Chapter One
Eighteen Years Later
Maura was not entirely sure about Hogmanay.
Her reservations weren’t something she ever admitted, of course – as Scottishness went, bringing in the bells was up there with tartan, haggis and Irn-Bru, and anything less than total enthusiasm felt like a betrayal of her country.
But she did sometimes wonder, as the clock struck twelve and her fellow Scots swelled into ‘Auld Lang Syne’, whether the time-honoured tradition of grabbing the new year with both hands and dousing it liberally with drink was the best way to wipe the slate clean.
She knew she was very much in the minority – thousands descended on Edinburgh to join the famous Hogmanay street parties and admire the magnificent firework display that lit up the sky over the castle – but given any choice in the matter, Maura would secretly prefer to spend the final few hours of December in bed with a mug of cocoa and a good book, the better to greet January with a clear head and no hazy regrets about the night before.
It was, she suspected, a symptom of reaching her late thirties.
And it was absolutely not an option with a boyfriend like Jamie, who never missed an excuse for a big night.
Which was why Maura was currently squashed into the corner of a white leather sofa, at the house party of one of Jamie’s rugby mates, watching a group of grown men down shots like they were teenagers.
It wasn’t that she disapproved – she’d done her fair share of drinking in her youth – but nothing could have induced her to join them now.
Each to their own, she thought, watching them grimace as they bit into wedges of lemon.
On the sofa beside Maura, her friend Zoe raised two elegant eyebrows and leaned closer, her Home Counties accent cutting through the thumping music. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Maura glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed 10.15pm, and then back at the drinkers, who were enthusiastically setting up another round of shots. ‘Is Archie going to make it until midnight?’
Originally from Dunfermline, Archie was a new recruit to the rugby club, a fresh-faced university student who was doing his best to keep up with his more seasoned teammates but inevitably starting to look a little green around the gills.
Zoe followed Maura’s gaze and narrowed her eyes in appraisal.
‘Absolutely no chance,’ she said firmly.
‘But I doubt he’ll be the only one, unless someone hides the tequila. ’
That was a mission Maura had no intention of accepting.
If five years of hanging around with Jamie’s friends had taught her anything, it was that the Fun Police were never well-received.
And while Zoe was a relative newcomer to the group, having only dated her boyfriend, Liam, for ten months or so, Maura knew she wasn’t about to intervene either.
‘They’d only open a bottle of something else,’ she said pragmatically. ‘Best to let them get on with it.’
Zoe nodded her agreement. ‘Good advice. Never get between a scrum half and the bar.’
Maura laughed. ‘Or a fly-half. Or any of them, to be honest.’ She eyed her friend curiously. ‘So what were you thinking, if it wasn’t “how long before Archie passes out”?’
The other woman looked momentarily perplexed, then her expression cleared. ‘Oh, I was looking at the guy who just arrived – the one in the hallway.’ She gave Maura a mischievous look. ‘And what I was thinking was, HELLO.’
Automatically, Maura glanced across the crowded room but her view of the hall was obscured by a couple standing in the doorway. ‘Someone you know?’
‘Someone I’d like to know,’ Zoe said, then gave a little shrug. ‘If I wasn’t with Liam, obviously.’
Maura craned her head, her curiosity piqued. The party was at a house in Edinburgh’s New Town – a stone’s throw from the rugby club that formed a significant part of her social life – and she’d thought she knew everyone there. ‘A player?’ she asked Zoe, who shook her head.
‘Too pretty.’
Maura raised her eyebrows. ‘Some of our boys are good-looking.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Zoe said. ‘The kind of face that has never been on the wrong end of a crunching tackle.’
And Maura did know what she meant. Jamie was rugged and handsome but his nose had been broken more than once and there was a faded silvery line on his forehead from a collision that had resulted in hospital treatment for concussion.
Every rugby player she knew had similar battle scars that they wore with immense pride.
‘I wonder who he is,’ she said, glancing towards the hall again in case the view had cleared and noting with mild disappointment that it had not.
‘Only one way to find out,’ Zoe said decisively, and levered herself off the sofa. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
Maura considered the dregs of lukewarm Prosecco in the bottom of her glass. ‘Maybe just a Coke.’
‘Sensible,’ Zoe replied, ‘if just a tiny bit boring. Wait here – I’ll report back with the gossip.’
A moment later, she was weaving her way through the crush, trading smiles and nods.
Maura watched her go, noting the appreciative looks from some of the guests as the slender blonde passed by.
She hadn’t known Zoe long, only for the months she’d been dating Liam, but they’d quickly become friends; she made Maura feel less out of place among the often-raucous rugby crowd.
There were other wives and girlfriends, of course, many of whom had been part of the group much longer than Maura, and she liked them too.
But Zoe had a sparkle that had drawn Maura in from the first moment they met.
Hogmanay might not be so bad with a partner in crime, she decided.
A roar from the hardened drinkers made her look over to see Jamie holding a tray of lime-green jelly shots aloft.
These were quickly snatched up. Jamie glanced Maura’s way, raising an enquiring eyebrow.
She shook her head. Shrugging, he offered one of the two he held to Archie, who hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tipping it into his mouth.
Maura’s lips twisted in wry amusement. It wouldn’t be long before that was coming back up, if she was any judge.
Jamie, on the other hand, would be fine.
His tolerance for alcohol had been finely honed by years amid the play-hard, party-hard environment of the rugby crowd.
Not for the first time, Maura reflected how different she and Jamie were.
He was gregarious and immensely likeable, with a charm few could resist once it was turned their way.
It was that charm that had first ensnared Maura, at a ceramics gallery viewing sponsored by the bank Jamie worked for.
He’d made a beeline for her, hiding in the corner while people studied and discussed her creations, and kept a respectful distance even as he fixed her with a sympathetic smile.
‘You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here. ’
She had hesitated, because it wasn’t strictly true.
The people in the gallery were here to view the pieces she had made – bowls and vases she had worked on for months – and there was a part of her that wanted to see them admired and appreciated, not to mention bought.
But she’d be lying if she pretended she found prestigious events like this easy, even though she knew most potters would kill to be in her shoes.
A down-to-earth pottery show was more her thing, in a chilly marquee or village hall, full of ceramics enthusiasts with wide-ranging, quirky tastes and fellow potters to chat with.
A show that wasn’t exclusively about her.
‘Not at all,’ she’d replied as she looked up at him, hoping the lie wasn’t too transparent, and held out her hand. ‘I’m Maura.’
‘I know,’ he said, encompassing her fingers completely with his own large hand.
‘You’re the talent behind all of this beauty.
’ He waved a hand at the spotlit gallery, with its pedestals and tables of gleaming blue and green and turquoise ceramics.
‘I feel as though I’m on a desert island, surrounded by gently lapping waves. You must really love the sea.’
‘I do,’ Maura said, gratified. ‘Although I’m not sure I came anywhere close to capturing its true depth or beauty.’
He eyed her quizzically, black brows beetling.
‘Seriously?’ Turning, he studied a wide, wavy-edged bowl glazed in a delicate sea-green.
‘I can almost hear the crash of the surf when I look at this piece. And the way the glass shimmers at the bottom, half-covering the anemones and leaf patterns underneath – it’s like peeping into a rock pool once the tide has gone out. ’
Maura felt her cheeks grow warm, partly in pleasure that he’d understood what she’d been trying to achieve, but mostly in shame because she had totally judged this stranger by his appearance – tall, well-built and with a jaw that looked like it could crack boulders, let alone walnuts.
He was immaculately dressed – his suit was expensive and well-fitted – and his thick dark hair was tamed into submission by liberally applied gel, all of which had led her to automatically label him as a typical city banker.
Not the type to appreciate art, she had decided, without even realising she’d done so.
And now he was forcing her to reappraise her initial assessment, and her own preconceptions along with it.
‘Thank you,’ she said, praying her face wasn’t as crimson as it felt.
He smiled then, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that somehow eased her discomfort and made her feel worse.
‘You’re welcome. But where are my manners?
I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Jamie Wallace.
I work for Castle Finance, and I can tell you on behalf of all my colleagues how honoured we are to be sponsoring this exhibition. ’