Page 98 of A Scottish Country Escape

‘That’s why I don’t understand why he won’t confide in me this time,’ said Elsa with concern. ‘I know something’s wrong because I haven’t seen him writing anything for weeks and weeks now.’

I couldn’t conceal my surprise. ‘So Dexter hasn’t told you anything then? About his writing drought?’

She shook her ball of white waves. ‘Any time I ask him about his writing, he gets tetchy and brushes it off. He says it’s a blip and that he’ll get over it. But I’ve never known him like this before. He’s always so creative. Writing is his life.’

So Dexter hadn’t told Elsa about Linda Carlucci and the curse. I sat there, conflicted, internally arguing with myself about what I should do.

‘I blame this Shelley,’ she muttered. ‘It was always Dexter she had her eye on. Jay was the substitute.’

I listened as Elsa divulged details about Shelley’s extravagant spending habits and her tireless efforts since Nadia’s birth to ensnare Dexter. ‘No wonder the poor man can’t write his novels when she’s hanging around, always trying to get her claws into him or spending his money.’

Wild ideas converged in my head, tripping and falling over each other. Dexter must have his reasons for not telling Elsa about his writing problems – embarrassment probably, as well as fear she wouldn’t believe him – but she had come here and opened up to me. It was also obvious that she only had his very best interests at heart.

Dexter would be furious with me, but I was doing it for him. I allowed my fingers to trail across the Formica surface of the kitchen table. I had to tell her. It was only fair. She had confided in me about Nadia not being his daughter. ‘There’s something I should tell you. About Dexter.’ I paused. ‘Dexter’s case of writer’s block has nothing to do with Shelley.’

She frowned and leant forward. ‘So what is it to do with? Oh God, he’s not ill, is he?’

I rubbed my nose. ‘No, nothing like that.’

Blowing out a cloud of air, I steeled myself and began to explain something to Elsa which, up until recently, I had refused to believe myself.

Chapter Sixty-One

It was therapeutic, telling Elsa all about Dexter and Linda Carlucci and what Dexter had been experiencing following the near collision with us in his car.

I realised, as I was talking, that my explanation sounded crazy. Elsa’s bewildered expression compounded that.

I finished speaking and rubbed at my forehead. ‘So there you have it. I know it must sound ridiculous.’

Elsa’s dazed grey expression drifted from me to the kitchen walls and then out to the silent shop floor and back again.

‘I’m telling you the truth,’ I insisted.

Elsa knotted her hands in her lap. ‘Good grief. Well, I’ve never seen Dexter like this before. He’s had bouts of frustration with his writing, but not as prolonged or as tortuous as this.’

Outside, the Monday evening light was seeping into twists of grey and amber.

‘I don’t expect you to believe everything I’ve told you, Elsa, but I do want you to know I have no reason to lie to you.’

Her hands, sprinkled with a dose of freckles, clasped and unclasped themselves on top of the table. ‘I know that.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Have you spoken to this Carlotta woman since?’

‘It’s Carlucci. And yes, I have. Both Dexter and I have tried to reason with her.’

‘And no luck?’

I shook my head. ‘She wouldn’t listen. She seems to have made her mind up about him. I think she thinks Dexter hasn’t realised the error of his ways.’

Elsa shot forward in eagerness, her buttoned blouse rustling as she moved. ‘Then I suggest we go and see her together.’

* * *

‘But they can’t be!’ I choked. ‘They’re not giving us a chance to fight back.’

My grandmother rested her head against the back of her favourite armchair later on that evening. ‘According to Kay’s granddaughter, who works in PR for the developers, the council are intending to come back with an alternative proposal about the reserve.’

A kernel of optimism started to flourish. Grandma noted the flash of hope in my face too. ‘I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you, darling.’

My optimism shrivelled. ‘I don’t like the sound of this.’