Page 84 of A Scottish Country Escape

‘Lucy spoke to him about your autumn fair and Dean has offered to appear for free!’

I let out a squeal. ‘Are you kidding?!’

Cate grinned back. ‘Nope. He said he would be delighted to lend his support and that the publicity of him playing in aid of the reserve won’t hurt sales of his new album, which is due out at Christmas.’

This good news diluted my pain about Dexter, allowing me to at least temporarily revel in this terrific development. ‘You do know you have one hell of a girlfriend there.’

Cate’s gaze glittered. ‘You don’t need to remind me.’

* * *

I charged headlong into the next couple of days, making sure the local paper had all the necessary information to cover the Nature Reserve Knees-Up and that everything from the market stalls, the local traders and bakers, to the children’s entertainers and representatives from the environmental groups and wildlife protection societies were in place.

I posted regular updates on the Paper Roses website, as well as our Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram accounts, to make sure the word spread far and wide. Cate even used her artistic talents to create a poster for the event, which fellow shop owners were only too happy to display in their windows.

Atticus Development had gone silent, however, which did concern me. It was as if they were toying with us, waiting to see what our next move would be, before they made theirs.

* * *

It was now only a week until the autumn fair took place and the Saturday late August sky had been bulging all morning with the prospect of rain. I hovered on the step of Paper Roses and silently pleaded to the heavens for better weather one week from today.

The trees on the opposite side of the cobbles were carrying faint dashes of gold, amber, and claret and as the first fat raindrops fell, they spun the few fallen leaves down the road like little boats.

From over my shoulder, I heard my mobile erupt in my bag.

‘Don’t worry, lovey. I’ll get it,’ called Gran.

I turned and headed back in, an enquiring look on my face and a bemused expression on hers. She spoke in hushed tones. ‘That’s the management team of Dean Ellwood. They want to know if he can drop by after lunch today to take a look around.’

I grinned. ‘Of course.’

‘They apologise for the short notice, but he’s been busy dropping his latest single – whatever that means.’

I laughed at her frown. ‘It’s just a fancy way of saying the record has been released, Gran.’

She rolled her eyes and handed me the phone. ‘Why couldn’t they have just said that then?’

Once I’d chatted with his PR person, Laura, I put my phone back in my bag and let out a long rush of air. ‘Oh God. I hope he’s impressed.’

‘Impressed with what? He’s coming here to help save our nature reserve, not buy a house!’

Thank goodness I had my wonderful gran to keep me sane!

As it was the weekend, the shop was busier than usual. We dealt with passing customers, as well as giving people a verbal update on the autumn fair and also popping further bulletins up on Paper Roses’ social media sites.

I ordered my grandmother to take a break and she agreed, on the proviso that I too would have a proper lunch, if she brought back two of the warmed golden chorizo rocket and tomato rolls from the bakery.

I would have preferred not to have closed on a Saturday for lunch, planning instead to capitalise on weekend trade, but one charged stare from her brooked no further argument.

I swung the door sign to closed and we sat in the back, savouring our warm lunch and chatting over cups of freshly brewed tea. We chatted about everything from the current novel she was reading for book club to what we wanted to give each other for Christmas. Gran had just told me about woodland-scented festive candles she’d spotted on the internet, which she thought might sell well in the shop, when I glanced down at my watch. ‘Bloody hell! It’s almost 2 p.m. already! Dean Ellwood will be here any minute.’

Gran cleared our crumb-strewn plates and I rinsed the mugs before darting into the bathroom to tidy myself up. I neatened my ponytail, which I’d curled messily earlier that morning, and reapplied my rosy lipstick.

I had just emerged from our staff toilet and was straightening the lavish bow of my pearl-coloured shirt, when the door dinged open.

Dean Ellwood was alone. I had expected his entourage to accompany him, but instead he hesitated with a lopsided smile. He was attractive in a slouchy sort of way. ‘Elle Cassidy?’

‘That’s me.’