Page 45 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

‘Okay, let’s go.’

It was a relief to fall through the door of the annexe. Mason and Darwin followed me in, Darwin taking in my pale-blue-and-white décor with his huge, marble-like eyes.

‘Please take a seat and I’ll make a start on dinner.’

Mason wandered into my sitting room. ‘Am I right in saying your artwork is inspired by nature?’

‘Guilty as charged.’

Mason viewed the gorgeous ceramic tree speckled with sequins, which Katie had made me for my last birthday, and my favourite Jack Vettriano painting on the far wall, entitled The Picnic Party. It featured two ladies in cream dresses, battling against a stiff sea breeze on a stretch of beach, while their gallant gentleman companion attempted to hold onto one of their two umbrellas.

I caught him admiring it.

‘It reminds me of Port Starr,’ I offered.

Everything about my small but comfortable abode screamed The Great Outdoors, from the new leaf-embossed roller blind at the kitchen window to the seascape print I’d painted and hung in the bathroom. Slowly but surely, the annexe was beginning to feel like home.

‘Your landscapes remind me of the Fleurieu Peninsula,’ commented Mason, glancing into the small utility area where I was storing a couple of my pieces. ‘Are you sure you don’t have some Australian blood in there somewhere?’

‘As far as I know. Perhaps I ought to ask you to research my family tree?’

As soon as the words escaped from my mouth, I cringed. Oh, shut up! He’ll think you’re chatting him up, if you carry on like that!

I peeled the potatoes, chopped fresh broccoli and steamed the asparagus, assuring myself that the only reason I’d invited him over for something to eat was because I was being friendly. And this was just a research meeting, wasn’t it?

‘I’ve got some plain digestive biscuits here, if Darwin would like one,’ I called out from the kitchen.

There was a snort from the sitting room. ‘This one won’t refuse any offer of food.’

I rummaged in my biscuit jar and on hearing a noise behind me, spun around. Mason was standing in the doorway, his long shadow sliding across my linoleum floor. ‘Your painting of Port Starr harbour at twilight; it’s beautiful.’

My face caught fire. ‘Thank you.’

I handed him two biscuits for Darwin, who was already on full alert and salivating at the prospect.

‘You’ve got a real talent,’ he went on. ‘What about exhibiting your work? Getting your name out there?’

I knew I was worried about failure, that my work might not be good enough, but I couldn’t tell Mason that. He’d think I was a coward. ‘That would be wonderful,’ I said, while I fetched a jug of water. ‘But I want to get White Willow Cottages up and running first.’

I’d set the breakfast bar for dinner and as Mason and I ate, Darwin crunched his digestive biscuits and slurped from a cereal bowl I’d filled with water for him.

Mason appraised me across dinner. ‘So, you’re a bona fide Port Starrian, then?’

I savoured the taste of the sea bass, which I’d drizzled with lemon. ‘I sure am. I think we’re all born with the salty sea air in our blood and a certain weather-beaten look.’ I watched Mason take a sip of his water. ‘And what about you?’ I asked.

‘I’m Australian.’

‘Yes, I did gather that.’

He grinned and put down his knife and fork for a moment. ‘I’m from a small town, as well. It’s not too far from Sydney.’ He leaned his arms on the table. ‘Cormount is a gorgeous little place; all sun-soaked scenery and a great community spirit.’

‘But?’

Mason reached for his water glass again. ‘I felt I needed to get away from it in the end.’

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

‘Your brother seems a good guy,’ he commented, changing the subject.