Page 6

There was a small kettle and tea-making station in the corner of the room, complete with a tiny decorative tin containing biscuits, presumably. Yes. That would be perfect right now. While the kettle boiled, she turned her attention to the small, tartan tin, its hinged lid falling open to reveal generously cut slabs of shortbread. There was a note in the lid, informing her that this was a specific recipe baked only in the McLennon Castle kitchens by award-winning chef Anya Barron. Hannah raised her eyebrows. She had always relegated shortbread to the boring end of her biscuit preference list. But she couldn’t deny that these biscuits, sprinkled with sugar sparkling from the tin, looked incredibly tempting.

Once she’d made herself a cuppa in a fine china cup and saucer, she turned the small wing-backed armchair towards the window. She carefully placed a piece of shortbread onto the saucer and took a seat. The sky was becoming a little clearer, and the clouds that had seemed to threaten rain or snow were beginning to pass. Something she was quickly learning here was that each time she looked out of the window, everything would look different. It was a far cry from the view from her place in London.

She took a sip of her tea – strong enough for a spoon to stand up in, as was her preference. Then she picked up the shortbread and brought it to her lips. She took a small bite and realised immediately that not all shortbread was created equal. This was not like the stuff she’d eaten before out of plastic cellophane. The biscuit crumbled perfectly into her mouth, then melted away. She could taste the butter, the sugar, then something indefinable. She closed her eyes and savoured the moment. If this was what the complimentary snacks were like, she had high hopes for dinner.

The wind was rising, and the clouds that had been making their way gently across the sky outside Hannah’s window began to accelerate. Trees in the distance were swaying, and a low hum struck up from the window. Winter in Scotland was clearly no joke.

She tried to remember the last time she had sat down with a cup of tea and a biscuit and just watched the world go by. The life of a journalist was always busy. News didn’t wait for the right moment, it just happened. That was how it had been with the Liam Saxon story. She’d been drinking a glass of red wine and making herself soup one cold and soggy January evening, when her phone, as it was wont to do, buzzed. She’d put down her glass of wine to see what was happening. The email she’d found herself reading would change her life, and the course of the nation forever.

Hannah had received whistle-blowing emails before, but none on the scale of this one, and the moment she opened it, she knew that if it was true, this was the biggest story of her life.

Recipe: McLennon Castle Shortbread

The secret to good shortbread is the quality of the butter, so don’t skimp when you shop!

Preheat the oven to 175˚C and grease a baking tray.

Mix 340g of plain flour, 225g of unsalted (softened) butter, 120g of caster sugar and half a teaspoon of salt in a bowl. You can use a food processor, but putting some elbow grease into it won’t do any harm.

When the mixture looks like coarse breadcrumbs, bring it together into a dough between your fingers. Be careful not to overwork the dough.

Roll out the dough to a 1cm thickness and cut out oblong finger shapes. Place in the baking tray and prick each one with a fork to make the characteristic dimples.

Bake the shortbread for 20 minutes or until light golden and firm.

Remove from the oven and sprinkle with a little caster sugar.

Chapter Six

LOTTIE

Lottie’s phone rang. It was Zack. She smiled as she answered. “Hey, you, how are you doing?”

“Hey, I’m good thanks. I’ll be travelling up in a couple of days to see how big the tree Alistair bought this year is.” Lottie’s nephew chuckled.

“Ha!” She placed her hand on her heart. “You won’t be disappointed. Are you bringing Tom with you this time?”

“He wouldn’t miss it.” Lottie could hear the smile in Zack’s voice as he talked about his boyfriend. “He’s not stopped going on about the Christmas pudding Anya made last year.”

“It was pretty epic,” agreed Lottie, “I’ll say that much.”

“How’s Anne-Marie taken the tree this year?” Zack chuckled.

“She’s in full eye-roll mode. Anyway, I’d suggest you and Tom check out the weather forecast. There’s rumours of a big storm rolling in. I wouldn’t want you to be stranded down there in Manchester for Christmas.” Lottie could hear the phone on reception ringing.

“Oh, they always say that up in the Highlands,” said Zack with a sigh.

“Fair comment, darling. Now, I need to go, I’m on reception duties.”

Once she’d dealt with a phone enquiry from an American tourist who was flying into Inverness later that day, Lottie went down to the kitchen to see how Anya was getting on.

As she walked the wide, stone corridors of the castle, she was reminded of the Christmas when Zack had just turned six. It had been twenty years earlier, and she remembered how his eyes had welled up with tears at every opportunity. That had been the first Christmas without her sister – his mother. She remembered shedding so many of her own tears, and realising suddenly that her life was changing.

She pulled out her phone and called Freya, who had only been twelve months old that fateful year. “Hey darling, how are you?”

Freya’s voice was muffled. “Couldn’t you just WhatsApp me like a normal person, Lotts?”

“Late night, huh?” Lottie sniggered.