Page 2 of The Christmas Highland Lodge

The woman laughed. ‘Well, it’s stunning.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say so.’

She cocked her head to one side, making her blonde hair swing around her jawline. Her expression was open and intrigued as she studied mine. ‘You must love Christmas then.’

‘I’m obsessed,’ I admitted, blushing. ‘I always have been.’ I indicated to everything that surrounded us, from the ornate, scented candles, infused with berry and vanilla, to the gingerbread tree decorations and the rainbow waterfall of tinsel, cascading down from the racks. ‘Every day I come to work, it’s like stepping into Christmas all over again. It’s the most magical time of the year and I never tire of it.’

I let my attention fall on our miniature Christmas trees for sale, complete with dinky white lights, that I had lined up behind her. ‘It seems like at Christmas, anything is possible.’

I was aware the woman was staring at me and I let out a self-conscious cough. ‘Sorry! I’m prattling on. If you stay here any longer, I shall start boring you about Christmas traditions in Italy and Scandinavia.’

She grinned, hitched her shoulder bag up and clutched her purchases. ‘Not at all. It’s so refreshing to hear someone so enthusiastic and in love with what they do.’ She flashed me an intrigued look. ‘So where have you worked before? And where do you get such innovative ideas from?’

‘I used to work for Canterbury’s, which was like a Scottish Harrods – I’m sure you will have heard of it.’

‘Indeed, I have.’ The woman smiled, apparently impressed. ‘And did you create gorgeous displays like these for them too?’

‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’ I blushed. ‘I certainly tried. I used everything from tinsel animals to scented candles to create scenes which were like something out of a children’s picture book.’

I lowered my voice, even though there were no other people in the shop. ‘The owners, Barbara and Stratton Canterbury, were forward-thinking, approachable and open to any and all suggestions about how to make their store the biggest and brightest in Glasgow, so they gave me free rein.’

I smiled as I thought about my job and how much I had enjoyed it there. ‘I loved working for them. But when Canterbury’s began to lose money as people cut back on their luxury purchases, they had no option but to economise and that meant their generous staff quota had to be addressed. I was one of the members of staff who was let go, two years after I joined them.’

The blonde woman nodded. ‘That must have been awful.’

‘It was, but luckily Mrs Canterbury tipped me off about a new store across the other side of the city, Sanders, who were looking for someone with my skillset to turn their drab, average window displays into something magical.’

The woman listened with interest and seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but we were interrupted by Mrs Sangster sweeping in.

The woman thanked me again and then departed the shop with a wave of her gloved hand.

‘Everything going well?’ Mrs Sangster asked, resplendent in her long berry coat and white winter scarf. The glistening from the ruby fairy lights strung along the shelves behind her cast a soupy glow on top of her yellow-blonde hair. Vivian Sangster was a very well-preserved lady in her sixties, who had dabbled in fashion modelling for a bit during her younger years and enjoyed telling everyone.

‘Business has been very steady.’

‘Good.’

She hovered around, her attention alighting on the blue and silver fluffy robin redbreast I’d propped up by the cash register. We had received a job lot of them a few days ago and I was hoping that by positioning one there, they might start to sell.

The sound of Elton John stepping into Christmas began to play from Alexa.

‘I’ve been having a think about when I buy the shop,’ I enthused, coming out from behind the counter. ‘There is a new magazine coming out next year, which will focus on Scottish women in rural communities. I’m going to drop them an email.’

Mrs Sangster’s expression shifted. Her fingers tweaked the cute little bird’s knitted winter hat. ‘Lottie, I need to talk to you.’

I was on a roll and carried on. ‘And I’ve already had a word with Mrs Crill and she said she would be happy to start making edible Christmas cracker decorations which I can sell and we can share the profits—’

‘Lottie!’ Mrs Sangster’s sharp voice made me start.

She dragged a hand over her blonde bouffant. ‘This is very important. I should have spoken to you sooner. I’m so sorry.’

She clipped towards the shop door in her boots and spun the red and white painted sign hanging from it, to say Closed. ‘Come through to the office.’

Oh God. Was this about those broken ornaments? No. It wasn’t about Mum, was it? My mother worked behind the counter for a few hours each week, helping out, and loved it almost as much as I did. She had been doing such a great job too.

Mrs Sangster stalked ahead of me. I followed her through to the office.

An uneasy feeling was taking hold. What did she want to talk to me about?