Page 1 of A Summer House on Arran (Scottish Romances #3)

A trickle of sweat made its way down Olivia Kennedy’s forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

She was struggling with the Italian heat, unseasonably warm for late May, and was beginning to find the crowds a bit overwhelming.

It was only day three on her tour of the Amalfi Coast, and there were another four to go.

So far she had visited Naples and Pompeii, though thanks to her current brain fog she could have been anywhere.

She could barely recall any actual facts about one of the world’s most famous archaeological sites.

All she remembered was people, lots of people, and cobbled streets, which frustrated her hugely and made her feel like her brain was shrouded in a cloud of dust. It was no wonder, she supposed.

This hadn’t exactly been the best place to lick her wounds, or to have some headspace to contemplate what had gone wrong with her life.

Yet, if she was really honest with herself, she already knew the answer to that.

It was obvious what had gone wrong. She just wasn’t ready to admit it. It was easier and safer just to run.

Naples was the first place she could get a flight to when she’d decided to leave New York.

She had recently finished touring with Let’s Dance , the US’s top-rated celeb dance competition.

But with no work lined up in the immediate future, and nobody she wanted to stick around for, she decided to bolt.

She had always wanted to visit Italy. It was the destination for romance, not to mention delicious food and wine and stunning scenery.

Yet, ironically, here she was, alone. She hadn’t really thought it through before impulsively booking the flight.

She took a jagged breath in and pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes as the tears started to well. Again.

Today’s excursion was to the island of Capri, and the coach had dropped the group off at the port.

She fidgeted in the heat as their tour guide, Giuliano, patiently explained the procedure for getting on the boat and where to meet when they reached the island.

This then led to the inevitable supplementary questions, with a particular focus on where the toilets were, from the people in the group who seemed to treat Giuliano as their teacher.

The usual suspects asked the same questions every time.

It was actually quite fascinating to watch grown adults become fairly helpless once out of their comfort zone.

Arriving in Naples, Olivia had signed up to the first tour she could get, hence finding herself with this party of British holidaymakers for a week.

It wasn’t quite how she imagined her Italian escape.

An all-female family from Glasgow had taken her under their wing when they realised she was travelling solo.

‘You stick with us, hen,’ said the woman she now knew to be Granny Margaret. ‘We’ll keep an eye on you. You don’t want to be wandering these streets on your own.’

Olivia had nodded and smiled, really not wanting to talk to anyone. But Margaret and her daughter, Isobel, and Isobel’s daughter, Bella, had persevered when they’d all clambered onto the coach, insisting that she sit in the back row with them.

‘Is this your first time in Italy?’ asked Bella.

Olivia had nodded, her stomach in knots — she hoped Bella wouldn’t probe too deeply.

‘Ours too. We normally go to Spain, but we thought we’d do something different this year,’ said Margaret. ‘Isobel’s man has left her, good riddance to him, so me and Bella thought we’d do something a bit more special to cheer her up.’

Olivia had noticed Isobel roll her eyes at her mother.

‘You don’t have to tell everyone, Mum. I mean, do you want to go down the front and announce it to the whole bus? Maybe they’ll give you a microphone so the folk on the street can hear too.’

‘Och, stop being so touchy. It’s not like I’m telling everyone .’

‘Aye, you are. You can’t keep your mouth shut.’

‘Aw wheesht,’ said Margaret.

Olivia was transfixed by their interactions, even though she couldn’t always quite work out what they were saying. Despite feeling jet-lagged, she couldn’t help but smile. When the bus had arrived at the port, they all clambered off and she was grateful for their company.

‘Anyway,’ continued Margaret, ‘Italy’s the place for romance.

And you know what they say about Italian men?

’ She paused for good measure, looking at Isobel meaningfully.

‘A wee holiday fling could do you the world of good.’ She cackled, then turned to face Olivia.

‘What about you, dear? Do you have a man?’

Olivia shook her head. And she really didn’t want another one either.

‘Better to be young, free and single. Like me,’ said Margaret.

‘Oh, Granny,’ said Bella, with a scornful smile. ‘You’re a total embarrassment, so you are.’

Olivia laughed at Bella and then turned to admire the view of the bay, dotted with white boats and people swimming in the deep-blue waters.

Despite thinking that male appreciation was beyond her right now, she couldn’t help but notice a really handsome local who looked like an aftershave model or maybe an actor.

‘He’s totally checking you out, so he is,’ whispered Isobel who stood next to her.

She nudged Olivia and jerked her head very obviously in the direction of the tall, broad-shouldered man just metres away.

He raked his hand through his hair and smiled at the women.

Thank goodness for her sunglasses. She could just pretend she wasn’t looking at him at all.

‘Oh, will you check him out. He’s a total Fabio,’ said Isobel, fanning herself with a tourist leaflet.

‘Where, who?’ said Margaret, spinning around in a frantic circle.

‘Over there. You can’t miss him,’ said Isobel.

‘Mum!’ Bella said sharply to her mum. ‘Will you put your tongue back in your mouth and stop panting.’

‘All right. Just pointing out the local talent,’ she retorted. ‘I thought that was why you brought me here.’

‘Yeah, but you’re like a dog in heat. Stop staring at him so obviously,’ she hissed. ‘Talk about objectifying the blokes.’

‘It’s been happening to women for centuries,’ said Margaret. ‘It’s past time the tables were turned.’

Olivia’s woes were soon forgotten as she’d started to chuckle.

She was actually so grateful to these women for scooping her up and keeping her safe.

Especially when she felt so vulnerable. They asked nothing of her.

They seemed to sense that she just needed some support, and to hear some of their dodgy jokes.

* * *

It was early evening when they disembarked the boat that brought them back from Capri to Sorrento, where they were based. They made their way towards the steps that would take them up to the town.

‘Fancy a wee aperitif before dinner?’ asked Isobel. Isobel was petite, had chin-length wavy dark hair and looked much younger than her fifty years.

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ said Olivia.

She was normally keen to get back to the peace and quiet of her cool hotel room.

After a day of sightseeing she needed time to decompress.

But tonight, she wasn’t quite ready for the day to end, which was a good sign.

She was feeling a bit more like herself.

‘Isobel, come on. It’s this way.’ Margaret pointed towards the lift.

‘Come on, Granny,’ said Bella. ‘It will do us good to get a bit of exercise in after that big lunch we had earlier.’

‘Bugger that,’ said Margaret. ‘Are you trying to kill me off? There’s no danger I’m climbing all those steps.’

Bella tossed her ponytail in exasperation. ‘Och, Granny, what are you like?’

‘I’m with you, Margaret,’ said Olivia. Normally she would be the first to up her step count, especially as she usually had to be in shape for touring, but she was starting to relax her strict regime.

There was nobody around to tell her that she needed to get to bed, no sharp intakes of breath when she was deemed to be eating too much.

What a joy it had been to be here and actually enjoy food for a change.

She could still hear that voice telling her that she really needed to watch her calorie intake.

He had insisted on doing the shopping and cooking so he could monitor what she was eating.

Now in Italy, every time she thought about it, she would defiantly reach for another chunk of bread and a slab of creamy mozzarella.

Then top up everyone’s glass with more wine.

Margaret put a hand on her arm, pulling her from her food dream. ‘Righto. That’s my girl. We’ll race you to the top,’ she said to the other two.

By the time Isobel and Bella got to the bar, Olivia and Margaret were on their second Aperol spritz.

‘Jeezo,’ said Isobel, her face flushed red. ‘I’m gasping for a drink.’

Bella seemed a bit perkier. ‘Think of how toned our butts will be after that workout.’

Margaret rolled her eyes. ‘Alfonso,’ she called over to the barman. ‘Same again, per fevore .’

He rewarded her attempts at Italian with a wink.

‘I think he fancies me.’

‘Och, Granny, will you stop it. Honestly, you and Mum are a total disgrace. I feel like the only responsible adult.’

‘We’re both free and single, Bella. Nothing to stop us admiring the goods on the market,’ said Margaret.