Page 14 of A Scottish Country Escape

I’d retained the rustic European oak floor Dad had put in only a couple of years ago, as it complemented the new colour scheme so well.

As for the shop door, I’d decided to be more adventurous and this was now a gleaming shade of deep French rose, with the exterior of the shop now in a simple pale ivory.

The walls were currently bare, but I decided to buy some prints of various types of roses I had found on an art shop website. In the end, I opted for four, one for each wall, which depicted images of cherry parfait, tea roses, prairie roses and a dogrose. They were expected to arrive within the next few days.

With regards to what I wanted Paper Roses to stock, I had opted for more nature-inspired products, which I hoped would not only be more original but which would also reflect the abundance of wildlife that Fir Haven had to offer.

Grandma had enthused when I showed her the butterfly-studded pens and pencils and the hardcover notebooks embossed with flowers, wild birds, and assorted species of trees. Goodness knows if they were posh enough for that idiot Dexter Grayling! As long as he didn’t run someone else over though – that was my main concern!

Then there were the vanilla-coloured envelopes and writing paper for the traditionalists, with a selection of rose-gold, mint, ice-blue, and bold Day-Glo designs for the more adventurous stationery aficionados.

I had also ordered a range of funky, modern stationery (exercise books; pencil cases; sharpeners and erasers) for the local school children. Additionally, there would be a selection of greetings cards and pretty picture frames made out of shells and dried flowers. I planned to expand on these if they did well.

I looked at Grandma sitting beside me as she surveyed the newly painted interior, the bare shelves pleading to be filled with exciting new stock. ‘What are you thinking?’

She put her tea cup down on the counter and laced her fingers in her lap. ‘How about speaking to that retired lady who runs the painting workshops in the town hall? Maybe she could come up with some bespoke bookmark designs for you? It would be a great USP for you.’

I grinned at her over the rim of my cup. ‘Get you! USP? You’ll be turning into Gordon Gekko next and shouting about greed being good.’

She fired her silvery bobbed hair back from her face. ‘Something tells me you’re being sarcastic.’

I smiled and was about to reply when the shop door clattered open, delivering a burst of summer rain onto the wooden floor.

Grandma and I jumped in alarm.

Dexter Grayling was framed by the doorway, his black hair tumbling forward and glistening with raindrops.

I rolled my eyes. Who would he try to run over in his vulgar car today?

I rose up from behind the counter and folded my arms, ready to give him a verbal lashing if his attitude was anything like it had been before.

I waited for some caustic quip or condescending remark, but neither was forthcoming.

Instead, his troubled expression darted from me to my grandmother and then back again. He lifted a hand and swiped his agitated brow.

‘You have to help me!’ he pleaded in desperation. ‘You have to help me!’

Chapter Eight

My grandmother blinked at the long-legged, dark-haired man who had just barrelled through the shop door. Dashes of raindrops were glinting on the sleeves of his black hoodie.

Her appraising silver eyes travelled down the length of him to the drips of water hitting the wooden floor.

Recognition reared up in her face. Grandma rose to her feet and rearranged the sugar-pink chiffon scarf draped around her neck. ‘That’s him,’ she croaked out of the corner of her mouth. ‘That’s Dexter Grayling.’

I gave a bored sigh. ‘Yep.’

He rivered an agitated hand through his damp hair. ‘That woman the other day… the one selling the heather…’

‘You mean Mrs Carlucci,’ I said. ‘The one you almost pinned under your wheels.’

From out of the corner of my eye, Gran’s body stiffened at the mention of her name. I hadn’t imagined it. That was the second time I had seen her react oddly. What was it with my gran and Mrs Carlucci?

But I didn’t have an opportunity to consider the possibilities, because Dexter Grayling was scowling again from under his brows. ‘Oh, not that again. Look, that was a misunderstanding and we’ve already been through all that.’

I arched one brow.

‘I need to speak to this Mrs Carlucci. Do you know where she lives?’