Page 110 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

I heaved a contented sigh and swung my legs out of bed. Evan had tossed my yellow sundress over the chair in the far corner. I recalled the way his charged eyes had taken in the length of me, and how his fingers had dismissed my dress.

I padded over, scooped it up and slid it back over my head. My skin and lips still carried the delicious taste of him.

I caught sight of myself in his ensuite bathroom mirror when I dived in there for a pee. My loose hair was tumbling around my face and down past my shoulders in dishevelled waves. My eyes shone back at me, knowing and silvery grey. Even my cheeks sang with a pretty, pink blush.

I washed my hands, tried to make myself look more presentable and returned back to the bedroom.

‘Don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,’ called up Evan from the bottom of the stairs. ‘I’ll pop a couple of almond croissants in the oven.’

I twirled the hem of my dress as though I were some princess in a fairytale. ‘Sounds good.’

It was as I returned to flop back down on top of the bed that I noticed Evan’s laptop sitting on his writing desk. It was open and plugged in, making a soft whirring sound. It pinged, signalling the arrival of an email.

I tucked a couple of loose hairs back behind my ears, paying little attention to the screen at first. It was the mention of Fox that I noticed in the email which made me draw up, almost cricking my neck.

What? What was that?

My curiosity on fire, I approached the laptop as though it might take a bite out of me.

My eyes and brain struggled to process what I was reading.

Hi Evan.

Hope life is treating you well!

The old man is pushing for next week’s copy for your Fox column. Not like you to be late turning it in!

Anyway, your trademark stinging, pithy comments and louche asides as usual, please, on the three TV shows as discussed.

Get that copy in sharpish! He’s in one of his moods!

Hope to catch up soon when you’re back in London for a pint or three.

Best,

Robin.

My insides froze.

What?

I’d misunderstood.

I forced myself to read over the email again, slower this time.

But it didn’t change the meaning. It didn’t change anything.

Was this some sort of twisted joke? A mistake?

No, it wasn’t a mistake.

My eyes were locked onto the screen.

With my dress flapping around my knees and the noise of a jolly Evan clanging around in the kitchen, I grabbed onto the back of his leather chair in case my knees gave way.

My insides turned to concrete. Everything was shifting in front of my eyes.

That loud-mouth at the party; how he’d been talking about Sinister, in the same way as Fox. How Evan had jumped in and stopped me from doing something I would have regretted later.

That bolshy ignoramus. I’d assumed he was Fox … I’d said that to Evan, and he hadn’t contradicted me.

Oh God.

I stared at my stricken face in Evan’s floor-to-ceiling mirror across the bedroom.

I’d got it all wrong. That man at the party hadn’t been Fox.

Evan was.