Page 24 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

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After a deep sleep, I fumbled out of bed, showered, dressed myself in clean jeans and my American baseball T-shirt and fired my hair up into a messy topknot.

The dining room had a few guests enjoying their breakfast when I entered.

I took a table up by the window and gazed out past the tie-back cream curtains. I could see the Sunday morning sunshine lighting up the stippled roofs opposite.

It was like a paintbrush over the hills beyond, sweeping across to highlight the different mountainous palettes of jade and burgundy.

The breakfast room consisted of circular tables draped in long, white tablecloths. Dinky little vases of shocking pink roses sat on each, giving the room an extra pop of colour.

The crockery was like something out of a Victorian dollhouse: delicate china, sprigged with poppies.

The efficient-looking bed and breakfast owner, a lady with a blue rinse, took my order of scrambled egg, potato scones, fried tomato, button mushrooms and a pot of tea. I vowed to walk it off when I got back to Strath Ross.

I looked down at my watch. It was approaching half past eight. My attention drifted to the dining room entrance.

I wondered when Evan might appear. I wanted to set off straight after breakfast. I couldn’t wait to see my grandpa.

Not only that, but I was keen to deposit Evan and put yesterday behind me. He made me feel self-conscious and defensive, like I suddenly consisted of awkward limbs and angles. He rubbed me up the wrong way with his sarcastic remarks.

It would be wonderful to step back into the fresh, clear scenery of Strath Ross and try to reset. I couldn’t give up on being an actor. The very thought of it made my heart sink. It was what I was. It was all I wanted.

But after Fox’s savage review of Sinister and the drought of acting roles my agent felt she could put me forward for as a result… My mind drifted back to Fox’s self-satisfied red face and twisted mouth. The way he’d been holding court with his two friends, braying and bellowing.

For something to do while I waited for my breakfast and for Evan to arrive, I delved one hand into my bag, which was swinging from the back of my chair, and pulled out my mobile.

I clicked into my emails in the desperate hope Octavia had sent me a message telling me that the most fantastic theatre/TV/film role had come up; that it was perfect for me, and she was putting me forward for it. But there was nothing apart from Amazon recommendations and an African President asking me to send him fifteen thousand pounds for an emergency operation.

Jade had sent me a text though, confirming that she’d arrived at her writing retreat safely and that she would be taking part in a free verse writing session today with her crush poetry lecturer. I dashed off a reply saying to keep me posted, and that in a matter of hours I’d be back home in Scotland. I decided not to mention Evan. She’d want a full briefing. I’d tell her later on in the week about him, and about rescuing Pirate. I smiled to myself, and a little glow of satisfaction lit up in my chest. At least I’d done a good deed there.

I was busy scrolling through an online copy of The Stage, hoping that a suitable audition might leap out at me, when a flicker of movement to my right made me look up.

Evan was approaching the table. He was dressed in a dark pair of jeans and a black, tight-fitting, V-neck T-shirt that clung to his muscles. It was a far cry from the well-cut three-piece suit and slick tie.

I found myself fumbling around with my phone. Frustration gripped me. For goodness’ sake!

‘Morning Daisy. Sleep well?’

‘Yes, thanks. Did you?’

At that moment, the bed and breakfast owner materialised at the table with my breakfast and teapot on a tray.

Evan eyed the plate with appreciation as he sat down opposite me. ‘That looks wonderful. Same again for me, please, but with coffee instead of tea. Thank you.’

As soon as the blue-rinsed lady had scribbled on her notepad and vanished, Evan pinned me to the spot with his melting, chocolate eyes. I shifted in my chair and tried to appear nonplussed. I bet he did this to every woman he met, laying on the sexy smiles and the flirtatious looks. Little did he know that I’d been privy to Leon. I’d been treated like his consolation prize. It was all a show. An act. And acting was something I was good at.

At that moment, my mobile pinged at my elbow.

I snatched it up. Maybe it was an email from my agent after all, or a text telling me about an audition?

My eyes greedily read the screen.

As if.

It was a reminder from my opticians, telling me that my next eye test was due.

Dumping the phone, I reached for the pot of tea and glugged it into my cup.