Page 6 of The Scottish Island Wedding

‘What? Oh… right. Yeah, fine,’ Matty said, distractedly. He turned his phone on to silent and put it down on the deep windowsill next to them. Outside, they could see shaggy brown Highland cows roaming on the tussocky moor.

‘You seem very distracted. Is something bothering you?’ Heather asked, as gently as she could.

‘No, I’m fine. Work stuff.’ He kissed her on the cheek.

‘You’re off work now,’ she protested. ‘I’m not doing work.’

‘I know, but our jobs aren’t exactly the same. I sometimes have to do urgent stuff. It’s important. You know this.’

‘Yes, I know. Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe you could just try and switch off, just for the dance lesson?’

‘Okay, sweetheart.’ Matty smiled affectionately at her and pulled her in for a kiss.

‘Mm. That’s nice,’ she murmured, looking up into his eyes. Matty could always reduce her to a puddle by kissing her or holding her close.

‘You’re nice,’ he murmured, tracing the line of her lips with his finger. Yet, there was a slight alarm bell in the back of her mind that was growing louder. Could she trust him? Could she trust herself and her own judgement, or was she about to walk into something that she’d regret?

There was something wrong. Her intuition was picking it up.

‘Just nice?’ she teased, pulling away.

‘No, not just nice. Lovely. Beautiful. My sweet princess of Balhennie.’ He kissed her again.

‘That’s better.’

I wish I could stay here forever, she thought. Matty always made her feel so safe and protected.

Heather snuggled closer into his chest. ‘Isn’t it wild that we get to be together forever? We get to build the lovely life that we’ve always dreamed of. We’re so lucky.’ She was trying so hard to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind: something was wrong. But she didn’t want anything to be wrong. She wanted it all to be a lovely fairy tale.

‘I know. I know. And I do want that life. I want you to know that. Okay?’ He looked down at her, anxiety flickering across his handsome features. ‘Whatever happens. Please know that I want that with you.’

What did he mean? Heather had the distinct feeling that Matty wanted to tell her something, but right in that moment, Elsie came back into the room.

‘Alors, les jeunes amants.’ She clapped her hands. ‘My young lovers. Are we ready to recommence?

‘Oui, madame,’ Heather answered automatically; it was a standard call-and-response that she’d learned at the studio with Elsie from her childhood. Like many Swiss, Elsie spoke French, German and English, but she had always conducted her dance classes predominantly in French.

‘All right, then. And… beginning position, un, deux, trois…’ Elsie began the music again, and Matty led Heather in the first steps of the dance. She was dimly aware of a commotion outside, but she was concentrating on putting her feet in the right place.

Suddenly, the door to the studio swung open and Elsie’s daughter, Susan, who lived next door to the studio, burst in. A blast of cold air blew in after her. Susan had gone to school with Heather and her sisters.

‘Mum! You have to see this!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, hi, Heather! How are you?’

Heather sometimes saw Susan around the island, and they’d said polite hellos to each other recently, since Heather and Matty had been coming for their lessons.

‘Susan! Que fais-tu? What are you doing, I am teaching!’ Elsie said, surprised. ‘Close that door, s’il vous plait! It’s freezing!’

‘I know. I’m sorry. But you have to come and see.’ Susan pointed to the street, through the open door. ‘There’s an absolute army of posh cars coming through, and someone said it’s the Campbells of Glenorchy! You know, from the TV show!’

‘What?’ Matty went pale. Heather looked at him askance; she couldn’t imagine her fiancé being a fan of the reality TV show that followed a wealthy and powerful Scottish family. They were the sort of people that were always in the celebrity magazines, and she’d never witnessed Matty being even remotely interested in that kind of thing.

‘Really, Susan. I do not care who is driving along the street! I am in the middle of a lesson!’ Elsie replied, a little tersely.

‘But we never get anyone interesting visit! If it is them, I wonder where they’re going?’ Susan looked longingly back at the road. Heather, curious, went to the door. Beyond, she could see a phalanx of monstrously sized, shiny black SUVs making their way along the small road outside. The wind buffeted her and Susan as they stood there, but the cars proceeded steadily, like a herd of buffalo.

‘How do you know it’s the Campbells of Glenorchy?’ she asked Susan, who was watching the procession with awe. ‘It could be anyone. It’s not like you can see through the windows.’ Indeed, all the windows of the vehicles were black. All Heather could see were the drivers: anonymous-looking men with short cropped hair and dark sunglasses.

‘Someone said they recognised the number plate of one of the cars. Apparently, that’s Elizabeth Campbell’s car. GLEN 1,’ Susan said. ‘Do you think it’s them? Why would they be here? Maybe they’re doing some filming on Skye. Oh, how exciting!’