Page 93 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

‘Yes,’ growled Katie much louder than she needed to. ‘I think that’s a great idea about the chalks, Popps.’

Maisie’s light-blue eyes twinkled with speculation. ‘He was carrying some food shopping, by the looks of it. Couple of bottles of wine, dark chocolate, a decadent pudding…’ She let out a dramatic sigh. ‘I wonder if it’s for that glamorous redhead I saw him with last week in town?’

My emotions fired up. ‘Redhead?’

Maisie looked at me with a blank expression. ‘Yes, she had a wavy red bob. Why?’

It must be the same woman that Mrs Arnold saw Mason going to dinner with at the Starr Barr.

Katie spotted the hurt pooling in my eyes and made a growling noise. ‘Have you got bloody X-ray sight or something, Maisie? Can you please stop talking and go and check that Heron is ready for the arrival of Mr and Mrs Calder?’

Maisie was indignant. ‘It is ready for occupancy. I finished it off this morning. You could eat your lunch off the kitchen floor.’

Then she finally picked up on Katie’s razor-sharp glares. ‘Oh. Er. Aye. I see. Right. Sorry.’ And with that she scurried back out.

I rested my hand on top of the kitchen counter. ‘Wine and dark chocolate?’ I repeated. ‘A fancy pudding?’ I managed a pained smile. ‘Going to collect someone from the train station?’ I shook my head in disbelief. ‘So, which one is it? The brunette from the beach or the redhead he was taking out to dinner. Or does he have a new addition?’

Katie placed a caring hand on my shoulder. ‘I thought you weren’t bothered about Mason?’

‘I’m not. At least, not anymore.’ I watched two seagulls squabbling over a blob of discarded ice-cream on the cobbles outside the door, which two of the holidaymakers’ children had just dropped. I tried to ignore the empty feeling inside me.

Chapter Forty

The next day dawned bright and fresh, and although there wasn’t streaming sunshine, there was a glow on the waves and the trees.

The weather had promised to deliver tangerine skies first thing, so after a quick shower and throwing on a sweatshirt, fleece and jeans, I treated myself to a cup of camomile and a slice of takeaway sourdough focaccia from the Italian coffee bar near the beach.

I sat on the granite steps leading down to the river of pale sand and ate my rather unconventional breakfast. The sea shushed against the rocks and the odd bird reeled overhead. Apart from me and the two baristas in the coffee bar close by, there was no one around.

My irritation over Mason was now giving way to a deep sense of disappointment. Then pangs of jealousy kicked in. Who was this person he was collecting from the train station? Maybe it was another woman, who was quite happy to be flirted and toyed with? Perhaps she was like Mason, with no interest in having a meaningful relationship? Well, if he wanted superficial, he was welcome to it.

I took a last, savage bite of my focaccia to finish it off and wiped my hands on the napkin that came with it. Then I stared into my thermos flask of herbal tea and concluded that I wasn’t as perceptive as I thought I was. Just look at what was happening with the Scarlet Highwayman. We could be related!

I made my way down the steps, my trainers pattering along the damp sand. There was an abundance of gorgeous shells scattered around, which would be ideal for composing more of my textile artwork.

I plucked a cloth bag from my fleece pocket and popped my now empty thermos flask in it. Then I crouched down and began to pick up any shells that caught my eye. Their scalloped shapes, fine ridges and variety of ice-cream colours dazzled between my fingers. It was as if the whole of Port Starr beach was studded with pastel jewels.

As I wound my way between the jutting shards of rock, excited barks made me look up. In the distance, a dog was skittering in and out of the waves, closely followed by two figures. Their tall shapes were dark smudges. The dog spotted me and bounded over the sand.

It was Darwin.

‘Hello, boy!’ I smiled into his white-and-grey coat. An uneasy realisation followed. If Darwin was on the beach, that meant Mason would be too.

I gripped my bag of clattering shells tighter.

Sure enough, Mason strode up. His dark, wavy hair was ruffling down and over his forehead. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

Don’t let him see you’re bothered, I warned myself. Just act casual.

‘Hi, Poppy.’

I managed a faint smile. ‘Hi there. How are you?’

My attention shifted from the light-grey hoodie he was wearing to the approaching figure materialising beside him.

It was a man, not dissimilar in looks to Mason, but marginally shorter and slighter in build. His hair was deep brown, with a wayward curl to it.

‘This is Poppy Summers, Garrett,’ introduced Mason. ‘Poppy, this is Garrett, my little brother. He’s visiting for a couple of days.’