“Two slices of carrot cake, please, Joan.” Tess aimed for friendly. “Sorry I had to dash yesterday. Can I get a cuppa with that too?” Her tea would be going cold back at the surgery, but she was in no rush to return for more pitying looks from Adam, and her next patient wasn’t for twenty minutes.
“What kind?” Joan gestured to the selection of teas behind her. “Or did you mean real tea? Hard to tell with you big-city types.”
“London didn’t spoil my appreciation for a proper cup of tea,” Tess replied. “Never really went in for that herbal stuff.”
If it was a test, Joan’s nod suggested Tess had passed. It reminded her of her own mum, whose constant worry until she passed away five years ago was that Tess would have her head turned by too many urban and sophisticated things. Every phone call had featured at least five minutes of fretting that Tess was losing her natural accent or forgetting where she came from. Maybe if she had actually done those things, Caroline would have found her more suitable as a long-term prospect.
“Settling in okay?” Joan fetched the carrot cake from the glass display unit between them. She sliced it up with steady hands and a very big knife.
“Yeah, it’s great so far. Was a bit tired from all the driving, but I feel much better today. I’ll have to explore the village a bit. Haven’t even been to the pub yet, just raided Margo’s wine rack last night. Although what kind of name is The Spiky Thistle, anyway?”
Joan gave a haughty little sniff. She boxed up the cake and tied it with a strip of ribbon before Tess could say all the presentation wasn’t necessary. “You might want to look farther afield if you’re the drinking type.” A small gold cross glinted against the dark skin at Joan’s throat, the light wrinkles there the only outward sign she was middle-aged. Tess felt a familiar sinking sort of panic. She’d never had great luck with organised religion, and even less so in small towns like Hayleith.
“Oh, I’m not judging, silly girl.” Joan said, picking up on the way Tess had tensed. “I just don’t care for what we call a drinking establishment around here. I much prefer the Kilted Coo, two towns over. But a lot of people just drink at home of an evening. Unless there’s something on.”
Relaxing again, Tess accepted her boxed cake and waited for her tea. When the rest of her stuff arrived, she would have to dig out a travel mug or two. All these cardboard cups were a waste, and she had enough worries as it was without feeling responsible for polluting the whole planet. “I’m sure I’ll check it out,” she answered as the milk was poured in without her having to ask. The strong but milky tea was exactly how she liked it. “Can’t be going to the same place all the time.”
“Good.” There was clearly more to Joan’s dislike of the pub, but Tess knew better than to ask.
She had the strongest memory all of a sudden, of being tiny, in her school uniform with a puffy anorak over it, waiting in place after place as her mum exchanged life stories with perfect strangers. Those strange pangs of missing her had gotten less frequent in the past five years, but it still felt disloyal to remember that impatience of a little kid who just wanted to get home instead of listening to boring grown-ups.
“Thanks for this,” Tess added as she tapped her credit card on the reader. The cake box and cup carrier were in her hands a moment later. “You don’t do loyalty cards, do you?”
Joan’s glare could have reduced a lesser woman to stone, but Tess held her head high.
“I just like collecting the little stamps, that’s all. Maybe you can consider it.”
“I’ve been running this place for ten years. I know what people like,” Joan said. “And I ran the pub for long enough before that. I know what I’m doing, but thank you, Dr Robinson.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know! You’re fine, girl.” Joan shooed her away, her lime green nails contrasting beautifully with the dark skin of her hands. “Give Margo and Adam my love. Tell her I got in that coffee that she likes.”
“Will do,” Tess says, relieved to be escaping. “Maybe I’ll see you in that Kilted Coo sometime?”
“Maybe you will. Maybe you will.”
Chapter 4
Susannah shoved the magazine she’d been flipping through into the smart leather laptop bag that went with her outfit and stepped off the train onto the platform at Edinburgh Waverley. Even on a sunny day, it was a cold and draughty building, the high glass ceilings pretty but not very effective. All around her, the last swarm of morning commuters raced each other to the ticket gates, but she kept her pace to a stroll, the click of her heels echoing as she made her way towards the escalators.
Usually she would have driven up to the city, but meeting at the Balmoral Hotel made the train more practical.
She was dressed to kill for this meeting, the one that could make all her plans for Midsummer Estate come true. Checking her reflection in the shop windows as she rode the escalator up, the crisp, white blouse and soft, grey trouser suit looked every bit as good as it had before leaving the house. Both hair and make-up were pretty much flawless, which was exactly what she had hoped for.
It was important she be there first, sitting at the table and sipping a coffee like she had all the time in
