Novels (1)

Extract from  'Secret of the Glen'

A gentle romantic mystery set in the beautiful Scottish Highlands.

At London's Heathrow airport, the young woman who now called herself Alix Grant boarded yet another plane. She huddled into her corner seat, ignoring the other passengers – even the overweight woman who plumped down next to her and might have started a conversation had not Alix resolutely stared out of the window, sun-glasses in place and body-language screaming, ‘Leave me alone!’ She knew she was over-reacting, getting paranoid, but she would not feel safe until she had reached her final destination. If then.
      The flight from London to Edinburgh was a brief hop compared to flights she had made across the vast distances of the States and the Atlantic Ocean. Soon they were descending through clouds that clung like fog to the windows, down into rain that drifted in sheets over the grey buildings of the Scottish capital. Trees showed as green swathes, blotched with dull yellows and reds. As the plane circled for its landing, the Firth of Forth glinted leaden below, and Alix spotted the gaunt castle perched on its rock -- familiar from travelogues and movies. Claudia had made a film here once, a quarter of a century ago, when --
      No! Alix sat up, glancing guiltily around her. Such was her state of mind that she half believed that thoughts alone might betray her secret. Idiot! If this went on, she’d have to find herself a shrink, or go completely crazy.
      Headachy and deadly tired after weeks of sleepless nights, she followed the stream of passengers and retrieved her suitcases. Glimpsed in a mirrored surface, she was just one of the crowd around the carousel, a tall, slender girl with a close-cropped cap of dark hair streaked with crimson, and shadows under anxious grey eyes. Ever since she had had her long mane of sun-streaked fair hair chopped off and dyed near-black, and especially since she had added those crimson streaks, her reflection came as a shock. She hardly knew herself. No one else could possibly recognize her. And even supposing someone did trace her as far as Edinburgh, here the signs would melt into Scottish mists. She hoped.
      On the main concourse she scanned the crowd for a sign of the man who had promised to meet her. She had never met Sir Anthony McKenzie but recently his soft Scots voice had become familiar over the telephone as they finalized arrangements for her journey to the place he had selected as a bolt-hole. No, that sounded too dramatic. What she hoped to find was a haven, a temporary refuge where she might sort herself out before facing the world again.
      She noticed someone waving -- someone who was making a bee-line towards her -- a young woman whose coppery hair bounced round the shoulders of a shiny scarlet raincoat. Smiling brightly, she paused in front of Alix, saying triumphantly, 'Alix Grant, I presume.'
      ‘How...’ Alix felt bemused and befuddled.
      ‘You look as if you’re trying to melt into the scenery. Relax, for heaven’s sake, you’re only drawing attention! Besides... Daddy did warn me about the hair.’ She surveyed Alix’s black scarecrow crop with its crimson streaks, amusement sparkling in her green eyes. ‘Cool! Hi. I’m Cat. Cat McKenzie – Catriona, that is. I'm Sir Anthony's daughter. He sends his apologies. Had to see an important patient at short notice, so I came in his place.'
      Her voice was much too loud, making Alix fear eavesdroppers, but the concourse was noisy, people bustling about their own business. No one showed the least interest in two young women meeting each other. Offering her hand, she murmured, 'Glad to know you.'
      'Yes, me too,' came the smiling reply. 'Welcome to Scotland. Look, unless you’re desperately in need of a drink or anything I want to get started a.s.a.p. It's a long drive to Lachanbrae and they’re forecasting mist on the hills.’
      After a quick trip to the bathroom facilities, and with a take-out cup of coffee clutched in one hand, Alix followed her new acquaintance out to the car park. Catriona pushed the luggage trolley, her raincoat hood pulled up against the drizzle that seeped from drifting layers of steel-grey cloud.
      Sir Anthony’s daughter drove a compact Fiat, the same shining red as her raincoat. With its wipers swishing and its driver chatting gaily, the little car headed away, passing through the outskirts of the city and on towards hills obscured by rain and mist.
      Alix sat quietly, letting Catriona's bright voice flow over her as the warmth in the car dried the rain from her alien red-streaked hair. Behind closed eyelids her thoughts swam in circles. She hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Her body-clock was still on Central Standard Time, setting-off-to-work time, but here in Scotland it was early afternoon. She felt as though only part of her was here. The rest was in scattered fragments torn off during the past few nightmare weeks.
      Trying to keep awake, she tuned in to what Catriona was saying: '... exciting, isn't it? Just like one of your mother's films. You've flown in under a false name, and I'm spiriting you away to hiding.'
      Alarm jerked Alix wider awake. 'You know about that?'
       'Of course! Daddy told me all about it.’
      ‘He shouldn’t have done that. It was between him and me. He promised -- ’
      The red-head flung her an amused glance. ‘Don’t be silly. That didn’t include me. I’m his daughter. He knows he can trust me to keep your little secret. Don't worry, your real identity is totally safe with me. But I have to admit I adore a hint of intrigue.'
      Alix couldn't share her companion's delight. She didn't find her situation exciting and intriguing: she found it exhausting and troubling and thoroughly unwelcome. Nor did she entirely trust Catriona McKenzie to keep such a secret. Oh, what was she doing here, in a country she had never visited before, where she knew no one?
      But that, of course, was the whole point of this journey.

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