Page 28 of A Scottish Country Escape

She stretched out her jewelled right hand and gave me a piece of lined paper. In her sweeping handwriting was a name and address:

Mr Adam Fraser

2 Mayfield Road,

Fir Haven

There was also his telephone number.

She moved towards the shop door and watched me scan the note.

‘Gran?’

She stepped out of the door, causing a palette of late afternoon light to wash across the wooden floor. ‘Please let me know if you need me tomorrow.’

‘But, Gran—’

‘I think Cate said she would be in tomorrow,’ she cut across, blowing me a kiss. ‘I’m so proud of you, Elle.’

She delved into her bag for her Jackie Onassis-style sunglasses and slipped them on. ‘See you back at Pebble Brook, darling.’

Then she was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

When I rang Dexter to tell him about the mystery lead my grandma had given us, he did his utmost to persuade me to drive up to Hawk West Hall straight after closing the shop, so we could drive straight over to speak to Adam Fraser.

My legs felt as if I’d put them through two hours of frantic Zumba and my hair was escaping from its ponytail; add to that, the sticky, sweaty sheen on my skin and it was a definite no.

You don’t want Dexter seeing you looking like that, whispered my inner voice.

I ignored it. I wouldn’t want anyone seeing me looking like that, I qualified quickly to myself.

Ignoring Dexter’s grunts of protest down the line, I locked up Paper Roses and suggested we go and visit Mr Fraser after work tomorrow instead.

‘But that’s another twenty-four hours away!’

I pulled a face as I rattled my keys. ‘Yes, Mr Grayling, I can count. But you have to realise I am busy.’

He emitted a painful groan. ‘OK. Tomorrow it is. I suppose another day won’t make much difference.’

For the remainder of that evening, Gran remained tight-lipped about Adam Fraser.

I made several concerted efforts to find out more, but all she would say was that he too was Fir Haven born and bred and that she had known him when she was in her twenties, prior to meeting Grandpa Tony.

Any further questions were met with a guarded refusal. ‘Speak to Adam,’ was all she would say. ‘I want to hear his side of things first.’

I folded my arms at the breakfast bar and pushed away my plate of half-demolished lasagne and salad. ‘What does that mean?’

But she’d already changed the subject to the news that Mrs Thomson’s grandson had qualified as a doctor.

* * *

I sat cross-legged on my bed and fingered the piece of paper Grandma had given me. I considered whether to ring Adam Fraser first. That would only be polite, wouldn’t it? Two strangers turning up at his door might well alarm him.

But then there was the element of surprise that might be to our advantage.

Dear me. I sounded like I was involved in some covert criminal operation!