Page 17 of A Scottish Country Escape

I turned to my grandmother, deciding I would get her to rest and have a cup of tea, but the conversation screeched to a halt when my grandmother’s knees buckled and she reached out to grab hold of the shop counter.

‘Gran!’

Chapter Ten

‘Grandma! What’s wrong?’

I snatched at her with one arm, while Dexter leapt round and pulled forward the chair she had risen out of.

‘Are you ok?’ I asked her, my heart sticking in my throat. ‘What is it?’

She took a few breaths and flapped away my concern. ‘I’m fine, dear. It’s just a little warm in here, that’s all.’

I frowned down at her as she scooped back some of her hair behind her ears. The June rain was splattering against the windows, and the radiator that heated the shop wasn’t on. ‘It isn’t that warm in here, Gran.’

She delivered one of her gimlet-eyed looks and patted me on one worried hand. ‘Stop fussing, Elle. I was standing up a little too long, that’s all.’

‘Maybe you should get checked over by a doctor,’ suggested Dexter. ‘You did turn very white.’

‘What, whiter than normal?’ she joked, tugging at her chiffon scarf. ‘I’m Scottish, young man. We’re not known for being sun-kissed.’

I shook my head in exasperation. ‘You almost fainted.’

‘Rubbish! My legs got a bit tired. You wait till you’re my age.’

I fetched her a glass of water from the kitchen and she sipped at it. ‘So, go on, Dexter,’ she prodded after taking a long drink.

Oh, good grief. Must we?

He eyed us both. ‘I know how all this must sound – nuts.’

What’s nuts about telling us someone’s put a curse or spell or some other such nonsense on you in twenty-first-century Scotland?

I wanted to say as much, but the last thing I wanted to do was upset my grandmother further, so I bit it back.

Dexter eyed me with blatant suspicion. His voice was deep and rumbly. ‘You seem to be friendly with this Mrs Carlucci.’

My eyebrows travelled up to my hair line. ‘I don’t know her.’

Grandma took another shy sip of her water.

‘But you’re local,’ he pushed on. ‘And you must have so much knowledge about the local history of this place.’

‘Yes, I have some,’ I admitted after a pause, ‘but I don’t know about every single family or all the comings and goings around here…’

‘Can you help me?’ he interrupted, his eyes glittering. I found myself admiring his impossibly long and spikey black lashes, before reminding myself that I didn’t care for him.

‘Can you help me find this Mrs Carlucci?’

Was it Gran he was speaking to?

I followed his gaze. Nope. Shock registered inside me. He’s talking to me.

It took a few moments for me to form some coherent words. ‘So let me get this right: you’re asking me to help you locate Mrs Carlucci so you can ask her to break the curse she put on you?’

Grandma eyed me from her seat, clutching her glass of water. She still didn’t say anything.

‘I’m desperate,’ he admitted.