Page 94 of A Scottish Country Escape

Chapter Fifty-Nine

As I opened the shop with Gran the following Monday morning, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder at the main street.

It was odd to think that only two days ago it had been a seething mass of people, with the bunting and the sound of sizzling food and Dean Ellwood’s vocals rising up towards the roofs.

Now it was its usual self again with the September light pouring over the cobbles like clotted cream.

As she fussed around, Gran noticed me looking out through the front window of the shop. ‘You did a fantastic job, darling.’

I turned to smile at her. ‘And we did well. The takings far exceeded what we thought. But one event won’t be enough, Gran.’ I gave her a hopeful smile. ‘I was thinking of asking Dean Ellwood if he might consider recording a song and dedicating some of the proceeds to saving the reserve.’

At that moment, the shop doorbell tinkled, signalling the arrival of Angus Ronald, one of Grandma’s old friends from her school days. His grandson was about to start university and he wanted to give him one of our fountain pen and pencil sets as a good luck gift.

Gran plucked several options from the glass cabinet behind the counter and Angus perused each one in turn, murmuring his appreciation.

I was about to open the mail when I was distracted by the shop door opening again. Joshua Boyd barrelled in.

I felt myself go rigid. What does he want?

He tugged down the jacket of his ink-blue suit. His near-balding head was shining almost as much as his temper-induced cheeks. ‘This farmer’s market nonsense on Saturday won’t make any difference. Your loyalty to the reserve is commendable, but it won’t achieve anything.’

I noticed Grandma’s hands grip the edge of the counter. ‘It was far, far bigger than a farmer’s market and much more successful.’

Joshua Boyd tried not to reveal his irritation. ‘Well, I’m not here to debate the issue over a few stalls selling hot dogs and scented candles.’ I could feel myself bristling. ‘I’m here to make a proposition.’

Angus Ronald, who had abandoned his perusal of the fountain pens, flicked Gran and me a loaded look.

I felt my jaw clench. ‘Like sending thugs round to people’s houses to intimate people?’

Angus turned to Gran. ‘Clara, what’s this about thugs? Is everything all right?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. It’s fine. I’ll tell you later.’

Joshua Boyd shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he replied airily.

I felt my dislike for him ramp up even more. ‘Of course you don’t.’

Joshua Boyd glanced around at Paper Roses and sniffed. ‘If the development were to, say, invest in the future of this little business of yours, perhaps you could see your way to embracing our plans.’

The audacity of the man! Had I heard him correctly? I shook my head in disbelief. ‘You’re trying to bribe us?’

Joshua Boyd adjusted his red silk tie. ‘Not at all. I mean, in this precarious economic market, I would have thought any extra financial injection would be welcomed.’

‘Not as a bribe!’ I snapped. ‘How dare you even think I might consider such a thing.’

Joshua Boyd’s hooded eyes sharpened. ‘You’re being a very silly young lady.’

Angus stepped forward; his shoulders squared under his checked jacket. ‘That sounded like a threat.’

Joshua Boyd eyed Angus for a few moments. Then there was a flicker of realisation. ‘I know you.’

‘Angus Ronald. I own Calder Fern Farm. I’m also an ex local councillor, like Mrs Blackmore here.’

Joshua Boyd’s fat fingers reached for his tie again while he processed this revelation.

‘And I can tell you,’ continued Angus, emboldened, ‘that we still have powerful contacts. We also don’t appreciate attempts at blackmail.’

Realising he had thrown his weight around without thinking of the ramifications, Joshua Boyd backtracked. ‘There was no blackmail. It was merely a generous offer of investment.’