Page 31 of A Scottish Country Escape

Chapter Twenty

Adam Fraser lived in Mayfield, on the outskirts of Fir Haven.

It was a little hamlet, consisting of several miner’s cottages huddled together with puffing chimneys and trellises dotted with blooming flowers.

There was a small supermarket and a post office, but that was all. It was as if Mayfield was a protected entity all of its own, working together to keep out the modern world.

Dexter eased his car to a stop outside the closed post office and peered over the top of his mirrored sunglasses. ‘Good grief! This place is like something out of the Stone Age!’

I twisted round in the passenger seat, sending my plait flying backwards. ‘Just because it doesn’t have seven nightclubs, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.’

Dexter swiped off his sunglasses and stashed them in the pocket of his sage-green shirt. ‘I don’t care if you lot engage in weekly orgies around here so long as I get my writing ability back.’ Then a hint of a teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘You don’t have weekly orgies, do you?’

‘Only monthly ones.’

‘That’s a shame.’

Dexter clambered out and I eyed the plush interior of his vehicle. It was a deep-caramel leather, carrying splashes of black and chrome on the dashboard that lit up like the night sky on New Year’s Eve.

As I got out of the passenger side, the golden glimpses of late June sunshine dissipated, to be overtaken by a pearly-grey sky.

My eyes travelled over the jean-clad Dexter. He had collected me from Paper Roses just before 5pm and I insisted to Cate that she leave me to close up for the day.

She’d blinked at me from under those sooty black lashes of hers and said, ‘OK, if you’re sure. Thanks!’

I had felt like an utter cretin not telling her where I was going and what I was doing, trying to speak to Adam Fraser again. I didn’t know what to expect myself, so decided not to overcomplicate things for now.

Dexter surveyed the six cottages crouched together on the opposite side of the road. Number two, Adam’s property, appeared to have been dipped in a box of children’s paints.

The snow-white pebbledash was complemented by a tangle of apricot 'Teasing Georgia’ roses snaking through the wooden trellis. The front door featured a French-blue hue, with the window shutters painted more of a sky-blue shade, reminiscent of the Mediterranean, rather than Scotland.

The carefully tended flowerbeds and modest but manicured square of grass, gave the whole house an idyllic chocolate-box aura. It was hard to reconcile this image before me with the gruff, abrupt gentleman who had damaged my ear canal yesterday.

The other five cottages, which ran the length of the quiet road, although sweet and well cared for with their net curtains and bobbing blooms of pansies and tubs of lavender, didn’t quite have the same immediate impact as No. 2.

Dexter’s drawl was sarcastic. ‘Are you going to stand there, admiring their paint work, or are we actually going to knock on the door?’

‘Any more wisecracks and I’ll ask Linda Carlucci to make her curse permanent.’

He raised a thick, dark brow. ‘That’s not funny.’

I strode past him, eager to put some space between us, and up to the dark-blue door.

My stomach rolled. Was all this such a good idea after all? Adam Fraser wasn’t expecting us and he had told me to sod off on the phone. I really hadn’t thought this through at all. I had been so irritated by his rudeness that my impetuous side had taken over.

I took a breath and stared at the brass heart-shaped door-knocker. My hand rose and hovered over it.

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Elle! Rattle the bloody thing!’

I swivelled round on my ballet pump. Dexter was looming behind me, his piercing gaze burning into my back. That was the first time he had called me by my first name. ‘All right, all right! Keep your designer kegs on!’

‘Kegs?’

I rolled my eyes up to the shards of dirty-looking clouds lurking overhead. ‘It’s Scottish slang for trousers.’

I lifted the pretty door-knocker and rattled it against the painted wood. There were a few moments of silence – which made me think we might have undertaken a wasted journey – until I thought I heard the creak of a door handle.

I took a nervous step backwards, bumping against Dexter’s solid right shoulder. The feel of his warm skin made me shoot forward again. I tried to still my heart, which decided to take off at a gallop.