Page 1 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Chapter One

I blinked down in disbelief at the critic’s stinging words.

My agent, Octavia, always told me to ignore the bad reviews and focus on the good ones, but it was very difficult to do when the six part, glossy TV series I’d just appeared in was being compared to the Titanic.

It was a modern-day drama called Sinister, about a journalist and a former conman who teamed up together to try to bring down the corrupt political elite.

I’d been thrilled, after attending a number of auditions, to secure the role of Tammy Conroy, the sister of said former conman.

I’d been sure that this would be the big break I’d been working so hard to achieve over the years.

As if.

I let out a cross between a gasp and a choke as I read the scathing newspaper review.

My flatmate, Jade, spun round to look at me as she rinsed out our teapot at the sink. ‘What’s up, Daisy?’

I continued to make a series of furious noises. ‘This prick who writes for The London Gazette. This so-called TV and film critic?’

Jade peered over at the open newspaper which I’d spread across the kitchen table, trying to see what had put me in such a rage.

I snatched up the offending page and flapped it around as though it were alight. The column had its recognisable silhouette of a fox’s head, with ‘Fox – the critic everyone respects and fears’, running along the top of it. How pretentious!

I was so infuriated; I was struggling to make coherent sentences. I gave the newspaper another angry waggle. ‘He’s just butchered Sinister. I mean, really pulled it apart.’

Jade set the teapot down on the draining board and moved over to where I was seething at the kitchen table.

Jade (real name Lady Jacintha Woodstone, only daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Woodstone) owned our gorgeous apartment in Notting Hill.

I’d got talking to Jade eighteen months ago after appearing in a play in a nearby theatre and deciding to join the rest of the cast for a swift drink at a local bar.

Jade, with her pink hair and silver-ringed hands, had been performing her poetry to a group of fascinated art students, and before I knew it, we were chatting at the bar, and she was offering me a room at her place for a reasonable amount of rent. I got the impression, although Jade never admitted it, that she was rather lonely and craved some companionship.

I almost bit her hand off, and I couldn’t get my few belongings packed up fast enough to vacate my dreary one-bedroom bedsit in East London.

Moving into the ice blue and white fronted building with its frilly balcony had been the stuff of dreams after my previous accommodation.

Now, Jade pointed a ringed finger at the newspaper article. ‘Is that the critic everyone talks about? Oh, what’s his name again? The one who remains anonymous?’ She pushed a frustrated hand through her long hair, which reminded me of candy floss.

My jaw clenched. ‘Yes, it’s him. The twat that calls himself Fox. He’s obviously such an idiot; he doesn’t want anyone to know who he really is.’ I made a growling noise. ‘I wish I could land one on him. I really do.’

Jade’s mouth twitched. ‘Well, good luck with that. Nobody even knows his name, let alone what he looks like.’ She sank into the high-backed kitchen chair opposite me and propped her freckled chin on her hand. The stream of silver charm bracelets on her arm jangled. ‘Go on then. Put me out of my misery. Read it to me.’

‘Ok.’ I braced myself. ‘“The latest offering of a new, six-part TV drama, Sinister, promised so much but failed to deliver.”’

The blood sizzled in my veins. I snapped my head up from reading. ‘Can you believe this? We all acted our arses off! There was a stellar cast, and the number of hours the production team put in was crazy.’

‘Take a breath,’ advised Jade, ‘or you’re going to have an aneurysm.’ She flicked her hair back. ‘Keep reading.’

I gritted my teeth and resumed. ‘“The cast showed promise, but the script was clunky in parts, absurd in others and so predictable at times, it was embarrassing.”’ I paused again. ‘Poor Lando. He’s going to be so disheartened.’ Lando Greene was the head script writer and a lovely guy.

I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the slaughtering review. ‘“The main protagonist, Cassie Newman, played by Hallie Flint, seemed to spend all her time mooning after former jailbird Eddie Carter (James Millan).

‘“Some kudos, however, to Daisy Madden, who satisfactorily portrayed Eddie’s troubled sister Tammy, but even she failed to rescue this car crash masquerading as a gritty, modern drama.”’

I slapped the paper on the table with the palm of my hand. Shit! That hurt. And I wasn’t just talking about my palm. ‘Satisfactorily?!’ I winced.

‘From someone like Fox, that’s a compliment,’ assured Jade. ‘Practically an Oscar nomination.’