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I shake my head.
“It’s supposed to be a new start, remember? Can’t have a new start if you bring along all your old baggage, can you?”
I say the words as if I mean them, but I’m not sure whether I’m trying to convince Jett or myself. I know Mum lied to me about the car; just like Alan Reynolds lied to the press, and Lochlan… well, Lochlan just lied abouteverything, really. His real name is Ralph, apparently; and although hewasbriefly at university at the same time as Mum, he was never actually involved with her. I don’t think he ever evenspoketo her, as it happens. He just recognized her name in one of the articles about me, and saw a chance to cash in, just as Jett predicted.
I bet he doesn’t evenhavea spaniel, either.
Neither of them is my father; who, according to Mum, was a random holiday-maker she had a short-lived affair with, before he headed back home, blissfully unaware that Mum was pregnant.
That was what she wanted to tell me that day on the phone, when Charles Carter appeared to interrupt us. She wanted to admit that she’d known all along that it couldn’t be Alan, orLochlan — or anyone else who might turn up and claim to be related to me. It could only ever have been some guy called Alex, who she knows literally nothing else about.
He doesn’t know about me, then, and I’ve decided that’s probably for the best. At least it means he’s never going to rock up here unexpectedly, and try to use me the way Alan and Lochlan did — or just reject me altogether.
“I think I’ll probably just have to have it scrapped,” I tell Jett, turning away from the car. “It’s been listed for sale for weeks now, but no one’s been interested, and no one can seem to fix it either, so it’s not like it’s much use to me, is it?”
“If you say so, Lady M,” he says, looking unconvinced. “Anyway, we better get going. There’s still loads to do before tonight.”
He’s not wrong. Tonight we’re hosting the wrap party forMacbethat our new house (or our new Highland “love nest”, as the tabloids insist on calling it…). Violet, needless to say, will not be in attendance; after everything that went down just before Jett and I got back together, Duval decided it was best to get her to film all of her scenes as closely together as possible, after which Violet got on a plane and flew back home. (I’d like to say “never to be seen again” here, but I’m already bracing myself for the movie’s premiere, plus all the other publicity she’ll be involved in when it comes out. Maybe even the Oscars, if what everyone’s saying about Jett’s performance as Macbeth turns out to be true…)
Everyone else we know, however, will be at the party; even Bella McGowan and the rest of the Macbeth protesters, who decided they were on board with the whole thing after all, when someone suggested they’d be great as background actors. From what I’ve heard, Jimmy is magnificent as Angry Peasant #5, although he insists Edna and Hamish, who appear in some of the opening shots, are the true stars of the show. It’s hard to arguewith him, really; mostly because he’ll put a curse on you if you even try.
When Jett says there’s loads to do, then, he’s not joking. The caterers will be arriving at the house — which I still can’t quite believe is really “ours” yet — any time now; I have to pick Summer up from the airport, Facetime Jakob in L.A. to let him have final approval on my outfit, and fit in a nail appointment somewhere in between. It’s all so far removed from the life I’d been living until Jett came back that it’s hard to believe it’s the same world sometimes — or that it’s not all going to be somehow taken away from me again, like it was the first time.
“Okay,” I say, mentally filing both the car and the house neatly away in a part of my brain marked ‘Relics from Another Life’. Let’s go.”
I turn to walk to Jett’s car, but just as I reach it I notice someone standing at the gate, looking thoughtfully towards the house.
“Shit,” says Jett, annoyed. “Not paps again, surely? Come on, Lexie, let’s get going. At least the new house has security gates, so they can’t get anywhere near us. This place is way too exposed.”
He starts to open the car door, but something about the man at the gate makes me linger for a few seconds, watching him.
He doesn’tlookmuch like a photographer. He’s not carrying a camera, for one thing, but there’s also a softness about him somehow, which makes me think he’s probably not a reporter, either.
He looks vaguely familiar, actually.
I frown, trying to remember where I might have seen him before. He looks to be in his early sixties, maybe, with light brown hair shot through with gray, and a kind, slightly anxious face, with a deep line between the eyebrows that makes him look like he worries a lot, although he’s smiling right now.
How do I know you? And who do you remind me of?
Before I can dislodge the memory — if it even exists — he pushes open the gate and walks towards me with a smile.
“Good morning,” he says politely, in a southern English accent. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time? I saw the advert online. For the car?”
If he’s recognized Jett — or even me — he doesn’t give any sign of it, his attention fully occupied by the MG, which is sitting behind me on the driveway.
“Oh! Right! The car!” I’m so surprised to be finally getting some interest in it that I’m momentarily flustered.
“It is still for sale, isn’t it?” says the man, walking past me to stand next to it. “I wasn’t sure it would be, but I’m here visiting my daughter, so I thought I’d take a chance on it still being available. Luckily for me, she knew where you lived!”
“She did?” I deliberately didn’t put my address on the advert when I listed the car for sale, because I didn’t want any more Jett Carter fans turning up on the doorstep, but I guess it’s not surprising that this guy’s found me anyway: literally anyone in town would have been able to tell him where I lived.
“You know, it’s the strangest thing,” he’s saying now, his eyes shining with pleasure as he runs a hand along the side of the car. “But I knew as soon as I saw the photo that it was the same one. You wouldn’t really think it because technically one model should be the same as another, but I was sure this was the one.”
Jett and I exchange confused glances.
“The one?” Jett asks. “You mean you’ve seen this car before?”
The man glances up politely before going back to the car.
