Page 10 of A Summer of Secrets on Arran (Scottish Romances #5)

Luke was extremely glad he had Andrew with him, a very patient caddy, who didn’t mind the numerous flunked shots and lost balls.

When they were both searching for yet another lost ball in the rough, they were distracted when they heard a kerfuffle on the fairway.

Looking over they could see that one of the team — the former Premier League footballer, Warren — was having a full-blown tantrum after slicing his shot.

He slammed his club to the ground and actually stamped on it.

Then he screamed. Luke and the caddy made eye contact and both grimaced.

If it wasn’t so ridiculous, it would be very funny.

In fact, Luke couldn’t help but chuckle.

He just hoped for Warren’s sake that nobody had caught any of it on film.

It wouldn’t enhance his tattered reputation one bit.

Especially after the torrid year he'd had. Earlier that year, Warren had been caught in a compromising position with a popstar who was very much not his wife, and her popstar rival to boot. It was all very complicated and a bit clichéd. But the tabloids absolutely loved it and Warren’s ongoing games off the pitch provided them with plenty of material to write about.

Luke certainly wasn’t perfect, but he had hoped he had learned from the mistakes he had made over the years — and there had been several that he wasn’t proud of when he was younger.

But Warren still seemed as arrogant as ever despite his private life having been splashed across the press. Or maybe because of it.

‘There you go, mate,’ said Andrew, the caddy, who bent down to pick up the ball. ‘Told you we’d find it. It’s your lucky day.’

‘Brilliant. Thank you.’ He glanced over at Warren whose face was now puce. ‘I don’t think it’s his lucky day though. Someone should tell him it’s only a game,’ he said drily.

Andrew nodded and rolled his eyes. He was too discreet to say anything else, however Luke was sure the caddy had seen it all before — and probably much more.

Now, as he put his putter into his bag, he gave a huge sigh of relief.

Much as he loved his golfing trips to Scotland, which were fairly frequent, he was very glad he had swung his last shot on this trip.

‘Thanks, Andrew. You’ve been great,’ he said, shaking his hand and making loose plans to buy him a drink later.

Luke much preferred going to a different bar he knew that was quieter than the one in the hotel that the celebrity players, including Warren, enjoyed hanging out in as they loved the attention from adoring fans.

Luke, on the other hand, did not. His days of adulation were well and truly over.

‘See you in the bar, mate,’ said Warren, sauntering past him, clearly recovered from his hissy-fit on the fairway.

‘Sure thing,’ said Luke casually, not wanting to commit to spending a minute more with the odious man than he needed to.

He’d learned over time that it was easier to go with the flow and keep his plans vague.

If he told Warren that he had no intention of meeting him in the bar, the sport star would throw another tantrum which Luke could not face.

It was far easier just to nod and let the poor sod assume Luke would be there.

Stepping aside, he switched on his mobile and saw the raft of messages and missed calls flash up on the screen.

His agent, Linda, had left another voicemail about the upcoming deadline for his book.

Luke had been contracted to write a book about his life — he was a founding member of The Get Fresh Crew, one of the world’s biggest boybands in the nineties — and had, foolishly, he now realised turned down the option of working with a ghostwriter.

With a slight pang of worry, he wished he had taken Linda up on her suggestion to collaborate with someone else, as procrastination was becoming his full-time occupation rather than just sitting down and writing.

He couldn’t remember having done so much housework in all his life.

His flat was the tidiest it had ever been and he had also bought himself a soup maker and was now becoming quite the pro at producing every type of soup that you could imagine.

It was yet another distraction from writing.

Meanwhile, he had constantly reassured Linda that it was all fine and coming along nicely.

‘Then send me some over,’ she said, when they last spoke. ‘Just so I know how it’s flowing .’

‘Of course,’ he told her smoothly. ‘You don’t need to worry about a thing.

It’s all in hand.’ Except it wasn’t. He needed to go and lock himself in a cupboard for the summer and just write the damn thing.

As soon as he was out of here, he would head back to London and do it.

Though the thought of being stuck in his rented flat in Notting Hill didn’t appeal one jot.

Maybe if he had made more of an effort with Elton John, back in the day when they were close and the GFC had worked with him and George Michael, he would have the option of using Elton’s home in the south of France as a bolthole to write his book.

Right at this moment, he didn’t have the energy to have a conversation or argument with Linda.

Instead, he sent her a message saying he would be in touch soon, all was great and the writing was going well and then switched off his phone.

* * *

An hour later, Luke had packed up most of his things ready for an early departure in the morning.

He showered and changed into a pair of beige chinos and a navy polo shirt.

Then pulled on his trainers and quickly raked his hand through his dark blonde hair, grateful that he still had it all.

Especially when so many of his friends were now thinning, completely bald or had gone for the hair transplant option which he hoped he would never have to resort to.

He left his hotel room and quickly scanned the corridor for other guests then headed straight for the exit and jogged lightly down the stairs.

He didn’t want to take the lift which opened out into the lobby.

That would mean walking right past the bar and potentially being spotted — and then collared — by Warren, which was not an option.

Instead, he left by the hotel’s back entrance and made his way towards the smaller, boutique hotel a few streets away to wait for Andrew where he knew they could have a drink and a chat without being disturbed.

As he walked, he sensed he was being followed and he turned round to see a young and very pretty woman, with brown, wavy hair, looking at him.

He frowned. He had clocked her somewhere earlier.

Was it outside the clubhouse or somewhere else?

He remembered her because of the eye-catching bright blue sun dress she wore.

He kept walking, and as he reached the hotel entrance he turned round again, she was still there, not that far behind him, and still staring at him.

She wasn’t his usual type of fan — they tended to be much older — although the last tour with the band had surprised him as all ages of fans were there.

Mothers and daughters. He paused and smiled giving her a wave in case she was a fan.

A wave and a grin was usually enough to placate people who thought they recognised him from somewhere.

She didn’t reciprocate but instead walked towards him with a grim look on her face.

Oh dear, this didn’t bode well, he thought to himself.

Her face was white and she looked very worried.

Luke quickly racked his brain. Did he know her ?

‘Hey, how are you?’ he said, flashing his best smile as she stood yards away.

She bit her lip anxiously.

Okay , he said to himself. His usual charm clearly wasn’t working today. He needed to ramp things up a notch or two. ‘Would you like an autograph?’

She wrinkled up her perfect nose and shook her head in confusion. ‘Erm, no, I don’t want an autograph.’ She had a Glaswegian accent and looked utterly baffled at the thought. He may as well have offered her a pair of his dirty underpants.

Luke brushed his hand over his chin. What had he done or not done that had caused this woman to be so annoyed with him?

He couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t bothered to stop.

In fact, maybe chatting with Warren might have been easier than this.

Then he saw a brief look of vulnerability pass over her face.

He smiled encouragingly. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ he said, his voice full of concern.

She was now looking down, fiddling with her hands. ‘Um, look I need to have a word with you. It’s a . . . it’s a personal matter.’

Out of the corner of his eye Luke saw a photographer he recognised walking down the street, headed in their direction.

Brilliant . Being snapped with a young woman was the last thing he needed right now.

He could just see the headlines. Luke Finds Love Again or Lovestruck Luke .

His estranged wife would go nuts and he could already hear her instructing the lawyer to screw him for even more money in the divorce.

Even though she was the one who had strayed — and with his very own brother, at that.

Even though they had now been together for a few years, the thought still sickened him to the core.

‘Mr Giles,’ she said firmly.

His eyes widened in shock. Nobody ever called him that. Well, apart from his GP and bank manager and when they did, it made him feel about ninety.

‘I need to tell you something,’ she said, chewing her bottom lip.

He sighed. He was used to people approaching him all the time with different and random requests.

Which usually involved money. But this was different.

There was something clearly troubling the woman.

He knew he should be careful but she didn’t look like a crazed stalker who was dangerous.

Though a voice in his head reminded him that you never could tell.

‘Shall we step inside?’ he said, gesturing to the pub and trying to move things away from the gaze of the photographer who was almost upon them. He opened the door for her and allowed her to pass through. He didn’t have a good feeling about this at all.