Coming Home to the Highlands, page 1
COMING HOME TO THE HIGHLANDS
LISA HOBMAN
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
More from Lisa Hobman
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
To my very own Marley. You were the goodest boy that ever was. And the bestest at hugs. Such a sensitive wee soul who knew when cuddles were needed and gave them willingly.
I miss you more than words can say, so I wanted to keep you alive in my stories. I hope you’re looking across the rainbow bridge with a happy heart.
And to my crazy pup, Wilf. Thank you for helping our hearts to heal.
PROLOGUE
Cheers and whistles rang out round the auditorium and the models at the end of the catwalk applauded world-famous fashion designer, Nina Picarro, as she walked towards them, waving to familiar faces in the audience and blowing two-handed kisses. Once she reached the group of towering men and women, the Italian-born designer was enveloped in a group hug and handed bouquets of flowers. There were lots of air kisses and Nina bowed humbly as Olivia MacBain looked on from the wings with a sense of giddiness and pride fluttering inside her. She had the urge to call her mum, but thanks to the five-hour time difference, it would only be three in the morning back in Scotland. She would refrain from calling now but couldn’t wait to call her and tell her all about it the next day.
Seeing her own designs brought to life and paraded before the city’s elite at New York Fashion Week had been a huge thrill for Olivia, and a dream come true to boot; something she’d hoped for but had never anticipated actually happening when she had left the Scottish Highlands and arrived in New York for her internship at the House of Nina Picarro, six years earlier.
Although born into a noble Scottish family with a long and colourful history, Olivia had decided at the tender age of eight that she wanted to be a fashion designer. At that time, her parents had humoured her, presuming that once she came of age, she would realise the role she must play in Scotland’s high society, and would begin to toe the line.
They were wrong.
Six years after Olivia graduated from Glasgow’s prestigious School of Art, whilst working at the House of Nina Picarro, her father died suddenly of a heart attack and her world came crumbling down around her. She had been very close to her father and losing him caused a heartache like she had never experienced before and hoped never to again. Losing him made Olivia even more determined that she would follow her own career path. And even though her mother, Lady Freya, had insisted that her husband of thirty-five years Laird Gregor MacBain’s heart condition had been something they couldn’t have predicted, Olivia knew it was partly the stress of dealing with the day-to-day maintenance of the family seat, Drumblair Castle, in the pretty village of Drumblair, to the south-west of Inverness.
Olivia wasn’t in the least bit interested in following in her father’s footsteps. Although, thankfully, the tradition was that the eldest son would be the one to carry the mantle, and this particular honour would fall to her older brother, Kerr. At thirty-three, he was five years her senior, public-school educated, and welcome to the title of Laird of Drumblair, as far as she was concerned. He wanted nothing more and had made that patently clear from a young age.
And anyway, now, at the age of twenty-eight, things were finally falling into place for Olivia. Her hard work, at both university and during her year-long internship, was paying off. Not only had she been a bona fide design assistant at one of the most prestigious fashion houses in New York for the past five years, but her boss had started to recognise her potential. This latest step of having her designs exclusively included in the show was huge for her career, and she still had to pinch herself when she remembered Nina’s response to her drawings
‘We simply have to show them, darling,’ Nina had said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘The world needs to know what talent we have here.’
Nina Picarro had dressed royalty, rock stars and movie icons, and her creations ranged from sublime gowns worn to the opera and royal weddings, to the verging-on-crazy outfits that clothed the attendees at the New York Met Gala, but in spite of all this, she remained a down-to-earth, non-egotistical woman who wasn’t in the least bit threatened by other talent. In fact, she embraced it wholeheartedly.
A camera flashed, snatching Olivia from her reminiscing, and she was pulled into a bear hug.
‘That was uh-mazing, Olivia,’ a distinctly New York accent spoke loudly into her ear. The voice belonged to her best friend and housemate, Harper Franklin. They had met when Olivia arrived from Scotland and was looking for a place to live. Fashion photographer, Harper, had pinned a ‘room to let’ sign on the noticeboard in the staffroom and Olivia had responded; the rest, as they say, is history.
Olivia scrunched her eyes as she turned to face her friend, dazzled by the bright light. ‘I hope you’re going to delete that shot. I must’ve looked completely gormless.’
Harper nudged her playfully and waved her free hand. ‘Nah, don’t worry. You always look like you totally have all the gorm.’ Harper’s attempts to decipher Olivia’s ‘British-isms’ were often a cause for giggles. ‘Anyways, you must be so damn proud of yourself, Olivia, because I’m so damned proud of you too!’
Olivia nodded, her heart pounding at her ribs and her face beginning to ache from grinning. ‘I have to say it was probably the most exciting thing I’ve ever experienced.’
‘You’ll be Nina’s second-in-command before long. I just know it,’ Harper enthused, as she always did about almost everything. Olivia shook her head and rolled her eyes. Michael, Nina’s current assistant, was like part of the furniture at Nina Picarro and it was doubtful he’d ever leave, but before she could respond with her reasoning, Harper butted in, ‘You do know Michael’s getting married soon, right? And his fiancé, Alvaro, wants to return home to Cuba to take over his father’s restaurant. Michael won’t want to disappoint his new husband now, will he? And who better to take his place as Nina’s second than you?’
This was news to Olivia and a rush of excitement flooded her veins in the form of heat, no doubt causing her face to glow like a neon diner sign – an affliction she had suffered since her awkward teenage years when her teeth had protruded a little too much and her gangly legs had made her feel rather like a baby giraffe. She scrunched her brow and made an unladylike snorting noise. ‘Pfft, no way. I’m sure there are a dozen people more equipped to fill Michael’s shoes.’
‘Na-uh!’ Harper glanced around in a conspiratorial manner and whispered, ‘Between me and you, I overheard Michael talking to Sophie in Graphic Design yesterday. He was telling her that you’re going to be a tough act to follow after your work this season.’
Olivia covered her mouth to stop a bubbling squeal from escaping. ‘Really?’ Harper nodded and Olivia widened her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, I’ve never heard him praise anyone but Nina.’
Harper grinned. ‘See? What did I tell you? It’ll be your name on that backdrop one day. Now, I’d better go and get some more candid shots of the models backstage for the website. People love that stuff.’ She rolled her eyes and shrugged in disbelief. ‘Beautiful people acting all natural as if they’re human.’ She chuckled and raised her brows to feign shock. ‘Bizarre but true. They lap that stuff right on up.’ Harper leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘See you in about an hour for the after-party. Love you.’ Then she dashed away before Olivia could reply.
Nina arrived backstage and made a beeline for Olivia. ‘Well, darling, we did it,’ she said. She had been in America since her teens and the last remnants of her Italian accent were almost gone unless you knew her well. She held her hands out and tilted her head, her perfect jet-black bob swishing as she moved. ‘I looked for you to come and take a bow, but you were hiding.’ She shook her head and scrunched her brow. ‘Our beautiful Olivia, always too modest.’
Olivia was aware that she was still wearing a grin that resembled a crazed serial killer, but she couldn’t help it. ‘It was wonderful, Nina. Thank you so much for including my designs.’
Nina drew her into a brief embrace then pulled away and held her at arm’s length, fixing her with a sincere gaze. ‘I like to promote real talent when I find it. Speaking of which, you and I need to talk. Come to my office on Monday morning at ten.’
Olivia’s heart skipped and she struggled to get her brain to remind her mouth to respond. Eventually she spluttered, ‘Yes, sure, absolutely, will do.’ Her attempts to hide her excitement and intrigue failed miserably.
Nina smiled knowingly before disappearing into yet another crowd of well-wishers, and Olivia had to restrain herself from fist bumping the air. Maybe Harper had been right? Maybe Nina wanted to talk to her about Michael’s soon-to-be vacant position. How on earth would she sleep over the weekend without knowing what fate awaited her in Nina’s office?
The exit opened as people began to leave, bringing with it a blast of icy February air, and before the door closed again, from her spot in the warm auditorium, Olivia could see large flakes of snow floating rapidly towards the ground. Her family home jumped, surprisingly, into her mind. Winters in the Scottish Highlands were the most beautiful, yet the most isolating, thing she had ever experienced; at least here the world didn’t stand still at the mere flurry of inclement weather. Oh, the many benefits of living in New York and having every amenity a stone’s throw away.
Of course, Olivia was expected to attend the after-party and she knew she would enjoy it once she arrived, but she was tired out, exhausted even, from the long hours she had been putting in during the lead-up to Fashion Week. All she really wanted to do was hail a cab and head home to the quaint little two-bed apartment she shared with Harper in Sunnyside, Queens. But considering the discussion Nina wanted to have with her on Monday, she couldn’t risk being a no-show. It wouldn’t be good for her career if she started to flake after late-night events, considering there could potentially be many more in her future career. That is if Harper’s suspicions were true.
She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and pulled it out with a huff. She glared at the screen in disbelief as her brother Kerr’s name glowed from the handset and a cold shiver travelled her spine as she noted the time illuminated there too. Ten after 10 p.m. eastern time. The five-hour time difference had stopped her calling home not so long ago. What the heck? He never calls me. And certainly not at ten past three in the morning.
A familiar sinking feeling rolled through her stomach. She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her for money again. Last time he had called her, he had feigned this sickly sibling connection that they had regrettably never shared, and then had proceeded to ask her to loan him £2,000; another gambling debt that he was trying to hide from their mother for fear of disappointing her yet again.
The last she had heard from or about her brother had been a few months ago when she learned that he was dating the wealthy widow of a former acquaintance of her parents. The woman, Adaira Wallace, was in her late fifties, and Olivia knew full well the reason behind the relationship. The suspicions Olivia held over Kerr’s motives had once been directed, by others, at Adaira herself when the former sales assistant had supposedly married ‘above her station’ and to an aristocrat many years her senior. Adaira had, of course, inherited her older husband’s fortune after only ten years of wedded bliss, and was childless. Aiming to get into more than her good graces, Kerr was as mercenary as he was handsome. With their father’s striking features that bore a resemblance to a younger Kurt Russell, and their mother’s Titian hair, Kerr was quite the hit with the older ladies. Olivia, on the other hand, had inherited their father’s mousy brown hair and their mother’s natural curls. Although, unlike their mother’s, her curls couldn’t easily be tamed, so she didn’t consider herself in any way nearly as beautiful.
When thinking on it further, Olivia was sure Kerr had chosen to date an acquaintance of her parents to throw the cat amongst the pigeons. Especially seeing as their mother had informed him she would no longer be subsidising his extravagant lifestyle; a lifestyle to which he felt entitled as his birthright, an affliction that had never affected Olivia. Sadly, Olivia knew her mother lacked resolve when it came to her first-born and regardless of how many times she insisted she was done helping him, Olivia knew her mother would walk through fire for her children if necessary.
Olivia didn’t feel like having her mood blasted which, inevitably, was what all conversations with Kerr seemed to do, but when all was said and done, he was still her brother, and if he needed her enough to call her at such a ridiculous hour of the day… With a great deal of trepidation and an equal amount of reluctance, she tapped the screen and lifted the handset to her ear.
‘Hi, Kerr. It’s the wee small hours there, is everything okay?’
There was a loud sniffling over the airwaves. ‘No, everything is definitely not bloody okay.’ More sniffling. ‘Everything has turned to shit. It’s so unfair. I can’t bloody believe it. It’s utterly ridiculous. What the hell am I supposed to do now?’ His words were reminiscent of a petulant child and came out in a slurred rush of, evidently, alcohol-fuelled anger and emotion.
She gave a deep sigh, closed her eyes and rubbed at the throbbing at her temples that had appeared since she’d accepted the call. She presumed Adaira had dumped him, or worse – that he’d once again got himself in serious trouble with a loan shark and his life was on the line. She told him, ‘Kerr, please slow down. You’re not making any sense. Tell me what’s happened.’
‘She’s bloody dead, isn’t she? A stroke. It was immediate, apparently. Totally unexpected.’
Olivia was shocked, as Adaira had always seemed quite young for her age. It just proved that you never knew when it came to such occurrences; after all, she’d heard of healthy footballers dropping stone dead of heart attacks mid-training.
‘Oh, Kerr, I’m so sorry. I know you were…’ What’s the correct word? ‘Fond of her.’
He snorted. ‘Well, I would hope so.’ There was a strange indignation to his tone. ‘I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.’
Olivia rolled her eyes and the words: find yourself another sugar mama, probably rattled around her head, but she immediately bit down on her tongue. She shouldn’t be so cruel. Even if it was predominantly about the money, he was evidently fond of Adaira or he wouldn’t be crying like this. ‘Grief takes time, Kerr. But you’ll get through it.’ She tried to sound empathetic but realised her words were trite instead.
Another scoffing noise vibrated along the airwaves. ‘She was supposed to help me with something pretty huge, you know. It would have made us both so much money. We had so many plans and now that’s all gone. So many lost opportunities.’
Olivia closed her eyes and massaged at the crease between her brows with a tensed index finger. So, he’d managed to almost con the poor woman into investing in one of his hare-brained business ventures. Presumably, from his choice of words, she hadn’t actually signed on the dotted line.
She struggled for the right words that would appease him on this matter and certainly wasn’t about to offer her own finances up for the sacrifice. ‘That’s a shame,’ she said with a cringe, once again knowing her words weren’t in the least bit helpful.
‘I suppose the one saving grace in all this is my inheritance.’ He sighed deeply.
Olivia widened her eyes. ‘She’s left you something?’ Blimey, he’s getting faster at his gigolo craft, Olivia thought, after failing to hide the surprise in her voice.
‘Well, duh! I’m obviously in line to inherit everything. I’m the son. That’s how it works, Olivia.’ Her heart leapt and she felt the colour drain from her face. ‘And I can assure you there will be some major changes around the place. Half the staff aren’t even needed. And I won’t be continuing with the open garden nonsense so that means we won’t need any more than two gardeners. I might even sell off the farm cottages and some of the land. I mean, I’ve got to afford to live, haven’t I?’
Olivia swallowed as best she could now that her throat felt as dry as the Sahara. She shook her head. ‘K-Kerr… please stop talking for a moment…’
‘Charming,’ he huffed.
‘I’m sorry to be harsh, I just… I need answers, that’s all.’
Ker scoffed. ‘I bet you do. And I guess you’ll be pissed off, seeing as you were Dad’s favourite, but what can I say? Tradition is tradition.’
‘Kerr!’ she snapped. ‘Who… who has died? Is it Adaira?’
