When it became clear he had nothing more to say, Maura turned and headed for the bathroom, allowing the hot water to soothe her. Perhaps she should have waited for Jamie to wake up before going to the studio, she thought as she studied her wavy reflection in the steamed-up mirror. It wouldn’t have killed her to unload the kiln in the afternoon, and then they could have spent the morning together. Although in her defence, she’d had no idea whether he’d be in any fit state to do more than groan and beg for coffee. Even so, she was willing to concede she might have been wrong. But Jamie was gone by the time she went back to the living room, prepared to kiss and make up.
With a sigh, Maura trudged back to the bedroom to dry her hair. Maybe she would join him at the pub after all.
The morning frost had burned off by the time Maura pulled into a parking space alongside Portobello Beach. She took a deep breath of bracing sea air, her eyes watering in the chill wind that whipped across the golden sand. Pulling her bobble hat down further around her ears, she zipped up her coat and collected her tote bag from the boot of the car. There wasn’t usually much in the way of sea-glass washed up on the beach here, but she could live in hope, and she much preferred to use glass she had found in her work, rather than buy a bag from a seller on the internet. It mattered to her that she tried to recycle locally sourced sea-glass – somehow, it increased the sense of connection she felt with each piece.
There were plenty of others enjoying the beach. The tide was out, leaving a wide expanse of dark wet sand before a distant shimmer of silvery blue. Maura watched a beautiful red vizsla chase a ball across the flat expanse, returning to a woman with two children muffled up against the cold. There were other families too, taking advantage of the day off to get some fresh air, and plenty of couples. Maura tried not to look at them.
Earlier in the day, the sands would have been graced by Loony Dookers – foolhardy souls who banded together to brave the freezing waters of the Forth for a restorative New Year’s Day dip. It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to Maura but she saluted anyone who could bear it. Another Hogmanay tradition she’d prefer to avoid. Sometimes she wondered if she was even Scottish at all, although she suspected most Scots considered the Loony Dook a step towards insanity.
Maura skimmed the shoreline for the best part of an hour, picking up the odd jewel of sea-glass but mostly just enjoying the wide-open space and sound of children playing. Seagulls whirled overhead, ever vigilant for dropped chips or an unwary tourist, and their cries were snatched away by the wind.
Eventually, Maura realized she could not feel her fingers and she was forced to concede it might be time to go home. She pulled her phone from her pocket, flexing her fingers to get the blood flowing again, and checked for messages from Jamie. There were none. She did have one from Kirsty, reminding her of the family lunch they had planned for the next day.
Tapping out a reply, she was about to put the phone away when it flashed up a notification from Artsy, the website she used to list some of her pottery, indicating she had made a sale. She swiped on it, opening the email, and was pleased to see it was a large piece that had sold, one that had turned out better than she’d hoped and had consequently demanded a large price tag. She scanned the words, checking to see the buyer had understood they would need to collect and stopped dead when she saw the purchaser’s name.
Puffing out a disbelieving breath that plumed in the freezing mid-afternoon air, Maura skimmed the message he’d added.
Hi Maura,
As you’ve probably guessed, I couldn’t resist looking you up after running into you last night and WOW – you are amazing! If this bowl is even half as beautiful as it looks on the website then I’m going to be a very happy man.
Let me know what the arrangements are for collection. I’m free most days up until around five in the evening – hopefully we can find a date that works so I can claim my prize and I can tell you how talented you are in person.
All the best,
Fraser
She read it three times before it sank in. It had been clear he remembered her from school when they met the night before but she’d assumed the ensuing party at the Balmoral would have chased the encounter from his head. That did not appear to be the case. Instead, he’d looked her upandbought one of her pots, for a considerable amount of money. Which meant she was going to have to see him again – soon – and she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. If the mere act of seeing him again had transported her nineteen years into the past, what could she expect when he was standing in her studio?
Walking slowly, Maura made her way back to the car and sat behind the wheel for several long minutes, blowing on her fingers and waiting for the feeling to return.
That she had to see Fraser again was not in question – he needed to collect the piece and she wouldn’t entrust anyone else to wrap it. She would simply have to tell herself he was just another customer. Which, to all intents and purposes, he was.
Puffing out her cheeks, she began to type a reply.
Dear Fraser
No, that was a bit too personal, wasn’t it? He wasn’t her dear, any more than she was his. How had he started his message?
Hi Fraser,
Thanks so much for buying the bowl. I had no idea you’d look me up, much less buy one of my pieces. Thank you for your kind words.
I’m not around tomorrow but could do the following day or, failing that, one afternoon next week. Let me know what suits you and we can settle on a date.
Best wishes,
Maura
She read it over, agonising about every word, and then decided she was being ridiculous and hit send. Putting her phone away, she started the car and slotted it into gear.
Her response had been courteous and professional, the way she would be with any customer, and there was no need to second-guess herself just because it was Fraser she was emailing. All the same, she decided she wouldn’t mention Fraser’s visit to Zoe. She wouldn’t put it past her friend to engineer an excuse to turn up, just for the chance to ogle him again, and then his high opinion of Maura’s professionalism would be gone. No, she wouldn’t mention their meeting to anyone, unless it came up in conversation – and the likelihood of that happening was remote.
Once the bowl had been collected, she would have no reason to think of Fraser Bell ever again.
Chapter Four
Fraser checked the address on the email twice once he arrived at 6 Thistledown Lane on Thursday afternoon.
