‘I might just take you up on that,’ Maura said, smiling. ‘Thanks.’
A woman who had been examining the displays turned to look at Maura with an enquiring expression.
‘Duty calls,’ Fraser observed, even as Maura’s smile became businesslike. ‘We’ll see you later.’
‘Such a lovely girl,’ Roberta said, as they joined the swell of pottery fans drifting through the tent. ‘And so clever. I can see why you work well together.’
Micky nudged him. ‘She’s easy to look at too. I bet that helps.’
Fraser felt his stomach churn. His parents had no idea he had any history with Maura, other than attending the same school, and they couldn’t know about the stirrings of attraction Fraser had fought when he’d first reconnected with her. But that was firmly in the past, along with the kiss they’d shared decades ago. He and Maura were business partners and that was all there was to it. He made a show of consulting the map. ‘Shall we check out the Gilmour marquee next?’
‘Excellent idea,’ Roberta said. ‘I think one of the potters from the TV show is in there.’
Micky held up a hand. ‘I’ll meet you there. That coffee’s gone right through me – I need to use the facilities.’
‘Again?’ Roberta said.
‘Yes, again,’ Micky fired back. ‘When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.’
Roberta thrust the map at him. ‘You’d better take this. Not that I expect it will help.’
Snatching the paper, Micky executed an abrupt about-face and vanished into the crowd.
Roberta sighed. ‘Honestly, he has a bladder the size of a thimble. It’s a good thing we’ve got all day.’
Fraser managed a diplomatic smile. As much as he loved his parents, he was starting to wonder what he’d let himself in for.
Chapter Two
The flat was quiet when Maura climbed the stairs and wearily dropped her bag onto the coffee table. When she and Jamie had first moved in together, Sunday evenings had been movie night, when they’d taken it in turns to choose a film to watch while snuggled on the sofa, and it had become one of their traditions. Over the years, other commitments had gradually crept in – an occasional football or rugby match in the pub, or a family Sunday roast – and now it felt rare for them both to be home. In fact, Maura couldn’t remember the last time they’d watched anything together. Making the ghosts for Fraser meant she was in her studio more, and Jamie seemed to be spending more time at the office too.
She closed her eyes, laying a hand on the back of the sofa as guilt began to swirl. Was it terrible of her to be relieved he wasn’t home this evening? She’d spent the past three days surrounded by people, chatting about pottery and answering questions, and while it had been wonderful to wallow in the enthusiasm of the ScotPot crowds, it had also been exhausting and now she wanted nothing more than a long soak in the bath and an early night. She didn’t want to navigate the awkward silences and perfunctory exchanges that seemed to be all that passed for communication between them at present.
Nothing had been the same since the night Jamie had got so drunk over dinner that Maura had needed Fraser’s help to get him home. It didn’t matter that Jamie didn’t appear to remember just how insulting he had been, nor that he’d offered an apology when she’d described his behaviour. Afterwards, the hairline cracks in their relationship had begun to widen and Maura had no idea how to fix them. But at least it wasn’t a problem she had to face right now, she reminded herself. And with luck, she’d be asleep before Jamie came home.
She ran the bath as deep and hot as she dared, and sank into the steaming water with a blissful groan. The heat instantly began to soothe her aching legs and shoulders, easing the tiredness from her limbs, and she felt her forehead relax as a frown she hadn’t even known she was wearing melted away. She closed her eyes, resting her head against the porcelain rim, and let the tension leach from her muscles. Jamie had never understood her inclination to linger in the water until her toes resembled prunes and the heat was gone but, for Maura, the bath was a cure-all that had never failed her yet. It was just a shame that its effects were only temporary.
After a few more moments of Radox-scented bliss, she edged her shoulders above the bubbles and reached for the hand towel she’d left folded neatly on a stool beside the bath. Beneath it lay her book – the latest historical novel by Merina Wilde, set on Orkney – and she opened it in eager anticipation of being whisked to the windswept beauty of Skara Brae. Reading was another of her tried-and-tested medicines, one that had comforted and thrilled her since childhood, but her eyelids felt heavy now and she struggled to focus on the words. She persevered for a few more minutes, then reluctantly set the book aside and instead took her up her phone. If she couldn’t read, perhaps her favourite podcast would do. But the chattering voices were too much, reminding her of the hubbub of conversation at ScotPot. She closed the app and sank back into the water once more. Maybe what she needed was to do nothing. With a slow breath in, and an even slower exhale, Maura let her thoughts drift.
At first, her mind rebelled. A list of jobs to do in the studio pushed its way to the fore. She stirred restlessly, her fingers twitching as though she was working a lump of clay. Clenching her hands tight, she kept them balled into fists for a moment, then relaxed, and a little more tension eased away. It had been a good weekend, she reminded herself – tiring but worthwhile. She had made a profit, which wasn’t always the case, and several people had enquired about commissions. It remained to be seen whether any of those would amount to actual work but one – a restaurant owner in search of unique plates to showcase her chef’s culinary brilliance – had seemed promising. Given the speed with which Fraser sold each batch of ghosts, it might be better if that was the only commission that came good. She wasn’t sure she had the time or the kiln space to commit to more projects.
Fraser. Her thoughts snagged upon him, as they seemed to have done more often since the disastrous dinner at the Witchery. In the immediate aftermath of manhandling Jamie out of the taxi and up the stairs of the flat, Maura had been tempted to steal a kiss as she’d said goodnight to Fraser, and it had taken every bit of her willpower to resist. She’d awoken the next morning drowning in a hot swell of shame, hoping against hope that he hadn’t noticed the split-second hesitation when she’d almost leaned in. But he’d checked on her the next day, making sure she was okay, and he seemed the same as ever, leaving Maura to conclude that he was blissfully unaware of her momentary lapse of professionalism. And as her jumbled emotions settled, she’d begun to appreciate just how much the stress of the situation had affected her. The gratitude she’d felt towards Fraser for helping to get Jamie home had muddled her judgement, resurrecting her schoolgirl crush and creating a phantom attraction that had no more substance than the ghosts Fraser conjured up on the city streets every night. Thank goodness she hadn’t ruined everything by giving in to the temptation his kindness had created. Thank goodness she could still look Fraser, and her own reflection, in the eye.
It had been lovely to see him in the crowd at ScotPot. Good to meet his parents too, even though they had been nothing like she’d imagined. Not that she had spent much time imagining them, of course, beyond wondering whether she’d ever encountered them at Parents’ Evening. She’d liked them both, at any rate, and not simply because Roberta had bought two more mugs when she’d returned at the end of the day. The obvious affection between Fraser and his parents had made Maura smile, but meeting them had also allowed her a precious glimpse of who Fraser really was, beyond the talented actor and businessman she already knew.
With a wry little huff, Maura sank further into the water to drench her hair and reached for the shampoo bottle. She was beginning to suspect Fraser Bell was every bit as perfect as he had seemed at school.
The John Lewis store on Leith Street was not Maura’s preferred lunchtime destination. If she was honest, lunch was usually a hastily thrown-together affair, eaten after her pottery students had left the studio but before she immersed herself fully in her own work, and she sometimes forgot to eat at all. But Kirsty had insisted they needed to start planning their parents’ ruby wedding anniversary celebrations – still eight months away but looming on the family horizons – and Maura had put her off three times already. Apart from anything else, there was a very real danger that her sister might go rogue and book them all on a trip to Vegas if left to make the plans on her own.
Maura made her way along Princes Street as rain began to fall, causing a forest of umbrellas to bloom across the busy pavement. She navigated a cluster of wheelie cases and their owners on the corner of the North Bridge and stopped at the crossing, waiting impatiently for the lights to change. It wasn’t that she was late – her phone told her she had seventeen minutes to spare – but she knew Kirsty would have arrived early at the fifth-floor café to nab a window table. Not that the view of the Firth of Forth would be particularly spectacular today, Maura thought as she glanced skyward at the heavy grey clouds – it was set to rain all afternoon – but Maura knew her sister. She would already be waiting.
The traffic slowed, allowing the pedestrians to cross the road. Maura picked her way through the milling tourists to Leith Street. As she approached the gleaming glass doors of the department store, she lowered her umbrella and shook the raindrops away. Head down, she slowed to wrestle with the mechanism, completely failing to notice the woman hurrying along the pavement, engrossed in her phone. They crashed into one another, each uttering a startled exclamation as they looked up. Maura had a jumbled impression of wide blue eyes and sleek blonde hair, then recognition dawned. ‘Zoe!’
But instead of returning her surprised smile, the colour drained from her friend’s cheeks. ‘Maura. I—’
Her obvious consternation caused Maura to blink. ‘Are you okay?’
Zoe’s muscles moved, as though she was trying to smile. ‘Yes. I’m just—’ Her gaze skittered away. ‘Sorry, I have to go.’
