. Her other hand reached up to her throat and held a silver crescent moon pendant dangling around her neck.

Cate gave me a nudge. ‘What is she doing?’

‘I’ve no idea. Maybe she banged her head.’