Having been cooped in the car for three hours, she decided to walk for a while and set out across town to the old part, ignoring the lure of the Christmas market on Princes Street. She’d come back to that later.
Her first port of call was Fabhatrix, a gorgeous hat shop on Grassmarket. They sold the most wonderful selection of stylish hats and quirky fascinators and she was confident she’d find exactly the right thing there for Xanthe.
From there she walked up the steep, cobbled hill of Candlemakers Row, stopping in many shops to browse and pick up the odd gift. Everyone seemed full of Christmas spirit as they weaved along the crowded pavements and Izzy smiled, relishing the wonderful atmosphere and the displays in the windows. Lights twinkled, tinsel sparkled and the strains of festive songs floated out of shop doorways. At the top of the street she crossed to the churchyard to say a quick hello to the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the legendary dog buried there, before grabbing herself a takeaway coffee.
Stopping on the bridge and looking down at Cowgate, she paused to reflect on the ancient buildings, the tenements rubbing shoulders with the grander architecture. There was nowhere quite like Edinburgh but her home was the castle now and for the first time in a long time she felt truly settled. She’d found her place in the world. While she loved the bustle, creativity and history that the city was steeped in, she didn’t need to live here anymore. She’d moved on and now that she had a place to call home, she could view the city with fondness rather than the lovelorn hope that she’d so long associated with it.
She smiled, feeling refreshed and renewed. She had moved on and made a new life for herself, and it felt good to cast off the final ties that had held her to Philip for so long. With a definite skip in her step, she doubled back, down into the touristy shops of the Royal Mile and Canongate, stopping in the aptly named Thistle Do Nicely to buy a few stocking fillers including a couple of fridge magnets, a few miniature bottles of whisky, some Aran Aromatics soaps and several small jars of heather honey. With her bag already feeling heavy she treated herself to a reviving cuppa and a fruit scone with jam and cream in Clarinda’s Tearoom. The quiet charm of the café with its mismatched vintage tea cups and saucers felt like an oasis after the rugby scrum outside and she studied the walls crammed with knick-knacks, embroidered pictures, blue and white Lochs of Scotland plates and shelves of tiny thimbles before girding her loins for round two.
Revived by the sugar hit, she felt ready for the gaudy, busy spectacle of the Christmas market on Princes Street and the enchanting little wooden huts sparkling with fairy lights and thronged with people wrapped up in cosy hats and long scarves against the chill in the air.
As she browsed the stalls, looking at hand-made jewellery, paintings, pretty bookmarks and pottery, she caught the scent of mulled wine here and hot mince pies there, while candles on the stalls perfumed the air with pine and cranberry.
With so many beautiful crafts on display, she was spoiled for choice and bought Jeanette a pretty dish to keep her jewellery in, a jazzy pair of earrings for Xanthe and bookmarks for all the stockings. She also bought a couple of lacy linen handkerchiefs for the ladies and a couple of jars of whisky marmalade from a local company in Leith.
Deciding she was ready for a bite she decided to head for the slightly quieter George Street area beyond the main drag of Princes Street. After a quick lunch of a cheese toastie in one of the many cafés there, she popped into Jenners, the big department store, to make her annual pilgrimage to buy Xanthe’s Christmas decoration and spent some time dithering between a little felt mouse playing the bagpipes and a fat, jolly Santa with a cloud of white fuzzy cotton for his beard.
By now her arms were beginning to ache with all the shopping bags but she’d had a successful day. All she needed were a few more bits for the stockings, in particular for the bookworm niece of Mrs Carter-Jones.
Waterstones on Princes Street was a good-sized bookshop and she knew they sold lots of book-related gift items. As she entered the teeming store, she noticed a queue of people stretching around the racks of books. Must be a book signing. More out of curiosity than any great interest Izzy sought out the poster with the details of the author and found that Ross Adair was signing copies of his new hardback book today. She peered through the crowds to catch a glimpse of the man himself. Much as she loved his books, buying a hardback was a bit out of her price range at the moment.
Craning her neck to find a gap in the queue, she finally caught a glimpse of the man himself, head bent as he signed a book. A funny frisson went through her, like a hand grabbing her heart in her chest. It couldn’t… No! But it was! It was Ross Strathallan. Her mouth opened and an odd, strangled squeak came out, making the woman next to her turn in surprise. At that exact moment Ross lifted his head and as if drawn by the strength of her shock, looked right at her. A horrified expression crossed his face before he immediately turned to the lady whose book he was signing and moved slightly so that her bright red coat obscured him from Izzy’s sightline.
Ross was Ross Adair! For a moment, she stood there like a startled rabbit, frozen with indecision as to what to do.
How was that possible? But now, it all made sense. The half-finished sentences about his work, his evasiveness about how the writing was going…
She crept away consumed by a mix of mortification and regret. And anger, actually. Anger that he hadn’t confided in her. Anger at her own disappointment.
She felt as if she’d barged in on something that she shouldn’t. Was that why he’d withdrawn this morning? Had he regretted bringing her to Edinburgh with him and increasing the risk of her finding out who he was? And why was he so keen to remain anonymous? The questions raced around her head like speeding go karts on a track, buzzing irritants that made her scratchy and restless. Did she leave? Did she stay? Did she wait for Ross to acknowledge her? Or was he going to pretend he didn’t know her?
She walked over to the gift section and tried to focus on looking for items for stockings, all the while wanting to sneak another peek at Ross but she didn’t dare in case he caught her.
‘Izzy?’
She whirled round at the familiar voice. ‘Philip!’ Her voice pitched unbecomingly in an embarrassing squeak as she came face to face with the man she’d loved so hopelessly for so many years.
‘Hello,’ she said, desperately trying to appear cool. She’d made such a fool of herself over him, it was quite humiliating to see him now.
‘How have you been?’ He paused and then added in a low voice, his eyes meeting hers, ‘I’ve missed you.’
She swallowed, frozen by the unexpected comment.
And just like that she was back on the roller coaster, her stomach churning with that same old adrenaline thrill as her heart did that stupid leap of hope. Philip missed her. After all this time, he missed her. Part of her wanted to whoop with triumph and vindication, while another part of her despaired.
‘Fine,’ she managed. ‘How are you?’
‘God, it’s so good to see you, Izzy.’ He grinned at her, his warm, brown eyes roving over her face, as if drinking in the very sight of her. ‘You look … you look wonderful. Are you back in Edinburgh? I heard you’d moved to the Highlands.’ He shook his head as if he didn’t want to believe it.
‘I’m just here for the day. And yes, I have moved to the Highlands.’
‘No!’ he wailed. ‘For how long? You’re coming back to Edinburgh, aren’t you?’ The horrified look on his face did strange things to her insides, her stomach knotting in confusion and dizzy regret.
‘It’s fairly permanent at the moment. Me and Xanthe have moved there.’
His face fell and for a moment Izzy could’ve sworn he genuinely looked agonised as he lowered his voice and asked, ‘Did I do this?’
Izzy pinched her lips tightly together. Inside her mind, a sensible voice screamed, ‘No, you did not, you arrogant prick,’ but her head was having a hell of a job fighting against her stupid traitorous heart, which seemed to be lapping this up.
