Page 17 of A Scottish Island Summer

There were a few moments of pause, before Justine spoke again. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this. I was going to wait until you arrived back in London.’

My brows knitted. ‘Tell me what?’

In the background, I could hear Justine’s hideously expensive coffee maker whirring into life.

‘The publishers told me River Banks was their second choice to write this travel guide.’

I allowed this to settle. I let out a noise that was a cross between a gasp and a snort. ‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yes.’

Conflicting emotions flared inside me and I found myself pacing up and down the jeweller’s thick, pale carpet.

I couldn’t quit now. I’d regret it. More importantly, I couldn’t bear the thought of River thinking she’d got the upper hand. I let out a sigh. I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but… ‘So, remind me again, what am I expected to do?’

‘Mainly outdoor pursuits,’ answered Justine. I heard her tap the keys on her laptop. ‘I’ll pull up the email Primrose just sent me after our call. Ah. Here it is. It does sound rather exciting, darling. I mean, you’ll still be writing the travel guide, it’s just Primrose wants a bit more … you know … interaction with nature.’

I rolled my eyes up to the jewellery shop’s whipped cream ceiling and rose gold chandelier. My stomach was threatening to fall through the floor.

‘You’d be going camping, dolphin watching, bird watching, studying flowers and fauna, and looking at the history and culture of the island.’

I turned over in my head what Justine was telling me. Camping? In the pouring rain? I wrinkled my nose. Where the hell would I plug in my hair straighteners? And I’d never been a huge fan of the sea. The more I thought about it, the worse it sounded.

But then again, could this lead to other media opportunities? My heart fluttered at the thought of being asked to do a TV show off the back of this. Maybe even writing for a prestigious, glossy travel magazine like Horizons. Now, that would be the icing on the cake.

‘Well?’ pushed Justine, dragging me away from dreams of a glamorous head shot of myself in Horizons, accompanied by my by-line and a double page spread about my latest travels. ‘Are you up for it?’

I bit the inside of my cheek, but Justine didn’t give me time to answer. ‘Wonderful. Great! I’m so proud of you, sweetie!’

I pushed aside visions of me huddled in a soaking wet tent and tried to concentrate instead on pictures of me beaming out of TV sets across the land.

‘Excellent!’ fizzed Justine, still on a roll. ‘I’ll get the contract tweaked and let Primrose know we’re good to go.’

Ha. Not such wonderful news for me, I mused, sliding apprehensive glances out the jewellery shop windows at the sloshing puddles.

‘Primrose said her publicity team can set you up with an experienced local guy they’ve been tipped off about, who’ll be accompanying you when you do all this.’

‘So, I should hope,’ I muttered. I began prowling around again.

‘Primrose said this chappie’s done everything from hiking to cold water swimming.’

‘Cold water what?!’ I gasped down the line, as though I’d already been plunged into the waters of the North Atlantic.

Justine ignored me and ploughed on. ‘Give me a second to ring Primrose. I’ll get more information and call you right back.’

I hung up. Shit. Shit! Treble shit! What had I just done? What hell had I agreed to? I tried to stem the rising panic flooding through me. I’d envisaged sedate sojourns around a few parks, maybe taking in some local hospitality and promoting the odd bit of cashmere, not putting myself in mortal danger.

Moments later, my phone jumped into life again in my hand.

‘Primrose said it’s all good to go with this guy. He’s available.’

‘Oh great,’ I managed. ‘Who is he?’

‘His name’s Logan Burns.’ Her enthusiasm ramped up. ‘So, what are the locals like? Made any new acquaintance yet?’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve only been here twenty-four hours and I’ve already got to know everyone on Skye, including the names of their cats and hamsters.’

Justine was indignant. ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’