A Scottish Love Story

Chapter 1

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‘We may need to contact you later and I’m sorry I forgot to take your details,’ the stressed young policewoman said. ‘Can you give me your name and address now, please?’

‘Of course. I am Roxanne Carr. My home is at Willowbrook Farm in Derbyshire, or, er . . . that is . . . I-I did live there. My brother, Tommy, is still there. I am on my way to start new employment. If you do need to contact me, my address will be with Mrs Amynta Baxter, Oaklands View, Thornielee, Dumfriesshire, Scotland. At least, I hope it will be if she still wants to employ me by the time I arrive,’ Roxie added anxiously, glancing at her watch.

She would be at least two hours late. ‘I can’t get a signal on my mobile phone to let her know I’ve been delayed. ’ She hated letting people down.

She had yet to meet Mrs Baxter. Her interview had consisted of two letters and one very long telephone call, plus references of course.

Consequently, all she knew of her employer was she was incapacitated in some way and that Roxie was to be her ‘companion and chauffeur, with other duties as required’.

‘The accident has caused queuing in all directions,’ the policewoman said with concern. ’It’s such a busy roundabout anyway and there are no convenient diversions.’

‘We are all so helpless in a situation like this,’ Roxie said quietly, reflecting with horror how terrible it was for the couple in the crashed car and their young family.

At least she was still alive. Even if she did lose her job, it was not the end of the world for her, not like that poor young woman and her little girl.

She shuddered at the memory of them lying on the road.

‘I-I was on my first traffic duty training today but we were the nearest when the accident call came in,’ the young policewoman confessed in a shaky voice.

Could even the hardest heart ever get used to witnessing such tragedy? Roxie wondered. She glanced towards the car, and the lorry that had crashed into it. It was only two vehicles in front of her own. She trembled at the thought of the lives of the little family being shattered.

‘Other crews are coming to assist but even the fire crew are having difficulty getting through,’ the policewoman said in troubled tones.

‘My sergeant has had to try and control everything until they arrive. He said I had to do the best I can until he was free to come and assist when the others arrive. I am truly grateful for your help with the baby boy. I had no idea what to do with the poor wee scrap, and his cries were upsetting the driver. The medics are working to save his life now. They think he is probably the baby’s father.

They asked me to pass on their thanks to you,’ she added with real sincerity.

‘It was a small thing in the circumstances, cuddling him until the paramedics arrived. At least the poor little boy is safe now.’ Oblivious to the terrible upheaval in his young life, she thought sadly.

Roxie took a moment to reflect on her own life.

She couldn’t deny she was stricken with grief at her father’s death so recently caused, so simply, so needlessly.

Her mother’s death from leukaemia five years ago had left a huge gap in their lives, especially her father’s; they had been sweethearts since their schooldays, but the recent upheavals were still too fresh, too raw to dwell on.

They had turned her own life upside down.

Her focus returned to the scene around her. She swallowed hard and forced herself to think about her responsibilities. ‘I do hope my employer isn’t relying on me to provide her with food and essential care today,’ she murmured aloud.

‘I could ask my sergeant if he can put through a call to the Dumfriesshire police and ask them to contact your employer,’ the young policewoman suggested earnestly as the idea occurred to her. ‘They could make sure she is all right until you get to her.’

‘Do you think that might be possible? It would be a big relief to me! I don’t know if she has neighbours, or — well, or anything until I meet her.’

‘I can at least ask my sergeant when he gets a moment.’

‘Thank you. I would really appreciate it, if they can spare time for what must seem trivial in the present turmoil.’

* * *

Eventually the man had been freed from the tangled metal of the car, all casualties had been ferried off in ambulances and traffic had resumed in some shape or form.

Roxie was relieved to see a large sign indicating the place the policewoman had recommended as a comfort stop. Roxie parked as near to the entrance of the farm shop as she could get and hastily made her way inside, looking for the toilets. With that out of the way, she headed to the restaurant.

She ordered the ham salad and watched the young woman cut two generous slices from a large joint of succulent-looking pink ham, cooked on the bone.

She also selected a fruit scone with butter and jam, and a slice of pavlova.

She was so late already she felt she needed a decent meal to sustain her for whatever lay ahead.

Roxie prayed she would not find herself on her way back to Derbyshire tonight.

As she’d mentioned to the police officer, she didn’t even know whether the old lady was relying on her to do her weekend shopping and make her food with today being Saturday.

The job description had included some cooking.

The arrangement had been that she would be there by one o’clock today.

It was past that time already and she was still miles from the Scottish border, and then she had to find her final destination.

Roxie was glad she had thought to bring a dozen fresh eggs and a large bottle of milk in a cool bag from home.

At least they could have an omelette. She enjoyed cooking and had baked with her mother since she was a young girl.

Feeling calmer and more refreshed after her meal — and two large cups of coffee — Roxie went back to the produce counter.

‘Can I have one of those delicious-looking homemade pork pies, please?’ She also requested a bag of tomatoes and a freshly baked loaf of bread.

She selected a box containing a sponge cake oozing with fresh cream and raspberry jam, then added a tray of locally grown apples and pears.

She would take the food and hope it would be accepted as an apology for her very late arrival.

Back in the car, Roxie made a determined effort to put the memory of the car crash out of her mind.

Right now, she needed to concentrate on reaching her destination safely, but she knew she would never forget the sight of the young woman and her little girl lying on the road before a policeman quickly covered them.

She would probably see it all in her mind over and over, but she forced herself to focus on her own driving.

* * *

Two hours later, Roxie crossed the Solway Firth into Scotland.

A light drizzle made the November day seem darker, but her journey was going well now.

Eventually she turned off the main road, following the directions she’d been given.

She was used to country roads at home so the narrower winding roads didn’t trouble her and even the rain seemed to have cleared.

She saw the sign for Oaklands to her right.

She hesitated for a moment, but there was a car rather close behind her.

In the opposite direction she could see two tractors approaching slowly, one towing a trailer.

She followed the sign and turned swiftly off.

Although the road was tarmacked and seemed in good repair, she realised it was more likely the road to a farm than a public road.

Sure enough, as she rounded a bend she could see a fairly large house with farm buildings behind.

There was no place to pull off, or turn round, and the two tractors had also turned off and were behind her.

With no other option, Roxie followed the road as it curved around the tall, whitewashed farmhouse, but the tractors kept close behind.

She stopped the car, intending to get out and ask where she could turn, but before she could open the door and stretch her weary limbs, the driver of the first tractor was standing by her car, glaring at her with angry blue eyes.

Roxie wound down her window.

‘You can’t stop there! Can’t you see you’re blocking the bloo . . . the road?’

Roxie’s mouth tightened. It had been a stressful day. She was very tired. ‘I realised I’d turned into a farm, but with two tractors behind me, there was no place to pull out of the way or to turn. I’m looking for Oaklands. Oaklands View, actually.’

‘You’re not from this area,’ the man stated with a frown. ‘This is Oaklands Farm. Didn’t you read the sign?’

‘I did. It said Oaklands. It did not say farm.’ Roxie refused to be cowed by his bad temper.

‘It didn’t say “View” either. Anybody with sense would realise this led to a farm. Why are you going to Oaklands View anyway?’

‘If it’s any business of yours, I’m looking for Mrs Amynta Baxter. I am to be her companion and chauffeur.’ The man’s blue eyes almost shot out of his head. His curly red hair was already ruffled, but he pushed his fingers roughly through it, making it stand on end.

‘Her companion? That can’t be right! You’re just a lassie. There must be some mistake.’ He scowled. His bushy eyebrows came down and he glared at her accusingly. ‘Unless you deliberately misled her?’

‘I did not mislead anyone!’ Roxie said indignantly.

‘Look, can you tell me where I can turn, and give me directions? I’m already very late . . .’

‘I’ll say you’re late. She phoned me at two o’clock to say you’d not turned up. She was convinced you’d changed your mind about the job.’

‘I couldn’t get a phone signal to tell her about the traffic accident and delays.’

‘For three hours and more! Go tell that to the marines!’

‘Marines?’ Roxie compressed her lips again, holding on to her temper. She opened her car door, forcing him to move back. She stepped out and looked around. ‘I don’t see any marines but if they were here, they would do me the courtesy of believing me.’

A woman laughed. A tall, young woman, maybe a few years older than herself, rounded the corner of the house, followed by a man in smart flannels and a sports jacket. He was grinning. It did not help the mood of the furious man confronting Roxie.

‘Oh, Ciaran, lighten up a bit,’ the woman said with a chuckle.

‘We all have bad days you know. This must be Aunt Amy’s new companion.

’ She stepped closer and held out her hand.

‘You must be Roxanne Carr? Aunt Amy is expecting you. She will be so pleased you have arrived safely. I am Jenny Pringle, and this is my husband, Donald. And this is Ciaran Baxter, Aunt Amy’s son. ’

Ciaran spluttered angrily. ‘There must be some mistake! My mother is expecting a middle-aged widow.’

‘No, she isn’t,’ Jenny said. ‘It was you, Ciaran, who considered the middle-aged widow the most suitable applicant. Aunt Amy made up her own mind this time. She wants someone young and cheerful to brighten her life. She has plans—’

‘She never told me that!’ Ciaran interrupted her. He eyed Roxie for a moment. ‘Mum particularly wanted a competent driver. The last one nearly made her a nervous wreck.’

‘I’d say Roxanne must be competent enough, old boy,’ Donald said. ’She has driven all the way from, er . . . Derbyshire, wasn’t it?’ He looked at Roxie and winked.

‘Well, it’s taken her long enough . . . I suppose you’re not used to an early start?’ He raised an ironic ginger eyebrow at her.

Roxie longed to tell him she had been up every morning by five thirty and milked a hundred and fifty cows before breakfast for several years, but she bit back the sharp retort.

While he might wonder what sort of companion she was going to make for an old lady, the old lady herself had been extremely interested to hear all about her home, the farm, her work, and her life with her father since her mother’s death.

‘You were supposed to be here by one o’clock and it’s .

. .’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Good gracious, it’s half past four!

It’s time I was milking. I need to get on.

You’ll have to move your car out of the way. ’

He waved at the other tractor driver. ‘Max, we need to wait while this lassie gets her car out of the way. I’ll move your tractor if you want to get away home now.’

‘I will move my car when you to tell me where to turn,’ Roxie reminded him drily.

‘Hmph.’ He looked at the tractor driver who was grinning at his frustration.

‘You can’t turn here with two tractors in the way.

You’ll need to drive round the end of the house and turn right.

You’ll have to go down the front drive, back onto the farm road.

Then go back to the public road and turn right.

Oaklands View is about a mile further along.

You can’t miss the sign on the right. It says Oaklands View. ’

‘Thank you.’ Roxie refused to rise to the bait.

She climbed back into her car and started up, driving in the direction indicated.

Ahead of her was a really tight turn into a garden with an overgrown drive.

She brought her car sharply round, narrowly avoiding the corner of the house.

She was about to straighten up when she heard the most dreadful grinding noise as though the bottom of her car was being ripped off.

It juddered. It would move neither back nor forward. She was stuck. Of course she was.