Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Katie Fforde
Title Page
Dedication
From Scotland With Love
Preview of The Perfect Match
Copyright
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781473505896
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Copyright © Katie Fforde 2013
Katie Fforde have asserted their moral right to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Random House UK Ltd.
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
Random House UK Limited Reg. No. 954009
www.randomhouse.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
For Jo, a good friend and inspiration.
If Daisy’s job hadn’t been on the line she would never have set off for Scotland in that dark time between Christmas and New Year. Nothing would usually have taken her out of London then except perhaps a very good invite for Hogmanay with close friends. And the most difficult author in the known world certainly wasn’t a friend. Still, she wasn’t planning to stay long. If her plan worked she’d be in and out of his house in an hour and then be on her way back to England in plenty of time for New Year’s Eve.
She hadn’t terribly taken to Scotland so far. She really only liked scenery if it was on television, accompanied by Bear Grylls. All these snow-capped mountains were a bit too majestic for her. And the sky was so dark it was almost purple.
‘Are we nearly there, yet?’ she asked brightly, hoping her driver, who’d hardly said a word, would realise she was being funny. Well, mildly amusing anyway.
‘Aye. Another ten minutes should do it.’
‘Jolly good!’
She looked out of the window, trying to distract herself from her nervousness and car sickness. It didn’t matter how many Magic Trees he’d hung from the mirror, you could still tell this car belonged to a smoker.
‘It’s the wee cottage on the hill,’ the driver said.
Daisy looked where he was pointing. ‘It can’t be,’ she said. ‘It’s tiny.’
‘That’s the address and there aren’t so many properties in the area I could get them muddled up,’ he said. He sounded pleased with what he took to be her disappointment.
Daisy was actually surprised, not disappointed. Why would one of the most successful authors in the world live in such a tiny house when he could probably have bought Balmoral if he’d really fancied it?
‘You’ll have to walk from here, hen,’ said the driver. ‘It’s up that wee track.’
‘Can’t you drive up there?’
‘No.’
She considered arguing but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling her how bad the track was. ‘OK!’ She took out her Cath Kidston wallet. ‘What do I owe you?’ When she’d handed over quite a few of the strange-looking notes she’d got out of the Cashpoint she said, ‘Can you come back in an hour?’
The driver hesitated. Daisy had given a generous tip. ‘All right. Or maybe I’ll send another driver.’
‘Well, give me your card, just in case I need to get in touch with you,’ said Daisy.
When he had done this, Daisy could put off facing the great outdoors no longer. ‘Fine,’ she said and got out of the car.
Her boots were leaking within two minutes of setting off from the car and her little case on wheels, bumping along behind her, kept catching in the chippings that covered the track and falling over. It was also really steep, zig-zagging its way up what seemed to be a mountain. She couldn’t see any other houses either. Not only was Rory McAllan the most difficult author ever, he lived in the most inaccessible house, ever. By the time she got to the door she was freezing cold and her PR girl’s positive attitude was stretched to its limit. Still, it would soon be over, she told herself as she rapped the stag’s head knocker. As she waited for the door to be opened she looked down the track and saw the taxi disappearing round the bend. She suddenly felt very alone. The driver hadn’t been very friendly, or helpful but he was at least another human being. What would she do if Rory McAllan was away? Would she have to walk, in her leaking boots, all the way back to the nearest town? It was miles!
Just for a moment, Daisy wanted to cry, but she controlled herself. It wouldn’t help. She was cold and it had been a long time since she’d eaten a sandwich at the bus stop; that was why she was feeling pathetic. She’d have to man up. She banged on the door again and it opened almost immediately. Rory McAllan, stood glaring at her. Well, at least he was at home.
‘Who the hell are you, and what do you want?’
Daisy, who was known for her charm, did her best. She smiled. ‘Hi! I’m Daisy Allway. We have met. I work for –’
His brows came together as he stared down at her and then glowered even harder. ‘The PR girl? The bloody PR girl, who wanted me to miss my flight so I could sign books?’
‘I didn’t want you to miss it, I just said there’d be another –’ She did feel guilty about this. She’d let herself get distracted by a boy with floppy hair and so failed to get the Star Author to sign books at the right time. Her boss, Venetia, had gone ballistic, no other word for it. The boy hadn’t been all that interesting when she’d got to know him better, either. Which was why Daisy was going to such lengths to keep her job. Venetia didn’t know she’d come up here – Daisy planned to give her the signed book plates with a big ‘ta da!’ when Venetia summoned her for the ‘little talk’ she’d promised after the Christmas break.
‘What are you doing here? My address is a well kept secret?’ His voice was very low with a Scottish accent that sent some women crazy. Now it had overtones of fierce-dog-confronted-by-burglar and while it was effective, it was making Daisy want to run away, not jump into bed with him.
Daisy shook her head. ‘Not that well kept, actually, as secrets go. My boss knows everything.’ She smiled again, this time she hoped, appealingly. ‘Could I possibly come in?’
He didn’t move. His large frame filled the doorway. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Budget airline, bus and taxi,’ she said. ‘I spent the night in a budget hotel, too.’ She laughed prettily. ‘That was a first!’ She paused, not telling him that she didn’t usually pay for her own travelling expenses. He still wasn’t letting her across the threshold. ‘Could I come in? Just for a little bit? I’m not saying it’s cold but I reckon Eskimos would feel right at home here.’
He thought about it for a worryingly long time and then he grunted. ‘I suppose you’ll have to.’
‘You needn’t look so anxious,’ said Daisy. ‘I won’t be here long at all. My cab is coming back soon, I’ve booked him. I just want you to sign some book plates.’
Rory was not a handsome man but now as he almost laughed, he developed a sort of craggy charm. ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’
Daisy nipped in through the open door while she had the chance. She pulled her case in behind her and once in, put it flat on the floor and then she opened it. ‘OK, I’ve got the book plates here, if we could just find somewhere where you could sign them …’
‘You have absolutely no bloody idea, have you?’
‘What about?’ She looked up at him, holding the book plates and his favourite Sharpie pen, wishing he’d turn a light on or something.
‘That you’ve arrived just before the biggest storm forecast for years?’
‘I did think it was a bit dark but I put that down to being in Scotland,’ she said breezily. ‘Now, if we get these signed. As I said, my taxi’s coming back soon. I don’t want to keep him waiting.’
‘You won’t see your taxi again for days, weeks possibly,’ said Rory.
‘I’m sure I will. I gave him a massive tip. Anyway, he said if he didn’t come he’d send another cab. I’ve got your favourite type of pen.’
He ignored the book plates and pen that she was thrusting at him. ‘Have you looked out of the window?’
‘Not recently, no. I saw the view on the way up here.’
‘I’m not talking about the view, I’m talking about the weather.’