She sounded like an estate agent, Maura thought, but it wasn’t anything she didn’t already know. Jamie had repeatedly tried to draw her attention to Edinburgh’s soaring property values but she had so far resisted his encouragement to have the apartment valued, pointing out that half the money would go to Kirsty, since their late aunt had left it to both of them. The subject had caused several heated disagreements in recent weeks.
‘We haven’t decided yet. It’s early days.’
‘You could always rent it out,’ Zoe suggested as they reached the crest of the hill. ‘You’d get good money that way too.’
It wasn’t the worst idea, Maura had to admit. The thought of a regular income was appealing; being a ceramic artist was not a career that lent itself to predictable earnings, although her weekly pottery classes helped. But the thought of anyone else living in the flat above her studio made her stomach clench. ‘Maybe. Jamie wanted to see what was out there.’
Zoe nodded. ‘There are some really nice developments over Leith way. Is that where you looked?’
Maura knew all about the redevelopment of Leith, the port area out towards the eastern side of the city, because her new business partner, Fraser, had told her about it, but she knew Jamie wanted to stay near the city centre. ‘No, in New Town,’ she told Zoe. ‘Those high-rise developments.’
Just saying the words made her spirits droop. Jamie had wanted to see the penthouse, of course, and Maura would be the first to concede the show flat had been luxurious, with enviable views over Edinburgh. But as the estate agent had waxed lyrical about the virtues of the modern building, she’d allowed her gaze to roam around the fresh white walls and across the sparkling black tiled floor. With the blinds closed, they might have been anywhere, in any city. There was no quirky Edinburgh architecture, no sense of the city’s rich history and importance across the centuries. She couldn’t help feeling it was all a bit soulless.
‘Very nice,’ Zoe said, looking impressed. ‘Jamie’s got great taste.’
Maura dredged up a smile, just as she had when he asked her what she’d thought as they strolled back to the cobbled streets of Dean Village. ‘He’d be delighted to hear you say so.’
‘Exciting, too,’ Zoe said, and sighed. ‘I’m a tiny bit jealous.’
If only she knew, Maura thought but didn’t say. ‘Mmmm.’
But it seemed Zoe picked up on her lack of enthusiasm, because she gave her a sidelong look. ‘So what else have you been up to? How’s the new business venture going? Enjoying working with Fraser?’
Maura’s gaze settled on a small child clambering onto the Portuguese cannon to the left of the path, with the help of her mother. Running into her old schoolmate, Fraser Bell, on New Year’s Eve had led to him getting in touch with a business proposition. But after the initial flurry of communication that had surrounded the design of a prototype ceramic ghost to go with his Dead Famous walking tour, and signing the agreement he’d sent over, she hadn’t heard anything from Fraser for almost four weeks now. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise – she’d told him it would take that long to produce the twenty ghosts he’d ordered and she assumed he was giving her the space to do the work – but there was a part of her that expected he might check in to see how things were going. As the days passed, she began to worry that his silence meant the pre-orders he had been so confident about generating had not materialised. The price he’d set seemed a lot for something so small, even though she knew exactly how much work had gone into producing Agnes the Sea Witch. She’d had to give herself more than one stern talking to as the weeks went by; her job was to make the ghosts. It was up to Fraser to sell them.
‘I’ve almost finished the batch,’ she said cautiously. ‘They’ve been fun to make.’
‘It’s such a clever idea,’ Zoe enthused. ‘I might have to buy one myself, and try one of his ghost walks around the city. How was the one you went on – any good?’
‘Oh, it was great,’ Maura replied warmly, because Fraser’s storytelling had been impressive, skilfully drawing his audience in with a delicious blend of history and the macabre. ‘He was turning people away.’
‘I suppose it helps that he looks like he does,’ Zoe observed. ‘He could probably sell pebbles to Brighton beach with that face.’
There was no denying Fraser’s good looks; tall, blond-haired and bearded, he exuded an easy self-confidence that drew people in. He’d been much the same at school, as Maura recalled only too well, and it hadn’t been much of a surprise to discover he’d gone on to become an actor. She’d looked up some of his television work and it had been clear the camera loved him. He had something about him – more than great bone structure and a dazzling smile – and Maura could easily imagine that it might contribute to the success of the ghost tours too. She certainly hadn’t been immune to that charisma at school, despite the fact that they’d hardly ever spoken. And then there’d been a single chance encounter outside an Edinburgh pub when they’d both been back from university for Christmas, a drunken kiss that Fraser had no idea had even happened. The memory had come flooding back to Maura the moment she’d heard his name and she’d spent no small amount of energy trying to forget it since.
‘As long as he sells the ghosts to Edinburgh’s tourists first,’ she told Zoe dryly.
‘It doesn’t sound like that’s going to be a problem, if he’s as good at telling stories as you say,’ Zoe said. ‘You’re a perfect match.’
She meant in business – Maura knew she meant in business – but it didn’t stop an uncomfortable surge of warmth from rising in her cheeks. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, a touch more abruptly than she intended, and decided it was time to change the subject. She pointed to the Dugald Stewart monument, a gothic confection of a bandstand framed against the start of a promising sunset. ‘That’s the shot you want for Instagram. Let’s grab it now before the influencers notice.’
Jamie hadn’t returned from training by the time Maura got home, just before ten o’clock. She’d introduced Zoe to Café St Honoré, her favourite French bistro tucked away on Thistle Street, and they’d stayed later than she’d expected, due in no small part to the irresistible dessert menu. Afterwards, she’d caught the bus back to Dean Village, too full of excellent food and a decent bottle of red to feel like walking, and had stood for a moment in the silent apartment, before retracing her steps down the stairs and letting herself into her studio.
The kiln had been cooling for more than twenty-four hours. The items within would be ready to remove but Maura had no intention of emptying it after a glass or two of wine – that kind of recklessness could easily lead to disaster. But she couldn’t resist lifting the lid to check on the final cluster of glazed ghosts. They were mixed in with pieces made by her students, dotted among the mugs, jugs, and tea light holders.
She’d used a template to make them the same size but each one was subtly different; some had floatier folds, others had barnacles between the painted fronds of seaweed decoration. One or two had mournful green eyes. All were marked with her initials.
She surveyed them for a moment, her fingers itching to lift them out for a proper look, but she resisted the urge. If she dropped one, she wouldn’t have enough to deliver to Fraser, and she was conscious she had kept him waiting already. Worse still, she might drop something made by one of her students and would have to endure their disappointment when she explained what had happened. For now, it was enough to look upon the treasures inside the kiln and know that she could examine each one in detail the following morning with sober hands.
Once she was sure these last ghosts hadn’t cracked or failed in the firing, she could message Fraser and let him know his order was complete and ready for collection. The thought made her nerves thrum with excitement and trepidation at the same time, but she felt that way whenever she delivered commissioned work to a client – there was always a chance it wasn’t quite what they’d had in mind. But she doubted that would be the case with Fraser. The ghosts were different in subtle ways, with an individuality that only came from being handmade, but they were all recognisably Agnes the Sea Witch and, despite her misgivings, Maura found she was very much looking forward to seeing Fraser’s reaction to the finished pieces. She could only hope he’d managed to sell some.
Chapter Two
It wasn’t unusual for Fraser to receive an email from his agent, although they were significantly less frequent than when he’d lived in London, searching for the role that would make his career. Recent communications tended to relate to royalty payments due for past roles, so he wasn’t surprised to see Sam’s name in his inbox. But the subject line was unexpected: MAJOR AUDITION.
Fraser sat back on the sofa, staring at the screen. In his younger days, he wouldn’t have been able to open the message fast enough, eagerly scanning the contents and prepared to drop everything to attend, regardless of whether he had any chance of landing the role. Over time, he’d learned to be more discerning, although he’d never quite managed to escape the nagging fear that one of those unsuitable jobs might have led to his big break. And as his acting resumé had grown, his agent had sent better roles, some of which led to opportunities and friendships Fraser might not have had otherwise.
But he’d been clear when he’d told Sam he was taking an extended break – unless Spielberg came calling, he wasn’t taking any new roles. And since there was zero chance of that happening, Fraser felt confident in assuming Sam had forgotten he was out of the game.
