Page 13 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Evan’s chiselled features stared up at me.

I noticed that his full name was Evan Nathaniel Lord, he was thirty-seven and that he’d been born in Forrest Bank…

I drew up in surprise. ‘Forrest Bank?!’ I blurted.

‘Yes.’

’As in Forrest Bank in the Scottish Highlands?’

‘No. Forrest Bank in the Amazon.’

I pulled in my lips at his sarcasm. He didn’t sound like he came from that part of the world. His accent was all privately educated sounding vowels.

‘I was supposed to be flying to Inverness Airport this evening and then picking up a hire car for the short drive home to visit my family who still live there.’ He scrutinised me. ‘And then I overheard you say you’re from Strath Ross. We’re practically neighbours.’

True enough, Forrest Bank wasn’t far from Strath Ross; around half an hour. It was a pretty little place too, bursting with forestry and gorgeous woodland walks, with Loch Crawe sandwiched in between us.

Bugger! Typical, that he was heading in the same direction as me.

I thrust his passport back at him.

The grand hall was almost empty now, except for the cloakroom attendant and an older man in overalls, who’d appeared and was helping her dismantle everything and pack it away.

I gripped the strap of my bag tighter and started to head back down towards the kitchen. Evan trundled his designer case behind him as he followed me. I could hear the squeaking of the wheels on the tiles. This wasn’t looking good. It was appearing more and more likely that I’d have to drive him to Scotland. ‘Don’t you drive?’ I scrambled, hoping I could still come up with an alternative travel suggestion for him. ‘Didn’t you bring your car?’

‘No, I caught a taxi here.’

We both exited the kitchen again, which was back to its pristine, sparkling glory. Another couple of cabs scrunched away over the gravel. ‘And even if I had been foolish enough to bring my car, I wouldn’t have been able to drive the thing. I’ve been drinking.’

Bloody hell, seethed my inner voice. He’s got an answer for everything! Forget about being a journalist, he’d make a wonderful politician.

I drew up beside Marlene and slid my car keys from my bag. I didn’t want this man beside me for the five-hundred-mile journey. Why? whispered a voice. I ignored it. ‘Look, Mr Lord, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I had planned to have a quiet, relaxed journey back to Scotland⁠—’

His deep voice interrupted. ‘It’s Evan. And I’ll pay you.’

‘Pardon?’

He adjusted the handle of his case and made it stand to attention beside him. The warm breeze made his silky, ice blue tie flutter. ‘I said I’ll pay you for the cost of your petrol and also for the inconvenience. Is five hundred pounds acceptable?’

My eyeballs popped in my head. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ll pay you five hundred pounds for taking me.’

I wrapped my arms around myself for something to do. This was ridiculous! But boy would that amount of money come in handy. My cheeks stung. ‘But that’s too much.’

He shrugged. ‘I need to get home and you’re holding all the cards.’

Oh God. I didn’t want to be cocooned in a car until tomorrow beside this man. He made me feel all fingers and thumbs. But the amount of money he said he’d pay me would more than cover the petrol costs and meant I could be a bit choosier about where I stopped overnight tonight.

Evan flexed a brow at me. ‘Do we have a deal?’

He stuck out his hand.

I eyed it. From under his suit jacket sleeves, I got another glimpse of his glittering cuff links.

I sighed inwardly. What could I do? He had stopped me from getting sacked, I supposed, and it wasn’t his fault that the UK airports had grounded all the flights. Then there was the generous amount of money he’d offered me to get him there.

God, I hated being beholden to people. If I could just get over this acting slump!