Page 2 of A Summer of Secrets on Arran (Scottish Romances #5)

Twenty-five years later

Rosie sat on a stool at the breakfast bar listening to the sound of the rain battering against the old windows.

It was pelting down with such force she was slightly worried the bullets of water might crack the glass.

She pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

It wasn’t exactly the spring weather that anyone had hoped for.

So much for the promise of pink blossom, bright, yellow daffodils and some warmth from April sunshine.

Instead, the weather over the Easter break had been relentless with driving rain and a howling, Baltic wind.

That was one of the disadvantages of living in Scotland — especially on an island off the west coast of Scotland — where the combination of driving rain and icy wind could cut right through you and freeze you to your core.

Coisty, Rosie’s chocolate brown cockapoo, was curled up in his basket by the fire snoring.

He had been affronted when she had insisted that he needed to go out earlier and had refused to budge, instead sitting down on the doorstep.

She had to haul him down to the beach with the lure of treats every few steps.

Then as soon as they’d got back, and she’d dried him off, he had curled himself up in a ball in his basket and immediately gone back to sleep.

The rain had made his hair curlier than usual, and he looked like a perfect brown circle.

She did sometimes wonder if he should have been a cat.

Sighing, she took a sip of tea and opened up the travel brochure sitting in front of her.

Normally, booking their summer trip was a family tradition she and her husband would do during the Christmas holidays as it gave them motivation and focus to get through the bleak winter months.

For the past few years, she and Dermot had been to Portugal and Majorca several times leaving as soon as the school term finished.

Last year she even convinced him to go on holiday twice during the summer with a couple of weeks in Portugal in July and then a long weekend to Dubrovnik last August just before the schools started back.

Even though they had been empty nesters for a few years — their son Ben was now twenty-four — they were still constrained by term times due to Rosie’s job as a teacher.

It was an issue that Dermot couldn’t seem to stop grumbling about.

She glanced at a picture of Ben, on the kitchen windowsill, realising how much she missed the days when he used to join them for holidays.

The photo had been taken when he was twelve and they had gone to Disney World in Florida.

Ben had his arm around Mickey Mouse and was grinning at the camera.

What a contrast to the selfie he had texted earlier of himself and his current girlfriend, Mabel, on a Thai beach with bright blue skies and sea in the background.

Oh, to be young again , thought Rosie. His energy always seemed to fill the house and there was laughter and chat and lots of shoes in the hallway — especially when his friends came round.

She used to curse falling over the many pairs of huge trainers that were always scattered around the front door.

Now, she longed for the clutter to still be there.

The hallway may be tidy, but it was quiet and empty.

Anyway, she had to keep reminding herself, this wasn’t the house that Ben had grown up in.

Although he had spent a couple of summers in the cottage during his student days, when he had worked at the outdoor centre round in Lamlash, they had moved from their home in Edinburgh two years after Ben went off to university.

Rosie’s parents had both died and had left their home on Arran to her.

Instead of selling it, like Dermot had suggested, Rosie wanted a complete change of lifestyle.

Dermot had agreed to it on the understanding that they would buy a flat in Edinburgh which he would stay in during the week for work and he would come over to Arran at the weekends.

But things hadn’t quite turned out the way she had expected.

Dermot seemed to be increasingly distracted with work and got so frustrated with cancelled and delayed ferries that he began staying in Edinburgh at the weekends, claiming it was easier and less stressful for him.

The cottage now felt too big and empty. But if Rosie was honest, she did quite like the sense of calm that living on her own had brought to her life.

Especially as Dermot, a man of limited words anyway, had become a bloke of even fewer words the past couple of months.

When he was there it was as though a dark rain cloud had hung over the cottage, which only lifted when he left.

Rosie frowned as she tried to remember the last time he had shown her any affection.

When had he hugged her? Or even looked at her properly?

He had been completely distracted since Christmas, which he had claimed was due to a work deadline.

Dermot worked as an accountant and was seemingly always up against deadlines no matter the time of year.

When he was last home — for the long Easter weekend — he had been particularly on edge, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Rosie had asked him if he was okay, but he’d snapped that he was fine and busy with work.

She was used to his work taking priority but, if she was honest with herself, she was starting to feel a bit fed up.

Tears pricked behind her eyes now, as she thought about how this year would be their twenty-fifth anniversary and they had talked about going away to celebrate it with a special trip, as they did most years.

Rosie pondered on this as she realised that it was perhaps her that had suggested marking the occasion rather than Dermot.

Now, as she flicked through the catalogue with pictures of trips to Sweden — she had always wanted to visit and walk t he ?sterlen Way — she thought that a holiday was exactly what they needed.

A trip away, just the two of them walking and chatting, would give them a chance to reconnect and discover each other again.

It would be just the tonic they both needed.

The past few years seemed to have been dominated with one drama after another as they negotiated the adjustment of Ben leaving home and then her beloved parents passing away within a year of each other.

Then moving over here and starting a new job.

Rosie had felt discombobulated for a while now and had been so glad she at least had work to focus on.

She taught English at the local secondary school and loved working with young people.

Most teachers couldn’t wait for the holidays to start but she was always a bit sad that she wouldn’t get to see the pupils for weeks at a time.

The summer term started again in two days’ time, and she knew that if she got this trip booked, then it would be something to look forward to at the end of June.

Especially as the weather would be warm.

Suddenly, the thought of walking along the coast of the Baltic Sea, visiting picturesque fishing villages and white, sandy beaches, was very appealing.

She would speak to Dermot and then get it all arranged — as she usually did.

Travel agent was one of her many other skills in addition to family PA, dog walker (not that she minded that bit), washing and cooking fairy and general dogsbody.

Although her duties had lessened lately, with Ben away and Dermot’s increasingly erratic visits.

If she could get this trip organised for them then everything would all be okay.

She took a sip of tea, glad she had it resolved in her mind and now had a plan.

Just then, she heard a car on the gravel driveway.

Maybe it was Laura, the postie? Then she heard a car door slam and the front door opening, and she looked at Coisty, still curled up in his bed, his head lifted in surprise.

The dog opened his eyes and wagged his tail half-heartedly.

The sound of keys being thrown in the dish by the door confirmed that it was Dermot who had arrived.

Rosie frowned. How strange. He wasn’t due home until the weekend, and he never worked from home unlike many of his colleagues who seemed to relish the chance to avoid the office as much as they could.

Why hadn’t he let her know he was coming?

Maybe he’d decided to surprise her. She felt a rare glimmer of hope swirl in her stomach.