Page 102 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Twenty-Six

I stared around at the towering Cuillins prizing apart the sky.

‘Why did Elliot Becker insist we meet here?’ I asked.

‘He said he’d explain when he arrived,’ answered Campbell.

Logan looked intrigued. ‘It’s all rather James Bond.’ He was morphing into teasing mode again. ‘If I were 007, would you be my Miss Moneypenny, Darcie?’

I pulled a sarcastic face. ‘You wish.’ Memories of last night with the spray of fireworks and waltzing in Logan’s arms assaulted me; the anticipation of his delicious lips almost on mine running through my head at one hundred miles an hour. I just wanted to keep replaying it. I’d never get tired of it.

The morning breeze was whipping up and there was a blanket of cloud adding to the odd atmosphere that surrounded us as we waited.

Finally, a white Volvo estate car appeared and swept into the car park from the main road. An apprehensive male face peered through the windscreen at us as he pulled the car to a stop.

Once parked up he clambered out clutching a small black notebook.

‘Mr Becker?’ asked Campbell, striding towards him over the swaying grasses. He offered the man a welcoming smile and they shook hands.

Elliot Becker appeared to be in his late fifties, with red hair and a long, quizzical face dusted in freckles.

I blinked at him, as he thrust a finger to his lips. ‘Sssh!’ he cautioned Campbell, his hooded, sky blue eyes darting left and right.

Logan and Campbell exchanged bemused frowns.

Elliot recovered himself. ‘I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but it’s better to be careful.’ He began rifling through his pages of notes; his black handwriting was frantic. ‘Ava kindly gave me the low down on what’s been happening.’

He gave us a serious stare. ‘I’m not from Skye,’ explained Elliot. ‘I moved here several months ago.’ He glanced up at the tumultuous sky. The clouds were moving faster now, scudding the tops of the Cuillins, like they were engaged in some strange game of tag. ‘My wife passed away a year ago and I decided I needed a fresh start.’

We all conveyed how sorry we were.

‘Thank you. I used to live and work in Glasgow. I was a lecturer in Scottish history at the university. I’ve always been fascinated by family trees and ancestry, so for something to do when I arrived here, I decided to begin researching some of the local families.’

‘And that’s how you came across Gabriel Jamieson?’ probed Logan, his voice carrying a flicker of optimism.

Elliot nodded and scanned his notes. His expression became serious. ‘I do apologise for dragging the three of you out here, but it was deliberate.’ He eyed each of us in turn. ‘I’m certain I’m being watched.’

‘By whom?’ I asked, the fresh air whipping up zingy colour in my cheeks.

‘Leyton McPhail. I’ve glimpsed him a couple of times outside my house.’

Pale rays of sunlight were struggling to push through the clouds, glancing off the windscreen of Elliot’s Volvo.

‘And I can confirm that Gabriel Jamieson does possess a letter about the Skye Lovers’ Cross. I was told this by one of the pub workers, who happened to overhear. Apparently, Jamieson stumbled into the Old Dog and Duck several days ago, completely hammered, trying to persuade his ex-wife to get back with him. When she told him she wasn’t interested, he started bragging about a letter and said that she’d soon change her mind about getting back with him, when the money was rolling in.’

Elliot scrolled through a couple of pages of his spidery notes. The stirring wind gave them an extra ruffle. He shook his head. ‘The same pub employee, Lisa McLaughlin, told me that just a few days later, they were getting ready to close up for the night, when Gabriel reappeared, again looking for Chrissie and banging on about some important letter.’ He appraised the three of us. ‘Lisa can’t stand Gabriel Jamieson. Apparently, he conned her late father out of some money years ago, so she was only too happy to talk to me.’ He waggled his notebook and remarked mysteriously, ‘It’s a fascinating story, about the cross and the families who live here on the island.’

He gave a small smile. ‘There was a woman from Skye back in the day called Victoria McPherson, who was rather ahead of her time. She was an enthusiastic amateur archaeologist.’

Campbell’s dark eyes grew larger. ‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes. But in those days, you can imagine the outcry if a young woman strode around a dig in breeches and boots.’

‘So, what happened?’ I asked Elliot.

Elliot referred to his notes again. ‘Well, according to my research on her, Victoria fell in love with a married archaeologist who’d come to Skye to look for dinosaur fossils.’

Wow. Not only was Victoria desperate to have her own career, she fell in love with someone else’s husband. She wasn’t boring by a long shot.