Page 103 of A Scottish Island Summer

Elliot picked up the story again. ‘Arthur Nicholson—the man Victoria fell for—promised her over and over again that he would leave his wife and they would start a new life together, but he never did. With her heart broken, she refused to share her research with Arthur as to where the cross might be.’ Elliot glanced up from his notebook. ‘Instead, she wrote a letter to her older brother, Edward.’

Campbell puffed with frustration. ‘If only we could see that.’

Logan murmured in agreement as he eyed the hills swooping around us. ‘It would certainly make our search much easier. Trying to guess where the cross might be on Skye is impossible; it could be anywhere.’

Elliot’s mouth smoothed into a satisfied smile. ‘What if I told you that I’d been given a copy of the letter?’

We all gawped at Elliot.

An incredulous Campbell half-laughed. ‘How?’

Elliot flicked closed his little notebook. ‘Let’s just say Gabriel needs to be more careful with what he’s photocopying in the library and when.’

I let out an incredulous laugh of my own. ‘You mean he left the letter inside the photocopier?’

Elliot shook his thatch of sweeping red hair, which was being blown across his freckle-dotted forehead. ‘Not exactly. He was up at the photocopier a couple of days ago when I was visiting the library, but the place had a sudden influx of schoolchildren and he got distracted.’ Elliot looked thrilled. ‘He was flustered, jabbing away at the number of copies he wanted and he accidentally pushed one too many. As soon as he stepped away, I grabbed the extra copy.’

Logan beamed at Elliot. ‘Bloody hell! So does Victoria say in the letter where the cross is?’

‘No. She doesn’t say specifically, but there might be something hidden in there.’

Campbell gasped; his face alive with excitement. ‘I don’t suppose you have the letter with you right now?’

Elliot pushed out his chest, pleased with himself. ‘Aye. Indeed, I do.’

I mulled over Elliot’s earlier mention of Leyton McPhail. I swung round to look at Campbell. ‘Do you think he’s helping Gabriel because he’s hoping to find the cross and keep it for himself?’

‘Got it in one,’ he replied, his mouth morphing into a serious line. ‘And he won’t care who he has to trample over to get to it.’

It was then that my mobile let out a series of frantic bleeps.

I apologised to Logan, Campbell and Elliot and looked down at my phone screen. Notifications of likes and comments on my feed flooded the screen.

‘Someone’s popular,’ commented Logan, nodding at my phone.

What was going on? I’d posted a photo of my latest gorgeous breakfast at The Gorse this morning, but I hadn’t been on social media or posted anything else since then. Surely that wouldn’t attract a rush of heart emojis, likes and congratulatory comments hours later?

I tapped at the screen, pulled up my Instagram account first, and my fingers froze.

Bile clotted in my throat.

No. No. Please tell me she didn’t.

There was a new post, which Justine must’ve arranged, with a screenshot of an online article, and the headline read, could social media star be a little treasure?

The piece read;

It seems that self-promotion and publicity isn’t the only thing social media darling Darcie Freeman is good at. For the twenty-eight-year-old London influencer is following in the footsteps of Lara Croft. Sources tell us that Darcie, who’s on the Scottish island doing research for a travel guide she’s writing, is getting closer to locating a precious piece of Skye’s history.

Forget Romancing the Stone, our intrepid social media star is too busy making history!

My breathing started to escape in a series of panicked gasps.

What had she done? More to the point, what had I done? You’ve ruined everything, screamed a desperate voice in my head.

Logan peered at me. ‘Darcie? Are you OK?’

I was struggling to look up from my phone. My chest was rising and falling harder and faster under my fleece

Justine. Why the hell hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?

Why hadn’t I?