Page 14 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

He reached across to my coffee table and picked up a finger of buttery shortbread. ‘Are you surprised? He hasn’t been flavour of the month around these parts for years.’

I shrugged. ‘I think people have read him all wrong. I don’t believe he did some of those things that he was accused of.’ I flapped my hand. ‘I mean, the poor guy isn’t here to speak up for himself, is he?’

Caleb munched on his shortbread. ‘You’ve always been an incurable romantic, Popps. He was a highwayman who robbed and terrorised these parts for years. He even committed murder, for pity’s sake.’

I opened my mouth to argue but decided against it. Most of the other Port Starr inhabitants held the same opinion of the Scarlet Highwayman as my brother did.

I thought about Mason again and now this other mystery man, both asking about our infamous highwayman. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit more than a coincidence there’s now two people here in Port Starr suddenly asking about the highwayman at the same time?’

He considered my question. ‘It is a bit weird, but it could just be one of those things.’

I sat back on the sofa. I didn’t believe that for one minute.

Chapter Seven

Caleb arranged for one of his old friends, Joe Souter, a decorator, to come up to the cottages on Wednesday morning.

I’d spent the last couple of days poring over colour charts and interior design magazines, trying to pull together a tasteful and classy holiday-home business without crippling ourselves financially. Mum and Dad told me they’d set aside financial provision for me to undertake the revamp, but it wouldn’t last for ever and at these prices I knew I’d have to shop around and be selective.

‘You’ll transform these cottages into little palaces,’ said Katie confidently, as she waited with me at the annexe for Joe to arrive.

I paused at a page in the magazine which was flopping open in front of us. ‘I’ll start pulling together a fabric and furnishings list of what we need and then shop around online.’ I screwed up my nose. ‘I suppose we’re going to have to consider getting some sort of social media presence up and running too. We need Instagram, Facebook and X accounts and an overhaul of the existing cottage website, too.’

‘Oh, good grief,’ she groaned. ‘Please don’t look at me. I struggle when I get a new mobile phone.’

‘You’ve got your own website for Katie Summers Ceramics.’

Katie looked awkward. ‘Yes, I have, but I didn’t set it up. Caleb took care of that for me.’

‘But you manage to maintain the site okay, though.’

She glanced away, blushing. ‘Er, not really. It’s looking a bit neglected at the moment, and I should be putting more updated posts on it…’

I flicked through another couple of pages. ‘Caleb helped me set up my website for my artwork, too. I’ll ask him to help us out. I’m sure he won’t mind.’ A chrome lamp caught my eye, but I winced at the price tag and moved on. ‘If we want to draw the tourists and reach a wider audience than Port Starr, we need to put ourselves out there.’

Katie thrust one finger in the air, visibly inspired. ‘I’ll start updating my website again from tomorrow. This has given me the impetus I needed. Then Caleb can link our individual websites to the new one for the cottages. Customers will get a real idea of us as individual artists, too.’

‘We’d also better get in touch with Mrs Dundas, who runs that community tourist magazine. Getting the cottages in there will be vital.’ A thought struck me as I was adding to my to-do list. ‘Katie, how would you feel about joining me in the office? We’ve already got Jenny undertaking the cleaning, so we could advertise for someone else to help her out. Having you help with the reservations, enquiries and general admin would be invaluable.’

Her face shone. ‘I’d be delighted to. Nobody would be happier to hang up her rubber gloves than me.’

I laughed. ‘It’ll also give you a bit more time to focus on your ceramics. We’d better draw up another list of things to do. This one can be for social media and marketing ideas. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to take some time!’

I didn’t miss my old life. The realisation came as a shock. The cottages were proving to be just the right kind of distraction for me, after Nick the Dick and everything that had happened.

The next morning delivered watery sunshine and a fresh breeze, with just a faint cackle from the gulls. It began with the welcome delivery of my easels, paints and other art paraphernalia, as well as the remainder of my clothes and modest knick-knacks from Artisan thanks to the proactive organisation of Mr Hanson, who had also kindly arranged the packing up of my belongings.

After everything had been unpacked, I raked around in my art desk drawer and located a couple of spare sheets of my prettiest notepaper to write Mr Hanson a proper letter. I wanted to thank him not just for organising the swift transmission of my belongings, but also for his kindness and support over the last year.

Once I’d completed the letter and sealed it in a matching floral envelope, I popped it in my bag and strolled down to the main street. And that’s when I spied a set of two champagne glasses nestled on an electric-blue satin cushion in the jeweller’s window. The glasses had an elegant flute design, hand-painted with an iridescent lustre, and the rim of each glass was encircled with a light touch of gold. The colour of the glass was almost like a delicate shade of sorbet, and a faint silhouette of McKerron Castle was embossed on each glass in faint silver. They were a bit more expensive than I would’ve liked, but I bought them for Mr Hanson without hesitation.

Adele, one of the shop assistants, parcelled them up in a sturdy box, alongside my note, and I dashed around the corner to the post office to mail the parcel off, before striding back towards the cottages to wait for the arrival of Joe and Katie. Joe would prove to be an excellent member of the team, with his decorating prowess.

They turned up soon after, and I made three cups of hot chocolate to fortify us for the task ahead.

‘Got a name for your new business, then?’ Joe asked, surveying the cottages from the cobbles, sipping his hot chocolate.

‘Not yet,’ I admitted, ‘but I’m working on it.’