Page 93 of A Scottish Country Escape

But what had he expected? He hadn’t exactly rocked up in Fir Haven and made a favourable impression from the get-go!

A combination of guilt and hurt pushed down on my shoulders. I returned to the Paper Roses stall where Gran was sitting down having a rest and a couple of our recruited student helpers were wrapping up snow globes for customers.

At the top of the road I could make out Dexter, now a blur of black hair. Shelley was teetering behind him, trying to catch up. ‘Couldn’t we have stayed a few more minutes, Dex? There was another handbag there that would have matched those new leopard-print heels I bought last week.’

Elsa, her head bowed and chatting to Nadia, stopped again on the pavement and delivered another glance down at the fair, before they all vanished from sight.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

I spent the remainder of that Saturday afternoon attempting to enjoy Dean Ellwood’s set. He had originally only planned to play in the morning, but had received such a rapturous reception that he and his fellow musicians decided to stay on.

Gran had witnessed Dexter stalking off and once I’d explained everything, she insisted I take a break and have some lunch. I sat picking at a gourmet chicken burger and salad, which Gran had bought for me from one of the food stalls.

Dexter hadn’t even been prepared to hear me out! At least he could have granted me the courtesy of explaining.

I managed a few more forked mouthfuls of lettuce and tomato under the watchful eye of Gran, before sliding the remainder of it into a nearby bin.

Grandma frowned. ‘You barely touched that.’

I shrugged off her concern. ‘I’ve got too much to do. The local paper and radio station will be here soon.’

By the time they arrived, the Nature Reserve Knees-Up was in full throttle.

Children were scampering around, their faced painted like tigers, zebras, and butterflies. The air carried a concoction of barbecued food and scented candles and there was laughter and chatter rising up from the crowd. Placards were waved and thrust around, demanding that the reserve be saved.

Dean Ellwood did an excellent PR job, chatting to the reporters about the reserve and how an area of such historical and environmental importance deserved to be saved.

The entertainers mingled with the families, handing out balloons moulded into the shapes of animals and birds, and the representatives from the wildlife organisations drew rapturous applause for their impassioned speeches about the abundance of creatures which inhabited the area.

Gran emerged at my shoulder as the first of the families began to drift away during the afternoon. ‘You did a wonderful job, darling.’

I linked my weary, satisfied arm through hers, smiling and thanking more people as they said goodbye and headed home. Sleepy youngsters were slumped against shoulders, their painted faces smudging their parents’ clothes. The weary stall holders began to pack away their stock.

Dean Ellwood appeared, his pale eyes twinkling. ‘What a day! You deserve huge congratulations.’

Gran disappeared to chat to a couple of people she knew, while Dean pushed a hand through his tangle of red curls. ‘The guys are just loading up the van.’ He paused. ‘That wasn’t Dexter Grayling I saw earlier, was it?’

I felt my skin prickle at the mention of his name. ‘Yes. He lives locally.’

Dean was impressed. ‘Wow! I love his books. That last one he wrote about a series of murders in a museum was terrific.’

As more locals wandered past, bidding us good afternoon, there was the sound of flapping canvas while the stalls were dismantled.

‘If there’s anything else I can do to help with your campaign, please let me know. I mean it.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’

He handed me a flash business card in black and gold. ‘My mobile number is on there.’

I accepted it, avoiding the prolonged gaze he was giving me. ‘I’ll let you know how things go, Dean. And thank you so much again.’

I risked a look up at him. He was sporting an understanding smile. ‘Sure thing.’

That evening, I soaked in the bath with an array of scented candles while the bathroom window clouded up with steam.

Now all I had to do was hope that we had created enough momentum and raised a significant amount of money so we could fight what Atticus Development were planning.

As for Dexter, well, that ship seemed to have well and truly sailed.