Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
It was just after nine-thirty and already locals were appearing either on foot or ferried by friends with cars.
Caleb had fetched the platters of delicious canapes from the deli: roast mackerel with creamy cabbage, Scottish smoked salmon and avocado fromage, and sweet-potato-and-ginger parcels.
We set them out on the table, under elaborate-looking glass domes, which we’d hired from the deli too, and Katie had managed to persuade a friend who worked at the Starr Bar and was delivering the champagne to let us hire flutes at a nominal fee.
Although not baking hot, the first Saturday in May was proving to be very pleasant, with washes of sunshine parting the odd cloud.
A couple of inquisitive tourists materialised by the trestle table and picked up copies of our brochure. I was about to have a chat with them, when Mrs Archibald, who owned the local newsagents, Good News, came sidling up to me, champagne glass held in her manicured hands.
‘Poppy, isn’t that man over there the historian everyone has been talking about?’ She inclined her coiffed chestnut waves towards Mason, who was in an animated conversation with Joe. ‘He cuts a very dashing figure.’
‘Yes, that’s him,’ I commented lightly, registering again how handsome he looked. ‘His name is Mason Cooper.’
Mrs Archibald’s inquisitive gaze lit up like a firework. ‘Hang on! Isn’t he the one who uncovered the story of that ancient murder in the Scottish Borders?’
‘Oh, I read about that,’ I admitted, having Googled Mason on more than one occasion.
Mrs Archibald stretched her neck for a clearer view across the sea of heads in the courtyard.
‘Aye,’ she enthused, still observing Mason.
‘He was interviewed about it not that long ago on that UK history channel.’ She took a measured gulp of her champagne.
‘He’s even more gorgeous in the flesh.’ A mischievous sparkle glinted in her eyes.
‘When I saw him and that redhead together the other night, I couldn’t help thinking, what a lucky girl! ’
The air was sucked out of my chest. It took me a moment to find my voice. ‘A redhead?’
‘Oh aye. They were going into the Starr Bar together. Chatting away they were too.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ apologised Katie, materialising at my shoulder, ‘but the reporter and photographer from the local paper have just arrived.’
‘Thank you,’ I managed, hurt pricking me. I inched away and whispered to Katie, ‘You’ve just rescued me. Mrs Archibald was telling me about Mason’s latest girlfriend.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t know. Some redhead.’
Katie’s dolly features detected the pain in my voice. ‘What?’
I made what I hoped was a dismissive noise, but my insides were knotted with resentment.
This was becoming far too reminiscent of Nick and how he had behaved.
I swallowed. ‘Caleb said he saw Mason down on the beach looking cosy with a dark-haired woman recently. And now he’s been spotted with a different woman – a redhead this time. ’
Katie tried to look unfazed. ‘I’m sure there’s some innocent explanation. Neither of them is here now with him. Mason seems to be seen with his dog all the time, anyway.’
I gave her a doubtful look, but the local newspaper reporter interrupted by bounding over. ‘Poppy Summers?’ he enquired, peering at me through a pair of small circular spectacles. ‘Hi, I’m Tom Henderson from the Port Starr Press and this is our photographer, Alicia Reilly.’
A pretty and unnaturally healthy-looking young woman with a camera slung around her neck thrust out her hand. ‘Congratulations,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve just had a quick browse through your brochure. The cottages look gorgeous.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit. I’ve had a lot of help.’ I smiled at Katie, who blushed and flapped away my praise.
Tom plucked his notebook from the inside pocket of his crumpled suit jacket.
A woman boasting a gold chiffon scarf draped around her neck had picked up one of Katie’s honeycomb-textured fruit bowls from the table to examine, while her friend, her red hair secured in an elegant chignon, was deliberating over my McKerron Castle chalk sketches.
After a few more moments’ consideration, she opted for the one depicting the castle overlooking a churning night sea and angry sky, rather than the more sedate morning scene.
I thought Katie was about to spontaneously combust with joy beside me. ‘I’ll deal with these customers,’ she said, barrelling towards them with a winning smile.
Something made me turn around and look over my shoulder.
George McCrimmon, one of my dad’s golfing buddies, was trying to persuade Mason to join the Port Starr Golf Club, but Mason wasn’t listening. He was staring right at me.
I was suddenly rooted to the cobbles, my shirt dress billowing around my knees in the May breeze. Mason continued to study me from under his gathered brows, before breaking into an irresistible smile that lit up his face. My heart spun in my chest and I found myself reddening.
Then my thoughts dragged up the two women he’d been seen with recently and I swung away from him, burying a ball of misery. So, not content with the dark-haired woman and the redhead, he was trying to add me to his list of conquests?
Tom’s voice made me start.
‘Poppy?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ I stammered, gathering myself together. ‘There’s so much going on at the moment.’
‘No worries.’ He clarified the spelling of our names while Alicia took a couple of informal shots of our milling guests.
I focused on Tom again, sensing Mason was still glancing over at me.
He asked me where I’d got my inspiration from for the rebranding of the cottages; what made me want to take them over; what my hopes and dreams were for the family business and his last question was a brilliant one.
‘Poppy, if you could have anyone stay as a guest in one of your cottages, who would you choose and why?’
‘The Scarlet Highwayman,’ I said without missing a beat. ‘I’d love to speak to him face to face and find out about his life before he became who he was.’
‘Great answer. Right,’ he exclaimed with a final flick of his pen, ‘that’s great. If I think of anything else to ask you, I’ll give you a call.’
Katie plucked one of our new blue-and-yellow business cards from the top of the trestle table and handed it to him.
Tom slid it into his pocket. ‘Thanks for that. My write-up should be in this Thursday’s edition.’
Alicia approached and beckoned us with a flap of her hand. ‘Before we go, I’d like to get a photo of you two ladies and Caleb standing by the cottages, if you don’t mind.’
She arranged us in front of the revamped cottages, their glossy, newly painted front doors shining in the sun. She insisted we clasp champagne flutes, and the atmosphere was languid with relaxed, jovial ambience.
I spotted Jenny and Maisie, the cottage cleaners, drifting through the crowd and beckoned them to come over and join us for the picture. They were every bit a part of the White Willow Cottages team, too.
While Alicia arranged the five of us, I kept my attention turned away from Mason’s gaze. Even though I could feel his eyes on me, I set my shoulders and managed a bright, wide smile.
Alicia angled her camera upwards a little, so that the sunshine-yellow-and-sea-blue banner proclaiming ‘White Willow Cottages’ was clearly visible strung along the courtyard wall in front of us. She took several shots and was about to leave, when she spotted Mason chatting to George.
‘Who’s that tall, dark-haired guy over there?’
‘Where?’ I asked, knowing full well whom she was staring at.
‘There. Standing with the gent in the tweed jacket. The one in the white shirt and grey silky waistcoat.’
‘Oh, you mean Mason Cooper,’ I said, feigning surprise. ‘He’s in Port Starr researching the Scarlet Highwayman. He’s a historian.’
Alison stared hungrily in his direction. ‘Is he now?’ Her lips parted. ‘Right. I see.’ She leaned in a little closer, smoothing down her shoulder-length pale-blonde hair. ‘I might go over and say hi. You know, just to be neighbourly.’
I watched with a twist of irritation as she removed her fitted jacket, hooked it over her shoulder and sashayed towards Mason. ‘Good luck,’ I mumbled under my breath. ‘You’re currently fourth in the queue.’
It was at that moment that a blur of black chose to linger in my line of sight.
I was too preoccupied with the local newspaper photographer offering to show Mason her flash softbox to take much notice at first. It wasn’t until I realised that a figure was streaking past me and heading straight towards an unsuspecting Mason that my heart seized.