Secret Things and Highland Flings

by Tracy Corbett

  Her suitcase took up all the boot space, so the painting had to be tucked behind the driver’s seat. At least it was secured in a wooden case.

  Fifteen minutes later, with her satnav programmed for Shieldaig, she was ready to head off.

  Getting out of the car park was the first complication. She inadvertently took a wrong turn and had to double back on herself. Maybe if she hadn’t turned off the roundabout too soon she’d never have noticed the red car behind, but when the car did a U-turn so it could pull in behind, her suspicions grew. Another coincidence?

  She put her foot down, using the busy dual carriageway to gain some distance from the car behind, driving more erratically than she would normally. It did the trick. As she headed away from Inverness, the red car was nowhere in sight. Good.

  She settled back, put the radio on and concentrated on following the satnav’s directions. The first part of her journey took her through the city, but the landscape changed as she ventured further into the Highlands. It was hard to focus on driving when the sight of huge mountains and tranquil lochs kept diverting her attention. After an hour’s driving, she saw a sign for a photo spot by Glen Docherty and decided to stop.

  She pulled into the gravel turn-off and got out. The first thing that struck her was the force of the wind. It whipped her hair around her face, tickling her nose. She breathed in. The air was cool and fresh and smelt of … nothing. Just air. Bliss.

  The view ahead was stunning. A deep valley cut through the hills, their banks covered in grasses and heathers, the foliage bending in the breeze. The colours ranged from bright green to muted browns and coal greys. The sky looked alive, the clouds moving at such speed they cast shadows across the landscape, changing the colour palette.

  She wanted to capture the moment in paint. Not that she could do it justice. She settled for taking a few photos, eager to send them to her sister.

  Her equilibrium was interrupted by the sound of a car.

  She glanced over. The red car from earlier was pulling into the car park.

  Anger overrode any fear for her safety and she marched over, noticing the taxi licence displayed in the window. ‘Why are you following me?’ she yelled, shaking her fist at the driver, who was hidden behind tinted windows.

  The car reversed at speed, skidded and turned back onto the road.

  ‘That’s right, run away!’ she shouted, secretly glad they hadn’t been up for a confrontation. ‘Coward!’

  Shivering, she got back in the Fiat. It was official – she was being followed.

  By whom? Had Marcus got wind of her trip to Scotland? Even if he had, he wouldn’t know her final destination. A detour was needed. She checked her map. The direct route to Shieldaig took her along the coastal road, but if she used the mountain road it might give her the opportunity to shake whoever it was off.

  She reprogrammed the satnav and headed off, constantly checking her mirrors.

  The road ahead narrowed and soon became a single lane. Thankfully, there weren’t many other cars on the road. There wasn’t enough room for two and she had to pull into the passing bays to allow any approaching vehicles past. What with that and checking she wasn’t being followed, it didn’t allow any time for sightseeing.

  Consequently, she hadn’t realised the terrain had changed until she’d turned off the main road and began snaking her way up the mountain track. A series of twists and turns followed, the surface precarious and bumpy.

  By the time she’d passed the road signs warning ‘Not for Learner Drivers’, ‘No Wide Vehicles’ and ‘No Caravans Past this Point’, it was too late to turn around. The lane was too narrow. Plus, there was a sheer drop to her right. Where the hell were the protective barriers?

  A sign stating ‘You have Reached 3000 Feet’ didn’t help. Neither did the sight of a wreath perched against a tight bend. Had someone driven off? Oh, crumbs.

  She slowed to a crawl. The early morning mist had morphed into thick damp fog, obscuring her view. She could barely see past the bonnet. And then a van appeared ahead. She squealed and braked. The van driver seemed unperturbed by the conditions and pulled into the layby so she could pass.

  Thank God she was on the left – no way would she want to swerve to the right. Not with that sheer drop.

  She edged past as slowly as she could, almost too afraid to look. The van sped off.

  Far from feeling relieved, she had a hairpin bend to negotiate and visibility was even worse. Why had she taken the mountain road? What an idiot.

  She blinked hard, trying to bring her surroundings into focus. Had her contact lens moved? She rubbed her eye. It made her vision worse … and then it dawned on her. She’d torn another lens. Blast it. And her glasses were squashed in the bottom of her suitcase. Could things get any worse?

  Apparently so.

  Headlights appeared behind. The red taxi. Oh, hell.

  As much as she wanted to drive off, she couldn’t see clearly enough. She looked in her rear-view mirror and saw the blurred image of a man exiting the passenger side.

  It wouldn’t have been a shock to see her ex-husband walking towards the Fiat. Or one of his hired goons. But the combination of thick fog and one contact lens meant it wasn’t until he’d reached the driver’s door that she realised it wasn’t Marcus. It was the blue-eyed thief.

  She groaned and dropped her head against the steering wheel. Why him?

  He tapped on the glass. ‘Everything okay? Why have you stopped?’

  She lifted her head. ‘Go away!’

  ‘Open the door.’ He tried the handle. ‘I’m here to help.’

  ‘Like hell you are.’ She revved the engine. No way was she letting him in. She checked the doors were locked. ‘You’re probably going to throw me over the edge.’

  He looked startled. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘So you can steal the painting.’

  Her breath smeared the glass. She rubbed it so she could keep an eye on him, in case he did anything dodgy.

  He was dressed in a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, the colour a match for his eyes. His wavy honey-coloured hair danced about in the wind.

  ‘Why would I steal it?’ he said, rubbing his hands.

  He was clearly chilly. Good. He deserved to suffer.

  ‘I told you, it’s worthless. And besides, you’re taking it back to Rubha Castle. I don’t need to steal it.’

  Did he think she was stupid? ‘That’s assuming you’re who you say you are.’

  ‘I told you. I’m Louisa’s brother, Olly. You phoned her, didn’t you?’

  She switched off the engine. It was hard work shouting over the noise. ‘It doesn’t mean it’s you, though. You could be an imposter.’

  He went to say something … swore and then kicked the ground in annoyance, scuffing his Nike trainers. Why was he annoyed? He was the one who was up to no good.

  And then he unearthed his phone and held it against the window, showing her a photo of him sandwiched between two women. She covered her left eye so she could focus on the image. A pretty, dark-haired woman was smiling up at him adoringly. The stunning blonde looked pissed off, her eyes cast away from the camera.

  ‘My sisters,’ he yelled, gesturing to the photo.

  He came from an impressive gene pool, she’d give him that.

  He pointed to the dark-haired woman. ‘That’s Louisa.’

  She shrugged. ‘It could be anyone. One of your girlfriends.’

  He mouthed an expletive, gave her an exasperated look and then searched through his phone again. He held up a WhatsApp message. The name Louisa Musgrove matched the name on the paperwork that had arrived with the Wentworth shipment.

  She uncovered her eye. ‘So why didn’t you show me that the other night when I asked for ID?’

  He gave her an incredulous look. ‘I was too preoccupied trying not to bleed to death.’

  Drama queen. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’

  He lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt, revealing a large dressing. �
�I needed eight stitches.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And a tetanus jab.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The taxi behind honked its horn. The blue-eyed thief signalled for the taxi driver to wait.

  Lexi rubbed her eye, the broken lens was making it sore. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why are you following me?’

  He was shivering. ‘Can you lower the window? It’s hard shouting through glass.’

  She unwound the window, but only an inch. ‘If you’re not a thief and you’re who you say you are then why are you following me?’

  His eyes darted upwards and to the left. A sure sign he was about to lie. ‘I wanted to check you arrived at Rubha Castle safely.’

  Utter rubbish. ‘Why?’

  He hesitated. ‘Because I’m a nice guy?’

  She pinned him with what she hoped was an intimidating glare. ‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’

  ‘This is tricky terrain. People have died up here.’ His effort to sound dramatic failed.

  ‘How did you know I’d take this road? It was a detour.’

  That got him. He blinked and then swallowed, confirming her suspicion that he was lying. ‘The coastal road is temporarily closed. This is the only alternative route to Shieldaig.’

  Lying toerag. She knew exactly what he was after. ‘You expect me to believe that? This is about you trying to steal the painting.’

  ‘I told you, I wasn’t trying to steal—’ The taxi behind honked again. He glanced back, looking frustrated. ‘Look, the taxi driver’s getting worried. The weather’s closing in. We need to get off the mountain road.’

  He had a point.

  ‘Can you answer my original question and tell me why you’ve stopped?’

  There was no point lying. ‘My contact lens broke. I can’t see where I’m going.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Then you need my help.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ She wasn’t that desperate.

  He rested his hands on the car. ‘Think of it as me trying to make amends for the other night.’

  She met his gaze. ‘I’d be happy if you just stopped breaking into my gallery and stealing my paintings.’

  ‘I didn’t steal any of your paintings.’

  ‘Only because I interrupted you.’

  ‘Stabbed me, to be precise.’

  She was about to assure him he was lucky that was all she’d done, when he said, ‘But if you don’t want my help, then fine. You have two options. Stay stuck up here, or walk down the mountain.’

  Neither sounded appealing.

  ‘Or you could accept that you need help and let me drive you—’

  ‘No way am I letting you drive!’

  ‘Fine.’ He held up his hands. ‘See you at Rubha Castle.’ He walked off.

  Good.

  And then logic kicked in.

  She threw open the driver’s door and stumbled out of the car. ‘Wait!’

  He stopped walking but kept his back to her.

  She could unearth her glasses from her suitcase, but there were broken pieces of contact lens in her eye, obscuring her vision. Added to the fact that she wasn’t familiar with the terrain and she was exhausted from no sleep, it was probably sensible to accept his offer.

  ‘Okay then.’

  He turned to face her. ‘Okay then … what?’

  She glared at him. ‘I need your help.’

  He cupped his ear. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

  She balled her fists. ‘I said … I need your help!’

  Grinning, he ran over to speak to the taxi driver.

  She turned and marched back to the car, more stressed than she’d been before arriving in bloody Scotland. So much for a restful break away from everything. She climbed into the passenger side, mumbling expletives. She wasn’t happy about accepting help from the blue-eyed thief. She was an independent, resourceful woman. She didn’t need a man to bail her out. Especially not a smart-talking, blue-eyed thief. Because whatever crap he tried to bamboozle her with, no one would follow someone all the way from Windsor up to the Highlands of Scotland without an ulterior motive. And that motive certainly wasn’t a ‘valueless’ painting.

  The driver’s door opened and he climbed in, his knees almost pressed against his chest. ‘Christ, you have short legs,’ he said, adjusting the seat.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my legs.’

  ‘Finally, something we agree on.’ He flashed her a smile.

  Her cheeks grew warm. ‘Quit with the charm, I’m not interested.’ She dug out the packet of shortbread.

  His smile widened when he saw the biscuits. His eyes darted from the shortbread to her mouth, an expression of pure longing. ‘You know, I missed breakfast this morning.’

  She sighed and offered him a biscuit. Jesus. ‘Are you going to tell me why you were following me?’

  ‘I told you, I’m making amends for the other night.’

  He devoured the biscuit in one mouthful. What was he, a wolf?

  ‘I know what you said, I’m just having a little trouble believing you.’ She nibbled on the shortbread, wanting to make hers last. It was buttery and delicious. ‘What’s your angle?’

  He shrugged. ‘No angle.’

  ‘Men always have an angle. They never do anything unless there’s something to be gained. Money. Sex. Power.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Could you be any more judgemental?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean I’m not right.’

  ‘Have you always been this cynical?’

  ‘Have you always robbed people for a living?’

  He sighed. ‘How many times? I’m not a thief.’ He pinned her with a mischievous grin. ‘I’m actually very trustworthy.’

  ‘Trustworthy, my arse. Just drive, will you.’

  He started the engine and pulled away, swerving to miss an oncoming truck.

  Heaven help her.

  She closed her eyes. If they were going to plunge off the mountain, she didn’t want to witness it.

  Chapter Six

  A few minutes later …

  Olly had driven across the mountain road countless times over the years. He was used to the treacherous terrain and challenging hairpin bends. The sheer drop or narrow winding lanes didn’t faze him. But trying to negotiate the tricky mountain road in thick fog when his passenger kept squealing and grabbing his thigh was a complication he could do without. The fact that his passenger was hot as hell only increased the likelihood of him swerving off the cliff. And that wouldn’t be in either of their best interests.

  A distraction was needed.

  He glanced across to see her visibly shaking. ‘Did you know the circular drive from Applecross to Shieldaig is called The Bealach na Ba. It means Pass of the Cattle. It’s considered one of the finest drives in Europe.’

  She ducked when an oncoming car swerved past, the grip on his thigh tightening.

  ‘The road rises to two thousand three hundred feet above sea level. It’s Britain’s highest mountain pass. On a good day you can enjoy spectacular views over the Minch and the Isle of Skye.’

  ‘Hands on wheel!’

  He flinched. ‘Christ! You want us to end up down there?’

  She shook her head. ‘No!’

  ‘Then don’t shout.’ He softened his voice. ‘Just relax, will you?’

  ‘Relax?’ Her blue eyes widened. One was slightly bloodshot – a match for her red lipstick. ‘How can I relax? Look at that drop.’

  He glanced to his right. The drop was hidden by thick fog. He didn’t think pointing this out would help. ‘I’ve driven this route loads of times and I’ve never once driven off. Can you please stop panicking? You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘How many times have you driven this route?’

  He sighed. ‘I grew up here.’ Well, mostly, when he hadn’t been packed off to boarding school or sent to stay with his cousin in Brighton for the summer. ‘As a teenager
I used to ride around here on my scooter. If you think being in a car is scary you should try it on a Vespa.’

  His attempt to lighten the mood failed. Her face radiated pure terror, and then she realised she was gripping his thigh and removed her hand.

  ‘Oh, God. Sorry.’

  He grinned. ‘No need to move it on my account.’

  She edged closer to the window. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He flicked on the windscreen wipers, trying to disperse the moisture. ‘Feeling more relaxed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Want to play I spy?’

  She glared at him. ‘With one eye?’

  ‘I forgot you were visually impaired. Where are your glasses?’

  Her expression turned suspicious. ‘How do you know I wear glasses?’

  He figured admitting he’d been watching her for the past three days wouldn’t make him seem more trustworthy. ‘Logic. If you wear lenses, chances are you also wear glasses.’

  She didn’t look convinced. ‘I’ve had this strange sensation of being followed over the last few days.’

  ‘That’s not good. Paranoia can lead to all kinds of mental health issues.’

  ‘My mental health is just fine, thank you. Well, it was until I met you.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘Admit it, you started tailing me long before we boarded the train in London.’

  ‘Tailing you? Have you been watching too many cop dramas?’ He pointed ahead, grateful for an opportunity to change topic. ‘Look at the view.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me …’ And then her voice trailed off. ‘Oh, wow.’

  ‘Impressive, huh?’

  The mist had started to clear now they were descending the mountain. The thick grey fog had thinned into pale white, unveiling the sight below. An expanse of green mottled with grey rocks, peppered with narrow streams that snaked down the slopes. Even he was in awe and he’d seen it a thousand times.

  In the distance, Rubha Castle came into view. The sight was enough to render his passenger speechless. Good. He hadn’t wanted a further interrogation.

  He looked at the place he’d grown up in but would never call home, trying to imagine seeing it through a stranger’s eyes. It was certainly an impressive sight. From a distance it looked like a doll’s house, lost in the middle of the vast loch. But as they neared, its grandeur became more apparent.