Page 2 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

‘Okay, okay. We’ll get married,’ he said, raising his hands in submission. ‘But no fuss. Just you and me. Okay?’

‘But—’

‘Just you and me.’

The apologetic smile on the flight attendant’s face told Lucy all she needed to know.

‘Would you like to come with me please?’

She unfastened her seat belt and followed him into the First Class galley, heart in her mouth.

‘The captain radioed Glasgow and Mr Macintosh didn’t check in. I’m so sorry.’

Lucy’s mind went into overdrive. What could have happened to him? Visions of him lying bleeding by the side of the motorway, being airlifted to hospital, flashed across her mind.

She was now somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, hurtling towards her wedding without her husband-to-be, no clue whether he was dead or alive, and no means of communication.

‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation,’ said the flight attendant, handing her a cup of sweet tea. ‘Try not to worry.’

The next few hours seemed like an eternity. She stared out ofthe window, tried to sleep, to watch a movie, read, listen to soothing music, but nothing could distract her.

Loved-up couples sipped champagne and gazed flirtatiously into one another’s eyes. Lucy stared at the empty seat next to her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from bursting into tears.

She told herself he too had got snarled up in traffic and missed the flight. He’d catch the next one, and this time tomorrow they’d laugh about it over a piña colada. But why hadn’t he phoned or texted her?

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we shall shortly be arriving at V.C. Bird International Airport, where the local time is four o’clock and the temperature is twenty-nine degrees.’

Lucy’s stomach dived into freefall. Soon she would know. Once on the ground she could make a call and she would know. Part of her didn’t want to know. At least this way she could cling to the possibility that this was all just some silly mix-up.

While waiting to disembark, she took out her phone from her bag and depressed the power button with her trembling finger. No signal.

She put on her sunglasses to shield her puffy eyes from the glaring sun, and descended the aircraft steps. It was like walking into a jasmine-scented sauna.

Lucy checked her mobile again. It was still searching for a signal. She joined the queue for border control. Everywhere she looked there were happy, excited couples, arms wrapped around one another, blissfully in love.

‘Enjoy your stay,’ said the immigration officer, flashing her a beaming smile.

She collected her bag from the carousel and emerged through the sliding doors, vainly hoping that Stewart would be on the other side and pop out from behind a pillar shouting, ‘Surpriiiise!’

Her attention was then drawn to a driver in a peaked cap, holding a meet and greet board with MR & MRS MACINTOSH emblazoned across it. A lump wedged itself in her throat and hot tears sprang to her eyes. As she walked towards him, he stepped forward with a gleaming-toothed grin and took her suitcase. ‘Welcome to our beautiful island, Mrs Macintosh.’

Lucy quickly jumped in with, ‘Mr Macintosh is catching a later flight.’

She strapped herself into the back seat and closed her eyes, hoping the driver would take it as a sign that she wasn’t up for small talk.

All at once her phone sprang into life. New voicemail.

‘Lu, it’s Stew.’ Her heart lurched. ‘By the time you get this, you’ll be four thousand miles away.’ His voice was sombre, low and slightly slurred.

‘Would you mind turning the music off?’ Lucy asked the driver, leaning forward. ‘Thank you.’

She pressed her palm against her free ear to muffle the rowdy background noise coming from a pub thousands of miles away.

‘I hope someday you’ll be able to forgive me, but I just couldn’t go through with it. Truth is, I’ve been having doubts about the whole thing for a few weeks now.’ Lucy gasped. ‘I know, I know I should have sat you down and… but I kept telling myself it was just last-minute jitters. Then when I got to the airport I panicked and found myself back on the motorway.’ His voice broke. ‘I’m so sorry, Lu. I’m so…’ The line went dead.

Lucy froze. The phone fell out of her hand. She felt like she’d been crushed by a steamroller. She was dumbstruck, too numb to think, to cry. She’d grown up with the fairy tale that you got married, had children and lived happily ever after. Now this was being taken away from her, who was she?

The gravel crackled and spat as the car swept up the coconut palm-lined driveway.