Page 31 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

Mason took his call out in the hallway and a few minutes later, came back in. ‘Okay, Rapunzel, let’s go.’

‘Rapunzel?’ I asked, incredulous.

‘You’ve got her gorgeous hair,’ he remarked casually.

I gazed up at him. ‘Thanks.’

Mason snatched his jacket from a coat peg in the hall. ‘Go on, then,’ he said with an air of exasperation, reverting to professional mode again. ‘We’ve got some sleuthing to do.’

Chapter Seventeen

Mason strode out of his apartment block, with me falling in beside him. His shadow was long, sliding across the sun-struck concrete.

At the rear of the apartment block was the residents’ gated car park. The late-afternoon light was pooling on the roofs of the various cars. Assuming a sensible silver hatchback nearby was his, I started to make my way towards it.

Mason’s dark brows knitted together. ‘Where are you going?’

I pointed at the vehicle in front of me, with a tartan blanket draped over the back seat. ‘I thought this might be yours.’

He folded his arms and inclined his head. ‘And why might that be?’

I let out a little cough. ‘Well, it’s traditional, sensible.’

‘And the right type of car for a stuffy, boring historian, perhaps?’

‘I never said that.’

‘No, you didn’t, but your choice of car for me most certainly did.’

He took another few steps, until he was standing by the driver’s side of a gorgeous sporty number, in an icy silver shade – all angled headlights and aerodynamic curves, with a sumptuous black leather interior.

As I wandered around it, I saw it was a Scion-FRS.

‘This is yours?’

Mason raised his car keys and pressed a button, making the car click and flash. ‘What did you think was more suitable for me? A push bike?’ He pointed at the passenger side. ‘Aren’t you going to get in, or would you prefer to catch the bus?’

As I eased open the door, my eyes fell on a red doggie blanket spread across the back seat.

‘Sorry it isn’t Egyptian cotton or Christian Dior,’ he said dryly, clambering into the driver’s side. ‘I’ll have a word with Darwin and suggest we swap it for something more extravagant.’

I tried not to laugh. ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’

We eased out of the car park and Mason slid on a pair of aviator sunglasses. I noticed a light dusting of dark stubble on his chin.

‘So,’ I exclaimed, making him cast me a sideways glance, ‘how are we going to approach this, then? With Mrs Compton, I mean?’

Mason indicated left at the top of the street. ‘Let me do most of the talking, if you don’t mind.’

‘Why?’

He flicked up the indicator again and swung us left past the harbour, which was dotted with tourists and glistening fishing nets and out onto the road fringed with dry-stone walls. ‘Because I’ve spoken to her once already and I think my Australian charm is an advantage.’

‘And you think you’ll have more success talking to her this time?’

Mason’s mouth twitched. ‘I haven’t dialled my Australian charm up to full volume yet.’

‘Right.’ Before I could bite back the words, they fell over each other to escape from my runaway mouth. ‘You should smile a bit more.’