Page 85 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

My grandpa had always adored my grandma’s roast dinners, and although mine wouldn’t be a patch on hers, I could rustle one up that wasn’t half bad.

So while I sipped my mug of tea, I made a start on peeling the potatoes while Grandpa sat at the kitchen table nursing his.

‘So come on then, lass. I bet you’re taking that London acting world by storm.’

Oh, here it goes.

My hand stilled with the peeler in it. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He’d worry for Scotland otherwise, and that was the last thing I wanted. ‘It’s going ok,’ I said with a flash of a smile.

‘Just ok?’ he repeated, incredulous. ‘You were amazing in that TV drama. Everybody around here watched it, you know. And I told all and sundry the lass with the blonde do was my granddaughter.’

I let out a playful groan. ‘I bet you did. They will have tried to avoid you when they saw you coming.’

I resumed peeling another potato.

‘So, come on then. What part have you got lined up next?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ I replied vaguely, busying myself with chopping the end off of a carrot.

I could feel Grandpa’s eyes on me. ‘Is everything alright, sweetheart?’

I whirled round, pinning a smile on my face. ‘Yes, of course it is. Why?’

‘You just seem a little distracted.’

I flapped my hand holding the carrot. ‘No. I’m fine. I mean, I’m good. All good.’

Grandpa didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. He took a considered sip of his tea and eyed me over the rim of his mug. ‘This young man. Tell me about him then.’

‘What young man?’

‘This fella. The Lord. Ethan, is it?’

‘You mean Evan?’

‘Aye, that’s the chappie.’

I picked up a second carrot and sliced the bottom of it with a sharp knife. ‘What about him?’

‘Jings,’ sighed my grandpa. ‘This is like pulling teeth. What’s he like? Would I like him?’

I set down the knife on the chopping board. ‘He’s not a lord, Grandpa. Well, not in the way you mean.’ I frowned at him. ‘I think you would like him. But to be honest, I’m not sure where these questions are going.’

Grandpa winked at me.

I pulled an exasperated face and moved my attention out of the kitchen window to the grass, which was stirring in the early evening breeze. The sun was dancing behind the trees.

There was silence.

‘What’s the story with him, then?’

‘There is no story.’

‘Oh believe me, lass, there’s always a story.’ I heard him set his mug down on the table. ‘What’s he like? Good-looking, is he?’

I fiddled with the chopping board. Snapshots of Evan, like a film running in front of my eyes, played in slow motion. I steadied my voice. ‘Yes, he’s attractive.’

‘Single?’