Page 4 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

‘No. Sorry. But how would you feel about putting your waitressing prowess to good use this Saturday lunchtime? Mum and Dad were just telling me about one of their friends who’s throwing a posh birthday cream tea thingy for his missus. They need some extra pairs of hospitality hands and they wondered if you’d be interested?’

‘This Saturday?’

‘Yep. Just for a few hours.’

I chewed my lip. For just a few hours’ shift, I wouldn’t receive much but it was still money, and the extra cash would come in handy.

I’d already paid for Marlene’s (named after Marlene Dietrich) service and MOT. She was my daffodil yellow, second-hand Volkswagen Beetle. I’d also insisted on sending some money to Grandpa, splashed out on a spa weekend for Jade and me in the Cotswolds last month and treated myself to a lemon Radley bag and a new pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses. After that little lot, I needed to get my finances back on track.

As if reading my mind, Jade interrupted my thoughts and told me the generous hourly rate I would be paid.

I blinked over at her. At first, I thought I’d misheard her. ‘Are you joking?’

‘Nope.’

I sat up straighter. ‘Bloody hell. Where is this afternoon cream tea? Holyrood Palace?’

‘Oh, some pile in Hertfordshire. It’s a bit hush-hush. If you say yes, you’ll be contacted with all the info.’

I couldn’t turn down an hourly rate like that. I’d need a psychological assessment if I did.

Jade stuffed her phone back in her skirt pocket. ‘Have a think about it if you need to, but please don’t take too long. Sounds like the husband wants to get everything finalised.’

‘Are your Mum and Dad going to be there?’

‘No. They can’t make it. It clashes with some anniversary do they agreed to attend months ago.’

I watched her head towards her room down the hall. ‘What are you going to do now?’ I called after her.

‘Start packing for Somerset.’

I rubbed at my forehead and followed her. ‘Of course. Sorry. I forgot you were going to that residential poetry thing for a week.’

‘Poetry thing?! It’s a poetry workshop, where we delve into our innermost thoughts and feelings and transfer our emotions onto paper.’

I folded my arms and examined her. ‘Does your attendance have anything to do with the fact that hottie poetry lecturer with the suede blue eyes is taking the course?’

‘How dare you! Yes, ok, it does have a lot to do with Jasper Seaward being there.’ She gave a cheeky smile. ‘So, still no Jaspers in your life?’

‘Ugh! No thanks. Not after the way Leon treated me. Career all the way for me from now on, thank you very much.’

‘But that was a couple of years ago now.’

I shrugged. ‘There’s too many Leons out there for my liking. I’m fine as I am.’

I’d met Leon Sutherland two years ago when we’d appeared together in the cast of a short-lived theatre production in Streatham about a man who falls in love with his cat and marries her.

It was all a bit experimental. (I know, it sounds it.) Leon was the cat owner, and I played Mallory, the cat in question.

He was green-eyed and gorgeous, and he carried the air of a younger Lenny Kravitz. He was also, as I found out later, ruthlessly ambitious, so you won’t be surprised to know that after eighteen months together he realised he could do better than a struggling Scottish actress girlfriend and buggered off. He’d insisted that there was no one else, but two months later, it turned out that he’d been cheating on me with the honey-haired sister of a well-known casting director.

When it came to his career, Leon would’ve shagged a table leg, if it meant a foot up in the film world. I hadn’t known that side of him existed, until then. He’d kept that under wraps from me. I saw the charming, well-read Leon, so when the heartless, ruthless version of him emerged and he deserted me to try and reach the big time, I felt like I’d been with someone I never knew at all. I thought that, as we were both in the same profession, we were there for one another, to support and encourage each other’s dreams.

Turns out he viewed me as a temporary distraction.

Last I heard, he’d secured a role in a touring musical theatre production of Driving Miss Daisy.

I banished any more thoughts of Leon and followed Jade into her bedroom down the hall, with its framed Sylvia Plath quotes on the walls, hessian rugs and vases of dried flowers sprouting everywhere. My room was next to hers and was filled with retro movie posters, black and white glossy photos of Marilyn Monroe and rows of autobiographies on the shelves. I crossed my arms, as I stood, watching Jade buzz about. ‘I’ve been thinking. I don’t fancy rolling around in the flat on my own for a week. I’m going to drive back up to Strath Ross after working at this function on Saturday. Go and see my grandpa.’

‘That sounds like a good idea.’ She planted one hand on her hip. ‘So, does that mean I can call Mum and Dad back and tell them you’re in on this mysterious lunch gig?’

I nodded my head. It was a no brainer.

‘Great. I’ll ring them back now.’ She bathed me in a wide smile. ‘Then I can focus on my beauty treatments so I can look my best for Jasper.’

Jade meandered over to her dressing table and hauled out a couple of long, floaty scarves from a drawer. ‘All that fresh Scottish air and rolling hills. It’ll put some colour back into those bonnie wee cheeks of yours!’

She proceeded to fetch her case from under her bed.

‘If that’s your best attempt at a Scottish accent, I’d hate to hear your worst.’

She laughed, displaying her small, even, white teeth, as she coiled the scarves up and stashed them inside her case. Then she rummaged in her skirt pocket for her mobile. ‘I’ll call my parents now and tell them you’re in.’ She looked up from the screen. ‘Just promise me one thing, Daisy.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll give me all the gossip on this Saturday cream tea affair.’

I crossed my heart. ‘I promise, although I think you’re allowing your imagination to run away with you.’ I leant over and absently stroked one of the scarves in her case. ‘From previous experience, these things can be rather boring.’