Chapter 18
Eighteen
EILIDH
Isat back from the laptop with a crack of my neck.
Staring at the screen, I felt a smile curl my lips.
I was proud of the scene I’d just written.
Of course, if my show ever got picked up, the script would more than likely go through some changes, but I was happy with how it was coming along.
I’d decided to revise what I’d already written and then work on another episode.
My eyes moved from the screen to the shelf above the desk.
Previously there had been a vase of silk flowers and a framed print on the shelf.
Now it was littered with photographs in simple frames.
Me with my family. My eyes lingered on the photo of Lewis, Fyfe, Callie, and me.
It was just before Callie and Lewis broke up when we were kids.
Fyfe was a gangly teenager but still so freaking cute.
It had been four weeks since our falling-out.
Fyfe had apologized to Lewis two days ago.
They’d had a long chat. My brother seemed to think Fyfe did have genuine feelings for me but was too fucked up by his own abandonment issues to explore them.
If that was true, it didn’t make me feel any better.
I wanted someone to love me enough to want to fight to be with me.
Lewis had also told Fyfe he was to stay away from me. While I’d angrily told him that was overstepping, Lewis disagreed.
“You deserve to be able to move on without him messing with your head. And I love him, but I’m not sure I trust him not to mess with your head when he can’t even recognize his own bloody feelings.”
Since there was truth in that, I let his overstepping go.
Now, however, rumor had it that Fyfe had gone off grid these last two days.
Hadn’t shown up to meetings. Hadn’t shown his face in town.
According to Flora, owner of Flora’s café, one of his neighbors said there were a strangely large number of deliveries being made to the house, but they hadn’t seen him leave.
I was worried. So was my brother. Lewis had called him, but Fyfe said he was fine, just buried with work. I wasn’t sure Lewis believed him.
Snapped from my musings by the sound of my phone buzzing, I turned it over and saw Cameron’s name on the screen. Smiling, I tapped on the text notification.
Do you like Brie?
I shook my head as I replied.
Not really. I prefer le Roulé.
Tomorrow Cameron was taking me on a picnic. After our dinner at the Gloaming, he discovered what it was like to live in a small town. The next day, one patient after another had commented on the date and that was when he discovered I was a wee bit famous.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d asked quietly on the phone that night, sounding uncertain.
“I liked that you didn’t know who I was. But I was intending on telling you. I promise.”
“I feel a bit of a fool.”
“You’re not a fool. I was only famous for one show and a couple of movies. If you didn’t watch the show or those movies, how were you supposed to know who I was?”
“I feel like we have a lot to talk about on our next date.”
“You still want another date?”
“Of course.”
On our second date, I’d told Cameron as much as I was comfortable telling him. I didn’t mention how difficult things had gotten for me. In fact, I pretty much glossed over the ugliness of the end of my career and merely explained I wasn’t happy acting.
The picnic would be our third date.
My phone buzzed again.
Le Roulé it is. Can’t wait to see you.
My smile died a bit.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t looking forward to the picnic. I liked Cameron. He was sweet and funny and he genuinely seemed to love being a doctor. He was also a very good kisser, which I discovered on date two.
But I couldn’t quite say that I couldn’t wait to see him. He didn’t make my belly flutter or my chest ache like the mere thought of Fyfe did. Yet I’d decided that was a good thing. Being out of control of my emotions had gotten me hurt.
This way I was in control, and I didn’t think that was a bad thing at all.
My phone buzzed again, and I picked it up thinking it was Cameron. It wasn’t. It was my old landlord back in London.
“Pete?” I picked up. “Is everything okay?”
“No, luv, it’s not. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we were doing annual smoke alarm checks on the flat and my bloke found something dodgy.”
“Dodgy?”
“There were cameras installed inside the smoke alarms, luv. One in the living space and one in the bedroom.”
A wave of nausea rose as I processed why there might be cameras in those smoke alarms. I gulped in a breath, swallowing down the vomit.
“Eilidh, you there?”
“I’m here,” I whispered.
“I’m real sorry, luv. We don’t keep CCTV footage longer than thirty days and we had the current tenant look and he don’t recognize anyone coming into the building as a threat.
He’s not famous or nothing. Quiet bloke.
So we reckon this has to do with you. They had to be installed sometime in the last year.
You know we check those things annually,” he repeated, sounding just as freaked out as I felt.
“What do you want us to do, luv? I mean I would usually go straight to the police, but with your public profile an’ all, I thought you might want to deal with it private like?”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Pete, can you hold on to them? I … I need to discuss this with my team and then I’ll let you know what we’d like done with the cameras.”
“Got them safe and locked away so no one touches them, luv, all right.”
“Thank you, Pete.”
“I’m real sorry about this, Eilidh.”
We hung up and I stared in a daze at the screen.
If someone had been recording me, they most likely had footage of me naked. They might have footage of me in private moments in my bedroom.
Shaking, I felt my panic building. The instinct to keep this to myself was there. To shield my family from the shit show of public life … but I’d learned my lesson. Pushing away from my desk, I hurried from the annex and into my parents’ house.
Dad was just throwing back the last of his coffee as Mum grabbed her car keys. School was on break for the Easter holidays and Mor had shocked us all by asking to accompany her friend to a caravan park with her friend’s parents in the Cairngorms.
“Writing go well?” Mum asked, her dimples flashing. Her smile fell at my expression. “Eilidh, what’s wrong?”
Tears burned in my eyes as I looked from my mum to my dad. My gaze locked with Dad’s and I wished I were seven years old again and he could make everything better with a hug. Through gritted teeth, I explained what Pete had found in my smoke alarms.
Dad did draw me into his arms, and I let myself cry against his chest as Mum smoothed a hand over my hair.
“Fyfe,” Dad announced gruffly. “You need Fyfe to investigate this. It’s his job, Eilidh. If there’s a way to track this person down via the cameras, Fyfe can do it.”
Of course.
Fyfe was the first person I would have thought of under normal circumstances.
As if sensing my hesitancy, Dad withdrew slightly to search my face. “I don’t know what happened there, but this is too important. If someone broke into your flat and planted cameras, we need to know who and why.”
He was right.
I nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Now.”
“Me or your dad can come with you,” Mum offered.
“You have work.”
“Work can wait.”
I shook my head, wiping my tears. “No, I can talk to Fyfe alone. I’ll go now.”
There were a lot of nerves and slight PTSD (considering the results of the last time I drove somewhere to see Fyfe) as I guided my new (well, new to me—the vehicle was five years old) G-Wagon out of the village.
A Merc dealership in Inverness happened to have a used G-Wagon with the black and rust leather interior, and it was just bougie but eccentric enough for me to snap it up.
I didn’t even know if Fyfe was home. I could call him, but after everything … aye, I thought it would be better face-to-face.
I couldn’t even think about the fact that Mor had stayed with me in that flat and was grateful for the fact that she’d always changed clothes in the privacy of the bathroom during her visit.
Relief and apprehension clenched in my belly as I pulled up to Fyfe’s house and noted his SUV out front. I hurried to his door before I could talk myself out of it.
The doorbell was loud on the other side and to my utter shock, I heard a baby’s cry follow it. Was Harley here? Had Lewis come to check on Fyfe and brought his daughter along?
I strained to listen and heard Fyfe’s muffled curse seconds before the door flew open.
He stood before me, handsome as ever, no glasses so obviously wearing his contacts, hair mussed, a towel over his shoulder, and a bowl of mushy food in one hand. He was dressed casual in jeans and a T-shirt.
The baby continued to cry in the background.
Harassed.
Fyfe looked utterly harassed.
Those beautiful dark eyes of his widened at the sight of me. “Eilidh.”
For a second, I forgot everything. Our fight. The creepy camera discovery. “Is Harley here?”
“What? Harley?” He shook his head and muttered another curse. “Come in, come in.” Fyfe was hurrying through the hallway away from me before I’d even stepped a foot inside.
Curious as hell, I shut the door behind me and followed him into the open-plan living space only to draw to an abrupt halt.
Sitting in a high chair near the island was a gorgeous baby girl, and she was staring up at Fyfe as he fed her. She wore a soft headband with a big pink bow, so I assumed she was a girl. Her little arms and legs flicked every time he spooned a mouthful of the mush.
“What the …” I took in the mess.
There were piles of boxes of nappies, baby wipes, and formula all along the base of the island.
A baby’s cot was situated behind the sofa. A changing table on the other side of the room near the dining table. There were toys and teddies scattered here and there. And the room smelled of baby powder.