Page 21 of The Scottish Island Wedding

‘And what’s the history of the jewels again, Lady Campbell?’ someone else asked. Heather wondered if Elizabeth had primed the journalists to ask certain questions.

‘Oh, I’m glad you asked, Tatty.’ Elizabeth preened. ‘I’ve shared this story before, of course, when my other sons got married, but I’ll share it again. The jewels were given to the Campbell family by Queen Victoria’s fourth daughter, Princess Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, who died in 1939.’ She paused, wetting her lips, clearly enjoying the story. Heather wondered what Elizabeth loved more: the fact that a princess had once gifted her family jewellery, or having an excuse to hold a press conference and make the wedding all about her.

She instantly judged herself for the unkind thought, but it wasn’t that far from the truth. This was Heather and Matty’s wedding, not Elizabeth’s. Heather was trying to be accommodating. She was trying to be gracious – after all, who else got to wear such a lovely necklace on her wedding day? But she hadn’t asked for the press conference, and she hadn’t asked for Lady Elizabeth Campbell and her domineering ways, and she certainly hadn’t asked for her fiancé to disappear in the middle of all of it. Despite her natural predilection to be nice, Heather was cross.

‘Well, the necklace and earrings were originally a wedding gift in 1871 to Louise from her husband the Marquess of Cottingley, who later became the Duke of Argyll. The necklace contains a hundred and ninety diamonds connected by thirteen pearls. Here, dear, hold up your chin so people can see.’ Elizabeth put her fingertips under Heather’s chin and tilted it upwards; Heather felt like a poseable doll. The necklace hung heavy on her neck.

She could feel herself blushing. Nobody had asked her a question; she was just expected to sit there and be looked at. It was like being a doll: a pretty little thing that wasn’t required to speak.

This is ridiculous, Heather thought, now mightily annoyed. I am not that person. I might be gentle, but I’m not an idiot.

She remembered Aunt Chrissie’s somewhat cuckoo advice about imagining herself as a huge, powerful angel.

Worth a try, she thought, and closed her eyes. She imagined herself standing up, unfurling some huge, rainbow-coloured wings and brandishing a massive sword.

I command you to stop being so awful, Lady Elizabeth Campbell, she intoned in her own head. In the name of Me, Heather Balhennie, First of Her Name of the Angelic Hosts.

Oddly, it did actually make her feel more centred and powerful.

She opened her eyes.

‘Actually, I’d like to thank my mother, Catriona, for all her help organising the wedding,’ she interrupted, smoothly. ‘It was her idea to hold the wedding on Christmas Day. We’re so pleased to host the Campbell family at Balhennie; it’s lovely to have their contributions, late in the day. Of course, my uncle James, the laird, has a remarkable collection of ancient weaponry in the ballroom, and our ancestral jewels are held privately,’ she added. ‘However, I’m sure we can let you see them, if you were interested. There’s a lovely ornamental dagger which is much older than these jewels, for instance.’

Heather smiled sweetly at Elizabeth Campbell until her future mother-in-law raised an eyebrow and looked away. Heather met Catriona’s eye again; her mother smirked. Primrose gave her a thumbs-up.

‘Obviously, we’ll pose for some formal pictures afterwards.’ Elizabeth cleared her throat, continuing as if Heather hadn’t said anything. ‘You can see the locket. This is a pearl surrounded by thirty diamonds, and then we have the pear-shaped pendant, set with diamonds, emeralds and sapphires underneath. I, myself, wore this at my wedding.’

‘And how do you feel about becoming a Campbell, Heather?’ a journalist from a society ladies’ magazine asked. Now they know I have a tongue, at least, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Oh. I’ll be very pleased to marry Matty,’ she replied, tartly. ‘However, we haven’t decided if I’ll become a Campbell or not. I may remain a Balhennie.’ She cast a look under her eyelashes at Elizabeth. Balhennie, two; Campbell, nil.

Elizabeth Campbell glared at her.

‘I’m sure that Miss Balhennie is just having a joke with you all,’ she said icily. Heather gave the journalists her angelic smile and pretended to be very interested in the carpet.

At this point, she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of becoming a Campbell and having to spend time with Elizabeth, but she couldn’t exactly say that. At the least, she could irritate Elizabeth Campbell by pretending that she wasn’t promising to take Matty’s name. In fact, they hadn’t even discussed it: Heather was by nature traditional, so she’d assumed that she would become a Campbell when she got married.

But now, as the romance of the wedding faded drastically, Heather wondered why she should take the name of a man who seemed determined to abandon her. She had always relied on her instincts, and at the moment, her instincts were telling her that none of this made her happy.

The journalists looked surprised at Heather’s answer, but moved on to asking Elizabeth about who was coming to the wedding, what she and the bride would be wearing, and other questions about the Campbell family that Heather guessed were all part of the media circus around them. Would they be holidaying in Monaco again this year? Would they be donating to such-and-such foundation? What did Elizabeth think about the wedding of Lord and Lady Blah-de-blah?

Heather zoned out until the questions were over. Then, she posed for photos with Elizabeth, Clara and Estella while everyone else had coffee in the lounge. All the while, she thought about Matty. Willing him to call her. Text. Anything.

Once the photographers had finished and left the room, Elizabeth unhooked the necklace from Heather and carefully laid it back in its box. Heather unhooked the heavy earrings from her ears and handed them over.

‘Well, that seemed to go well,’ Elizabeth said briskly. ‘You’ll get the hang of these things, Heather.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Clara and Estella find it’s best for me to organise them, and direct the questions. The press can be unruly. You have to control the narrative.’ She added, meaningfully, ‘It would have been nice if you’d mentioned you were going to drop that comment about not changing your name. Or, ideally, not made it at all. They’ll have a field day with that.’ Elizabeth pursed her lips. ‘In future, dear, you’ll need to disclose all statements to me before any kind of press interactions.’

‘Right. Well, I don’t intend on making it a habit,’ Heather said, testily. ‘And it would have been nice if you’d asked Uncle James if you could have journalists here. He’s very private. You didn’t give him much choice.’

‘Hm. There wasn’t time,’ Elizabeth said breezily. ‘And I think you’ll find that, as a Campbell, you will have plenty of interactions with the press, going forward. In fact, I’ll book you in for some media training. I have a team.’ She swept regally out of the room before Heather could retort, followed by Estella. They clacked along the corridor in their sky-high heels.

‘Come on. Let’s have coffee. There are some people I want to introduce you to, Estella. Ahead of Fashion Week.’

‘Estella’s modelling for Chanel,’ Clara said, as she and Heather walked behind to the lounge. ‘Elizabeth says she’ll get me on the catwalk if I learn how to deport myself with more grace. She’s not sure that I have the right energy for Chanel,’ she added. Heather stared at her in disbelief.

‘Are you joking?’ she asked, incredulously. ‘Deport yourself? What does that even mean?’

‘The way I walk. Elizabeth says I’m clumsy and have terrible posture.’