Page 68 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

Shit. What a mess.

Maybe if I’d been around, I might have noticed something was happening?

“Does Marcus know any of this?”

“He does now.” She fixed me with a look. “Your brother’s been tied up with work and, I think, deliberately throwing himself onto courses and away-days to keep himself occupied since the breakup. One of Samuel’s colleagues texted Marcus yesterday and told him.” She drew in her lips. “Last I heard, Jacob and Samuel were looking at apartments on the south side of Glasgow. They were talking about staying around the Edinburgh area, initially. Even looking at building a new home in Tweed Muir.”

I groaned. “You’re kidding. How insensitive.”

Mum swallowed and set her shoulders as she continued to pace around. “But don’t worry. Everything’s been taken care of.”

An odd feeling took over. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say I had no option but to appeal to Samuel’s avaricious streak.”

I lurched up from the sofa. “You paid him off? Why?”

Oh, good grief. This situation was just getting better and better.

“I didn’t want to. Please don’t look at me like that, Anastasia, it wasn’t my idea. It was Samuel’s.”

I looked at my mother standing there, with the gilded picture frames and velvet cushions behind her. “What are you saying?”

Mum allowed her manicured hands to rise and fall. “Samuel was shameless about it when I rang him.” She contorted her lips in disgust. “He said Jacob didn’t want to tell your brother about their affair, but he had no such qualms and had tried to push Jacob into confessing everything. I got the impression the vicious little sod was almost relishing it.”

She stared past my shoulder, her mouth set. “Samuel said Marcus had a right to know. He told me Jacob wanted to move away and start over with him, but Samuel said they might stay around Tweed Muir.”

I couldn’t comprehend Samuel’s audacity. It wasn’t enough for him that he’d stolen his friend’s fiancé, he was trying to live locally with him as well! Talk about rubbing my brother’s nose in it!

“I think, underneath, Samuel was always rather resentful of your brother, professionally speaking,” admitted my mother, her gaze wandering over to the fluttering red-studded viburnum outside the window. “He remained friends with Marcus for as long as it suited his own ends and for what he could get from him.”

I sank down again onto the sofa.

Mum’s mouth twisted into a grim line. “I told Samuel that he and Jacob should ensure they put as much space between themselves and your brother as possible. I said it was the least they could do and I thought I was getting through to him at one point, when he admitted they’d already viewed some new-build apartment on the south side of Glasgow.”

“And then?”

“Then Samuel turned round and without a flicker of remorse said that unless I gave him money, he’d go to the press and tell all about his affair with Lord Marcus’s fiancé.” Mum eyed me for my reaction. “That would be the cost of them disappearing out of Marcus’s life. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but I was trying to do what was best for your brother.”

Mum crossed and uncrossed her arms as she continued to stride around. “It might not seem like it, but everything I’ve done, and everything I do, is for my children.”

She looked pensive as she studied the wintry garden scene. I was speechless.

“Samuel has resigned. He put out the story that he’d been headhunted by another agency. Your brother was on a residential training course for a few days and when he came back to work Samuel had already gone.”

I looked at Mum. “And does Marcus know about the money you gave Samuel?”

She whipped her head round to me. Her voice was insistent; pleading. “No. And it should stay that way. It’s in your brother’s best interests – you’ll see. I knew how hurt he’d be by all this and I wanted to try and protect him as much as I could.” Her eyes shone. “I still feel like I failed you over Declan. Perhaps I thought I could make amends over you, by at least trying to create some sort of damage limitation for my son.”

* * *

I drove back to Heather Moore, feeling twisted up inside with sadness and anger on behalf of my heartbroken brother, and when I got back to my flat, I tried to call him, but only his voicemail kicked in, so I hung up without leaving a message.

I didn’t sleep well that night, and when I woke up on Monday morning, I felt as though I’d been battered and bruised in a rugby scrum.

I made myself a camomile tea as I prepared to open up Flower Power.

The first part of the morning seemed to crawl past. Amber and Rowan were their same ebullient selves, looking forward to Christmas and both sporting Santa hats, but I felt like I was wading through treacle.