Page 13 of A Summer of Secrets on Arran (Scottish Romances #5)

When they arrived at Creel Cottage, Rosie wasn’t quite expecting Isobel to wax lyrical as much as she was currently doing.

‘This place is magical,’ said Isobel, her eyes wide in wonder, as Rosie showed her around.

‘I feel at home already. I mean, I know I’ve seen photos of it and everything.

But wow, Rosie, this is such a special place!

No wonder you love being here. It’s worth the drive to get away from the busier spots.

I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to actually get over and see you. ’

‘Life is so busy though. It’s not always the easiest place to get to. Anyway, the main thing is that you’re here now.’

Rosie was just grateful she could show off Creel Cottage to her friend.

There was something about these four walls that had always felt like home to Rosie.

Even though her parents were no longer here, she still felt connected to them in this house.

It felt weird to say but it still smelt of them.

A familiar and welcoming scent, a bit like the smell of sweet and buttery shortbread baking in the oven, mixed with laundry powder, which made her feel so at home.

Although she had cleared lots of things out since her parents had passed, there were plenty of reminders that it was once their home.

There were a variety of hand-painted flowers on plates, by her late grandmother, hanging on the wall: paintings of Kildonan beach which her dad had done during his retirement when he had started going to art classes; her mum’s faded old recipe book, held together by two elastic bands which secured the additional pages; magazine cuttings that had been added to the collection.

Seeing her mum’s spidery handwriting on the book, additions of her own cooks’ notes, made her sad with a pang of longing for her mum.

But then she realised she was grateful that her mum had left that legacy for her to enjoy.

She had every intention to work her way through the recipe book over the summer.

Even more so now that she had another body in the house who loved to eat.

Since Dermot had left, she had lost all desire in cooking and eating and had just picked at things that were easy.

Like crackers and cheese and eggs on toast.

Coisty had sprung to life and was happily trotting around after Isobel, delighted that he had someone else to dote on him and rub his tummy on demand.

‘You are just so cute,’ said Isobel, when he bounded into the bedroom that Rosie had just shown her to and jumped up on the bed.

‘Oi!’ said Rosie firmly. ‘Off the bed.’

Coisty looked at her defiantly, before turning to lie on his back with his legs in the air.

Isobel burst out laughing. ‘You’re a disobedient wee sausage,’ she said, sitting next to him and rubbing his belly before looking at her friend thoughtfully.

‘Was it hard moving here after your parents died?’

‘To be honest, not as hard as I thought it might be,’ said Rosie, sitting on the other side of the bed across from Isobel.

‘I think it has actually helped. I feel they’re here with me.

I don’t mean that in a weird and creepy way,’ she added hastily.

‘I just feel their presence in the house, if that makes sense?’

‘I get that,’ said Isobel. ‘And that must be a wee bit of comfort to you.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Rosie.

‘I’m sure my mum will definitely make her presence known in more ways than one when she’s on the other side,’ she said drily. ‘You know what she’s like.’

Rosie chuckled. ‘I’m sure she will.’

‘Tell me what you’ve done so far then,’ said Isobel. ‘The photos that you sent me don’t do the place justice.’

‘Well, I’ve made good progress with the garden and gone through most of the cupboards and drawers, sorting out stuff.

’ She had promised herself that she would use her time wisely and not mope around thinking about Dermot.

A couple of times, the feelings of sadness about her broken marriage did catch her unaware and she felt a wave of grief wash over her.

But she was trying her best to let it go.

Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to call her again to talk about the sale of the house.

That was one conversation she wasn’t ready to have again right now.

She was glad it was in the hands of the lawyers.

She would tell Isobel about that later. She didn’t want to do a total information dump on her when she had just arrived.

‘I’ve painted all the bedrooms and the bathroom.

Next up is the kitchen and the lounge. Though I might get someone in to do that. I’ll see how it goes.’

‘Look at that view,’ said Isobel, standing up and walking to the window with its splendid views of the sea.

‘I know. It’s not something I will ever tire of.

And it’s always changing.’ Rosie thought of the windows like ever-changing photo frames which captured the sky and the sea in different phases and stages.

Sometimes the sky could be milky grey, black and several shades of blue and the ocean could be black, turquoise and sparkling blue as though it had been scattered with diamonds.

She loved lying in bed and watching the scene frequently change.

It was magical. ‘Right, how about a cuppa outside? I’ll go and put the kettle on. We need to enjoy the sun while we can.’

‘Or,’ said Isobel wickedly, glancing at her watch, how about a wee glass of fizz. ‘It is surely wine o’clock time somewhere in the world?’

‘That sounds like a plan,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll go and get the glasses.’

Just then Isobel’s phone started to ring. She frowned. ‘It’s Mum. I better take it just in case there’s anything wrong. I’ll be there in a minute.’

Rosie went downstairs and sat on the bench outside while she waited for Isobel to finish her call.

It was so peaceful with the only sound that of chirping birds and a few lazy bees buzzing by.

Rosie was glad that the cottage next door appeared to be empty.

There had been no sign of anyone since she had arrived and she hoped it would continue to stay vacant.

For as long as she could remember it had been a holiday let, but a very expensive one.

But not everyone wanted to pay through the odds to holiday in Scotland when the weather could be a bit of a lottery.

Like Creel Cottage, Beach Cottage was a traditionally built three-bedroom cottage which had been restored over the years and now had a wood-burning stove in the lounge and an outside hot tub surrounded by decking in the enclosed garden with sea views.

Fairy lights were strung around the garden and they did look lovely in the website pictures when they were turned on and twinkling at night.

The bedrooms were decorated to the highest specification with Egyptian cotton sheets and thick white duvets.

The kitchen had a top of the range stove and coffee machine and was very sleekly designed.

When she had a nosy at the cottage online, it made her cottage look positively shabby.

Before they had moved over to the island, Dermot had tried to persuade her to makeover Creel Cottage and let it out but she had dug her heels in and refused.

Even though she knew some of the downstairs rooms were still in need of attention and a lick of paint she wouldn’t swap it for the world.

It felt homely and had character which she felt next door didn’t as it had been renovated to capacity.

Her stomach rumbled and she realised how famished she was, despite the cake earlier.

Rosie had always been a good eater and had always been curvy rather than overweight but Dermot’s news had destroyed her self-confidence and her appetite.

Especially as his new woman was as svelte as a pin.

When Rosie had found out her name, she had googled and seen photos on her employer’s website.

In her darker moments she had wondered if she had brought this on herself.

Maybe if she had been a better wife, a prettier or thinner wife, then this wouldn’t have happened.

Dermot wouldn’t have wanted to leave her.

But then she had given herself a shake. She knew this was nothing to do with her, really.

And Isobel would kill her if she knew her friend was thinking like that.

There was no point in going back to that dark place again.

What was done was done. Dermot had made his choices and moved on and perhaps had done her a favour.

She had to remember that and she had to move on too.

She sat for a moment watching a blackbird hopping around the patio and admired the pale pink petals of the rose bush that had always been her father’s pride and joy. She told herself that both were signs from nature that, despite the past few horrid months, life goes on.

‘Mum sends her love,’ said Isobel, appearing in the garden.

‘Is everything okay with her?’

Isobel shook her head in despair. ‘Yes, she’s just having a problem logging into Netflix and needed my help. I feel like her on-call IT person and I don’t even understand how to sort it most of the time. Anyway, she’s all sorted. There’s some new boxset on that she and Bill are keen to watch.’

‘Two ticks and I’ll sort the drinks.’ Rosie went inside and quickly poured two glasses of Prosecco and brought them out to Isobel who was now sitting at the small patio table.

‘Cheers,’ Isobel said, clinking her glass against Rosie’s.

‘Slainte,’ said Rosie. ‘Thanks for coming over to stay. Here’s to a great summer on Arran.’ Rosie took a sip of the fizz and smiled. Things could only get better now that Isobel was here.

Isobel laughed heartily. ‘Cheers. And thanks for having me over. We will have a ball. Us two together, what could possibly go wrong?’