Page 17 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

While Caleb, Joe and the rest of the local teenage posse used to slouch around together and tease us good-naturedly, lanky Alex Lapley would strut about Port Starr, accompanied by his two henchmen who reminded us of portly bookends.

The fact he was a member of the Lapley family didn’t endear him to anyone. When they lived here, the Lapley clan were mistrusted and disliked by many of the Port Starr locals, due to their arrogance, avarice and pomposity.

Despite having made a considerable amount of money from developing land, they never offered to contribute to local initiatives such as the development of a new Youth Café, improving the harbour walkway or assisting with the cost of our annual Port Starr Boating Festival.

Instead, all the rest of us plebs would raise the money needed through various events such as danceathons, sponsored silence, jumble sales and charity walks. Then assorted members of the Lapley clan would rock up at our organised events, not part with a penny, and proceed to tell us, through condescending smiles, that we had all ‘done very well’.

The Lapley family had resided in The Hawthorns, a rambling Georgian edifice with a steeply pitched roof of slate grey. It was located on the very outskirts of Port Starr and boasted stained glass in its windows and doors, with pointed turrets and arches that only added to its cold persona. It was all rather gothic but was rumoured to have a dazzling array of impressive furniture within its secretive walls.

The family had lived there for generations, but suddenly uprooted and moved away several years ago, when rumours swirled in town of financial impropriety committed by Roger Lapley, Alex’s father. There was a collective sigh of relief when they left. The last anyone had heard they were living in the Dumfries area, with The Hawthorns remaining in an almost museum-like state, awaiting their return.

‘That kid was trouble even back then,’ said Caleb after a thoughtful pause. ‘I suspect he hasn’t changed one bit.’

‘His appearance certainly has,’ I pointed out. ‘I didn’t recognise him.’

‘Me either,’ agreed Katie. ‘He looks like a waxwork dummy now.’

Caleb’s face hardened. ‘Once a devious sod, always a devious sod.’ He glanced for a moment back out of the open cottage door. The sound of the harbour water travelled in. ‘Alex Lapley was a manipulative bastard. He used to get some of the younger kids to shoplift for him, but never once did he get caught.’

‘I’m surprised to hear that. I mean, the Lapley family were never on the breadline, were they?’

‘No, they weren’t,’ Caleb agreed. ‘I think he just got a kick out of being a controlling knob. I heard that lot have got so many skeletons in their cupboard, you would be able to hear the bloody things rattling in Edinburgh.’ Caleb removed his ski jacket. ‘That fella always had an agenda. Why he’s so interested in the Scarlet Highwayman story, though, is anyone’s guess.’

My thoughts travelled to Mason. ‘I think I should give Mason a ring and tell him. I’ve got a feeling there’s something very odd going on round here.’

Chapter Nine

Ihurried back to the annexe and located Mason’s black-and-white business card propped up near the toaster. To avoid losing it, I entered his number into my contacts list before dialling it.

After a few rings, Mason answered and I explained about Alex Lapley, who he was and what he’d said.

‘Are you all right? He didn’t threaten you, did he?’

‘Well, yes and no,’ I admitted. ‘But my brother and sister-in-law are here helping me today.’

There was a considered pause.

‘Look, I’m going out to dinner tonight, but I’ll pop by before then.’

A rush of something coursed through me and I gripped my mobile tighter to my ear. ‘There’s no need. Really.’ Oh no. What if he thought I’d told him this deliberately to get him to come round here? ‘I just thought I’d tell you but there really is no need for you to drop by…’

‘I think there is,’ he insisted. ‘I can give you an update on some new research I’ve dug up.’

What the hell was wrong with me? I happen to talk to a handsome man and my face sizzles like a frying pan. ‘Okay,’ I agreed reluctantly after a moment. ‘That would be good. Thank you.’

I spent the rest of the day in a frenzied blur, working with Katie and Caleb. We donated some of the older pieces of furniture from the cottages to the local charity shops, and anything else I thought we could use, or that was too big to move, we covered in huge old bedsheets.

Caleb borrowed a transit van from one of his old schoolfriends and transported the furniture we decided to keep for now to his huge garden shed for storage. In between times, Mum rang in a flap, saying she wasn’t sure she and Dad were ready to take off on their bucket-list round-the-world jaunt.

I assured her that yes, she was prepared, as she was the most organised person I knew, no, she shouldn’t worry about me, Caleb or Katie, and yes, she had bought plenty of sunscreen; no, her new floppy straw hat didn’t make her head look too big and yes, I would accompany Caleb when he took them to the airport on Monday morning, to wave them bon voyage.

After having made Katie, Caleb and myself endless drinks and demolishing takeaway sandwiches and cookies from the local deli, I packed them off home later that afternoon with many grateful thanks.

I was bone weary but welcomed the hot needles of water pressing down on me from the shower. I washed my hair, blasted it with my hairdryer and slid into my black jeans and a slim-fitting red jumper.

I’d only just cleared away my debris from making spaghetti bolognese for dinner when there was a polite rap on the door. I peered through the spyglass to see two silver eyes fringed with ridiculously long lashes staring at me.

I jumped backwards. His eyes were like lethal weapons.