Page 2 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

‘I’m bloody well not volunteering to be old spice,’ tutted Mia, who was only in her early forties.

I continued to take in the endless and illuminated surroundings of the V&A. At every turn, there were glittering exhibition cases housing Roman artefacts, pieces of Venetian architecture and sumptuous waterfalls of embroidered fabrics from the Renaissance.

Even though I was London born and bred, I’d never been inside the V&A until now and was rather ashamed of that admission. I surmised I probably wasn’t the only Londoner though to carry that secret. I’d often hurried past its grand, imposing features and promised myself I’d venture inside when I had a few spare moments, but that time never seemed to arrive.

The main hall, with its impressive, cream archways running all the way along and down towards the rear gardens, stretched upwards as if trying to touch the tantalising swirls of the pink-tinged clouds.

More Christmas themed decorations dripped from the pillars. Swathes of holly, ivy and berries were wrapped around the columns and furnished the top of the great hall’s numerous arches.

Silver lights like sparkling snowflakes were strung around the centre piece of what looked like an inverted Christmas tree consisting of various shades of green foliage.

And just a little further down the space and suspended from the ceiling was the biggest, glossiest print of my book cover, depicting a coloured illustration of a loved-up couple, kissing in a snow globe.

‘Couldn’t you have got that made any bigger?’ I grinned at Lola.

She angled her chignon to one side. ‘Stop being so coy, Winters. You know you love it.’

Mia’s knee-length, cranberry fitted silk suit shimmered as she moved. ‘Wait till you see the other one.’

‘What? Other one of what?’

Mia arched one plucked, dark brow at me and gestured over my shoulder.

‘Oh God,’ I groaned, at the sight greeting me.

Also suspended from the ceiling was a huge head and shoulders colour shot of me.

My fiery hair was exploding in its natural ringlets down my back and I was staring down the camera, with a teasing glint in my eye. I’d have to take a screenshot of it. Wait till Joe arrived and saw that! I glanced down at my watch. It would soon be seven o’clock. My heart gave a little excited judder at the thought of my husband. I scanned the guests, but there was still no sign of him. He was often too conscientious for his own good. Oh well, I was sure he’d arrive soon. No doubt dealing with last minute legal emails.

‘Well, what do you think?’ grinned Lola, pointing up at my author photo, as though I hadn’t seen it. The Space Station would be able to see that thing.

I swung round to Lola and Mia, my face burning. ‘Jesus. I look like Merida out of Disney’s Brave!’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ brushed off Lola, giving the hem of her electric blue, wraparound dress a swish.

I thought of my late Mum and what she would have made of all of this. I could see her smiling. ‘I’ll say. I’m so proud of you. Don’t hide your light under a bushel, sweetheart,’ she would say, taking an appreciative gulp of her champagne. I suspected she would’ve worn something swirly in burgundy, to highlight the matching shade in her flicky bob.

Around us, press photographers had arrived and were taking snaps of the assembled guests. I recognised a lot of them from the publishing and writing world, but there were a few others I didn’t know from TV reality shows and a sprinkling of soap actors, until Mia and Lola pointed them out to me and named names.

I realised I’d been so preoccupied with the giant posters of my cover and my looming face that I hadn’t drunk much of my champagne yet.

Writerly doubt crept into my head while I took a few more grateful gulps of the pale gold fizz. It hit the back of my throat. ‘I just hope my readers love this one as much as my other books,’ I murmured to Lola.

‘Will you stop worrying? Your readers are crazy about every novel you write. You wouldn’t be consistently hitting the top five if they didn’t.’

‘It’s imposter syndrome,’ said Mia out of the corner of her mouth. Her manicured hand flashed. ‘Nothing wrong with it though, in my humble opinion. Shows you care. Means you want to get better with every book you write.’ She took a measured sip of her glass and waggled it. ‘I wish a lot of my other authors were more like you, sweetheart. Big-headed tossers some of them.’

Lola laughed.

‘It’s true!’ protested Mia. ‘I seem to spend half my time soothing their egos or being an agony aunt.’ She waggled her glass. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love being an agent. But sometimes, it would make life a little easier if they were more like my favourite redhead here.’

I shook my head and laughed. ‘You’re only saying I’m your favourite because you’re getting pissed.’

‘Nope. I know exactly what I’m saying.’ She reached out a hand and clasped mine with affection. ‘You’re a delight to work with, honey.’

Lola eyed me with a soft smile. ‘I agree with Mia. You deserve your success, Rosie. You’ve worked damned hard to get where you are. You enjoy it.’

I admired the huge, suspended version of my latest book cover as it dangled from the museum ceiling. Those years of writing and submitting to publishers and agents. The knock-backs or the stony silences when I didn’t receive a response at all. The feeling of despondency whenever I did receive a polite ‘no’. I could’ve decorated my bathroom with the rejection letters I’d received. I gazed up again at the giant, bright cover of Snow, I’ll Always Love You. ‘My first few books hardly hit the big time,’ I cringed at the recollection. ‘Things didn’t start happening for me until a couple of years ago.’