High Heels in the Highlands

Chapter One

Clementine Byrne sat in her car and blinked back angry tears. It didn’t matter that no one could see her, she would not waste a single tear on that conniving, devious piece of low-life offal. Symeon Francesco wasn’t worth the spit in her mouth, let alone the tears in her eyes. If only she hadn’t been such an idiot. She clenched her fists on the steering wheel, remembering all her stupid defences of him.

Oh no, he’s one of the good ones.

Symeon says I’m going places.

Oh, I totally trust him.

Symeon says I have a special talent.

Symeon says, Symeon says.

Clem shuddered as she remembered Symeon’s last words to her.

You signed the contract. Your work belongs to me and you have no right to any credit. And if you try to take me to court, you will be in breach of the non-disclosure agreement you also signed. Now get out!

The ateliers remained hunched over their sewing machines, desperately trying not to look at Clem as she began to cry. Her beautiful clothes were hanging from the rails, ready to be shown in the following week’s fashion show. Each seam that was being sewn right now, she had spent hours sketching and draping until she knew the garment was perfect. This was her best collection yet and she was overwhelmed with pride with what she had achieved. Now she stood in the doorway sobbing as Symeon spelt out how none of it was hers.

Life in the fashion industry could be cutthroat if you ventured out into the deep waters too soon. And Clem had done just that. Full of enthusiastic optimism, she had fallen under the spell of an older designer who was brilliant and had his own fashion label. Each season he always created something new and exciting. All she had to do was sign a simple contract of employment to protect both of their intellectual copyrights. Or so he had said. She snorted, turned the volume up and put her foot down, the miles from Norfolk to Scotland slowly being torn up as she raged along the motorways.

Clem had always struggled with reading at school to the extent that she had failed all her exams. She knew she wasn’t stupid, but she still felt the shame of failure. When Symeon had waved a massive contract at her along with a bottle of champagne she had just turned to the last page and signed. She trusted Symeon and this agreement was proof that she had finally arrived.

A beep interrupted her music and she looked at the orange light on her dashboard in consternation. Clearly one tank of fuel wasn’t enough to get all the way to Ruacoddy Castle, and in annoyance she came off at the next service station. Deciding to grab a coffee first, she parked up and slid down from her seat. As she slammed the door closed, she heard a voice shout out behind her.

‘Hey, does your daddy know you pinched his car? Have you packed your booster?’

A bloke in his forties heckled her from his van, laughing with his mate about the amazing wit he was sharing with everyone.

‘Boil yer head!’ Clem shouted as she headed towards the services.

‘Moody! Is it past your bedtime?’

‘Is it past yours, dickface? Wind yer neck back in and go grow a pair.’

Jabbing her key fob at the car, she locked it and stormed past the builders, her high heels stabbing the tarmac. A lesser woman might have tottered, but in their wildest dreams no one would describe Clem as a lesser woman. She had lived in high heels since she was sixteen when it became apparent that she would not get any taller than five foot. Now at twenty-six, she could run, jump and dance in stilettoes, and she was easily capable of storming off in them as well.

As she headed into the services, the builder shook his head in astonishment. His mate was now crying with laughter. What had started as a friendly bit of banter with a pretty girl had resulted in a total dressing-down and people sitting in other cars smirking at him.

When Clem returned to her car, she was relieved the van had left. She didn’t care so much, but she knew she was angry at the moment and engaging in a second shouting match was not considered appropriate. Apparently, it was never appropriate, but if you didn’t stand up to people they would walk all over you.

Pulling her St Anthony medallion out from under her collar, she gave it a quick kiss. As usual, when she felt she was losing control of her temper she would remember her father’s words. She had been twelve years old and sobbing with angry tears and a black eye from another fight. As he knelt down beside her on the floor, he cleaned her cut knees and then placed his medallion around her neck.

St Anthony has never let me down. If ever I felt lost or alone, I would say a few words to him and I’d feel a bit better. Now, the next time you think you are going to lose your temper, remember St Anthony and let’s see if he can’t help you out, hey?

Clem remembered how he kissed her on her head and told her to run along. Four years later he was gone.

Becoming a de facto mother at sixteen had not sat easily on her shoulders, but she had been determined not to let her sisters down. For a few years, the lack of her parents’ calming influence had driven her a little wild, but as she’d grown up and got better at her new role, she began to settle. It had also helped that her sisters needed her, she learnt how to moderate herself and Ari, her older sister, had helped enormously. And of course, on the bleakest of days she would grip her father’s little medallion and pray for a miracle.

As she switched on the car radio, someone was waffling on about how something was a learning curve. Try losing your parents at sixteen, if you want a learning curve. She laughed grimly and drove off to get petrol.

She didn’t do much driving and this car was new to her, so when she pulled up alongside the wrong pump, she had to endure someone shouting at her, again.

‘Do you look like an HGV, love?’

Clem didn’t have a bloody clue what that meant, but decided she’d had enough chippy northerners for one day and bit her lip. Obviously, HGV meant some sort of vehicle that wasn’t her top-of-the-range four by four. Muttering to herself, she drove forward, then reversed, delighted with the little reversing camera that popped up. She did love this car. It had been her uncle’s, but Ariana insisted that she had it. Ari felt that it was better suited to life in Scotland, besides which Ari didn’t want her children in a car that she hadn’t properly investigated.

The light was fading as she passed the border into Scotland, but she hadn’t expected to arrive in daylight. It was early May after all and Scotland was famed for its lighter nights, but she had been surprised by just how early the darkness had fallen. Looking through the windscreen she could she the clouds building. A storm was coming to Scotland. She felt that she was physically driving into the night and began to picture bales of soft cotton velvet in hues of purple, grey and black. Catching herself in a yawn, she decided that she would pull over for a rest at the next services.

She stopped again for some uninspiring food and a brutal coffee and caught up with a bit of work. Her chips were a curious mix of stone cold and hot enough to melt girders. She mixed them up in an attempt to spread the warmth, and save her from burning her tongue again, and called Ari.

‘Are you there yet? What’s it like?’

‘Not a hope. Think I’ve got a few more hours of driving, so I’ve pulled into the services for some tea and a spot of work.’

Her destination was Ruacoddy Castle on the edge of the Cairngorm National Park. According to what she had read, the area had lots of mountains, but presumably no one actually lived there. I mean why would they? No shops, no signal, no civilisation. Clem shuddered as Ari replied.

‘Good call. Oh and make sure you buy a blanket and a spade. I’ve been checking the weather report for you, says snow is possible. Although I find it hard to believe. I spent the day on the beach!’

‘Sunbathing?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing! It was blowing a gale. No, I was at the site meeting with Shining Horizons and Sebastian Flint-Hyssop. He’s one of the landowners involved in this mess. Then we went on to the nearby town.’

Clem listened to Ari relive her day, interspersed with the odd question as she played lucky dip with the chips.

‘It sounds like our family have really let things slide all over the place,’ said Clem. ‘Thank God, Scotland should be easy enough. What can we do to fix things down there?’

‘Well first off, don’t assume Scotland is straightforward. Who knows, Uncle David may have been selling bits off there as well,’ said Ari.

‘Okay, if there’s anything amiss I’ll fix it. Or rather, I’ll spot it and ask you how to fix it.’

‘Ah, you’ll be fine. You know I have every faith in you. How much further do you have to drive?’ When Clem told her, Ari groaned but Clem jumped in.

‘Nah, it’s fun, this car drives itself and I like the adventure. Plus, I’ve stocked up on essentials so that if I have to sleep in the car it won’t be a big deal.’

‘I hope the rug is tartan.’

‘Oh my God! Everything in here is.’ Clem looked around the small services. She could see at least three kiosks selling the Scottish flag and everything was covered in red checked cloth. ‘Even the spade handles are! What tourist buys a spade?’

‘Ones that want to be properly prepared for whatever the weather may throw at them?’ suggested Ari.

‘Fair enough, but I reckon these services must be where everyone first stops when they arrive in Scotland. It’s like the kiosks on Westminster Bridge. That reminds me, the Loch Ness Monster, that’s just a joke right? Only there was a whole area selling stuff about it and books and all sorts. It’s not real?’

‘No, not real at all. Or is it?’ said Ari, her voice laden with TV drama and then she started giggling. ‘Tell you what, grab a picture of Nessie and show it to the boys. It will make their day.’

‘Will do. Incidentally, I’ve used your place as my forwarding address for any mail or stuff from work. Is that okay?’

Since losing her job, she had also lost her apartment and was currently between everything. Job, home, ideas, motivation. She was floundering and she knew it. She was just desperate that her sisters didn’t. As far as they were concerned, she was taking everything in her stride.

‘Yep you know it is. Are you sure I can’t do anything to help? It still sounds really wrong to me.’

‘Happens all the time. The amount of horror stories I could tell you about lousy contracts.’

‘Yeah, but that man has practically stolen your entire collection and passed it off as his own designs. That’s just not right.’ Ari had tried repeatedly to find out what the hell had happened, but each time Clem simply brushed off her questions.

‘Welcome to the fashion world. Seriously though, just let it go.’ Clem tried to play down her sister’s concerns. It couldn’t be fixed and going over it again was just making her feel sick. ‘Like Symeon said, it’s all above board. It’s what I signed in the contract, plus I’ve learnt loads working in his studio; my horizons have been expanded; I’ve been exposed to a wider range of clientele—’

‘Don’t spout that man’s tripe to me. He’s a grade one arse.’

Clem sighed deeply. ‘Yeah, you’ll get no arguments from me on that point. Look I’d better get back to work.’

She’d enjoyed chatting to her sister, but the loss of her collection was a very sore spot and she didn’t want Ari to hear how badly she had been screwed over. Not only had Symeon not acknowledged her name, he hadn’t paid her properly. The final insult was that, whilst they had been sleeping together, she thought she had loved him and he her. Turns out he did it with all the new interns.

Giving up on the chips, she pulled her notebook close and started sketching some of the faces around her and then designing new outfits for them. By the time she had finished, she had astronauts and ballerinas, accountants, clowns, fancy dress cats and gladiators. A little girl had wandered over to see what she was doing. Clem lent her a pencil and a piece of paper and the two sketched quietly side by side. The girl’s grateful mother insisted on buying Clem a coffee to say thank you and then returned to feeding her baby and toddler at a neighbouring table.

When the family left, Clem gave the mother the sketches she had made of them and the little girl. She smiled and showed them to her husband, who was in the throes of a military manoeuvre, trying to pack up all the children’s items and head back to the car. As they left, the little girl skipped along, waving her dolly at Clem.

Sipping the last of her coffee, she was glad to note how calm she felt, and heading back to the gift shop, bought two cuddly Nessies for her nephews, complete with tartan hats. She also picked up a tartan shovel: whilst she might scoff, there was no harm in being prepared. Besides, everyone was buoyed up by a little retail therapy, no matter how daft. Re-invigorated, she grabbed a coffee to go, and headed back into the dark.