Page 17 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

There were also photos of me at various parties and nightclubs. In some, my then-blonde hair was plastered to my face as I negotiated my way out of some exclusive venue in the early hours. They rippled up onto the screen, one after the other, as though they were taunting me.

I shrank back and stared at my unrecognisable self: the heavy make-up, fake tan, my starved frame, the long, platinum-blonde hair extensions, the brash attitude, and pointed, needle-thin high heels.

I was used to the odd sycophant and occasional hanger-on doing their best to inveigle themselves with me, so they might gain a crumb of fame for themselves, but I never envisaged Declan would be the same. In many ways, he’d proved himself to be far worse. At least with the hangers-on, they were obvious and didn’t try to hide it.

I blinked away the beginning of tears and scrolled down a few more images. There were a few shots of Marcus, me and Jacob together, taken at a couple of charity events organised by our mother.

When we were kids, Marcus was always the protective big brother and was somehow able to calm Mum down if she got worked up at me for staying out until all hours, when I walked on the wilder side of life. It was impressive to watch, rather like a lion tamer with a ferocious beast.

I peered at my laptop screen, fighting to process the fact that this young woman and I were one and the same. She was like a ghost from my past, with her flash clothes and dripping in extortionate jewellery and designer handbags.

And to think I would be out, throwing shapes on exclusive dance floors, before heading to work at Majestic Blooms a matter of hours later, to spruce up the flower arrangements of the likes of musical theatre stars, rock singers and well-known authors.

The memory of me sporting sunglasses to shield my fragile eyes, as I gingerly stepped into the marbled hallways of the great and the good, to create fresh flower displays for them, came back to haunt me.

Had I really been able to exorcise that former version of myself from my life? Perhaps Heather Moore could finally help me do that.

My fingers stumbled over the laptop keys, before switching it off and retreating to bed.

I decided I’d seen enough of who I used to be.

Lady Anastasia McLaren-Kerr.

Chapter Five

The next morning – Saturday – saw a steady stream of customers, keen to avail themselves of the re-invented, former Halloween door wreaths and bouquets that Amber, Rowan, and I had been working on.

There were also a few Christmas wreath and festive table decoration enquiries.

I arrived at Flower Power just after 7am, but the Heather Moore woodland across the way looked so inviting in the rose-gold morning that I decided to delay entering the shop for a few minutes and take a meander before I got started for the day.

The bare tree branches twisted and knotted overhead like intricate, Italian Renaissance artwork and the twigs crackled under my feet.

I breathed in the fresh, zingy scent of damp grass and earth.

It was so dense and quiet, I could almost imagine King Angus racing through here and clutching his crown, as he attempted to scale one of the trees to escape his enemies.

I turned and started to make my way back when I heard the thudding of footsteps behind me.

It was that bloody journalist, Zach Stern, out for an early morning run.

He was dressed in a black-and-white tracksuit; dark trainers and his sweaty hair was falling forward.

Looking around wildly, I jumped behind a nearby, gnarly tree, pressing my back against the trunk. I held my breath. Yes, this would be fine. I’d been quick, so I was sure he hadn’t seen me….

“Ms McArthur?”

Oh shit.

I wished the tree would open up its trunk and let me crawl inside for the next ten years.

Grinding my teeth together, I hoped I looked like I always threw myself against trees early in the morning and jutted my chin out. “Oh, Mr Stern. Good morning. I didn’t see you there.”

Zach’s mouth twitched. “Too busy examining the rings?”

“Sorry?”

He pointed at the tree.