Page 19 of Highland Getaway
‘No. I don’t trust them,’ I confess. ‘I don’t really trust anyone in this place.’
‘Not even me?’ he asks. ‘Am I still on the list of suspects, then? Och, don’t look at me like that,’ he goes on. ‘I know you were thinking I might have done the clothes-stealing thing earlier.’
‘Well, youdolike winding me up,’ I point out. ‘And you know how important my clothes are to me. I don’t think you’d have shut me in the sauna, though,’ I add, shivering at the memory. ‘That wouldn’t be a very good joke, would it?’
A small line appears between Hunter’s eyes.
‘No, it wouldn’t. The door was just stiff, though,’ he says, sounding almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is me. ‘I went over and took a look at it this morning. It’s probably just because it’s brand new. There’s bound to be some teething problems.’
I nod, remembering what Agnes said about ‘Danger Night’, and how we influencers were basically a test crew, here to help the hotel iron out any potential problems before launch day.
Well, you have to hand it to me, I’ve definitely done that.
‘So, will you take the photo for me?’ I ask, desperate to change the subject.
I hold out my phone and he takes it with a world-weary sigh.
‘Lead the way, then,’ he says, putting his axe carefully down on the ground. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Chapter 8
Twenty minutes later, I’m on my way back to the hotel, feeling much better now that I’ve flicked through the surprisingly decent photos Hunter Stuart took of me standing by the lake, with both the castle and my red-sweatered self perfectly reflected in its mirror-like surface.
Maybe this jumperismade of magic, after all?
Or maybe the magic comes from .?.?. but no. I willnotthink of Hunter Stuart the way I thought of my cashmere sweater when I found it; as if he, too, is something with the potential to change my life. I’m only here for four days, after all. I’ll never see him again after that. And there’s no point kidding myself he’d be interested in the ‘average’ girl, when he’s clearly so far above average himself: I know from experience that’s not how it works. You can trust the girl who got dumped on her birthday to tell you that.
‘Have you found my clothes yet?’ I ask Dante as I walk back into the hotel lobby, which is now mercifully empty of influencers.
‘Yes. Yes we have, actually,’ replies the manager, raising one eyebrow like a cartoon villain.
‘Seriously? But that’s fantastic,’ I exclaim, hardly daring to believe my change of fortune. ‘So, where were they?’
‘They were in the wardrobe,’ replies Dante, staring at me impassively. ‘The one in your room. Where you left them.’
‘But .?.?. no, that can’t be right,’ I say, confused. ‘The wardrobe was empty. I saw it with my own eyes.’
‘Maybe you should book an eye test when you get home?’ suggests Dante, drumming his fingers impatiently against the desk. ‘It sounds like you need one.’
‘I donot,’ I reply indignantly, even though I actuallydoneed to book an eye test, as it happens. I might be short-sighted, but my eyesight isn’t bad enough for me to think the wardrobe in my room was empty when it was, in fact, full .?.?. which means someone in this hotel is definitely messing with me.
And I’m determined to find out who it is. Ideally before I fully morph back into my much younger self, the way I almost did in the dining room this morning, when my response to Bex’s low-key bullying was to want to burst into tears rather than to fight back.
I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to bethatperson again; not after all these years, and .?.?. well, all of the things I’veboughtthat person, in my ongoing bid to make her less of a target to people like Bex Foster and her sidekicks.
That’s why I need my clothes back. Because I’d never admit it to someone like Hunter Stuart, who thinks I’m just a superficial shopaholic, but clothes are my armour – and sometimes a disguise. And, right now, I’ve never been more in need of both of those things.
‘You need to do something about this,’ I tell Dante, pulling myself up to my full height – all five foot five of it. ‘You need to launch an investigation.’
‘Aninvestigation?’ he replies, not even bothering to hide his amusement. ‘To find out whodidn’ttake your clothes?’
‘But someone did take them,’ I insist, refusing to allow him to gaslight me on this. ‘They must have.’
‘And then brought them back again?’ says the manager. ‘So, this mystery person basically just took these clothes of yours for a walk, did they?’
‘I .?.?. don’t know what they did with them,’ I say, faltering in my conviction. ‘Or why they brought them back. But I know it happened, and now you need to find out who it was.’
‘I hate to break this to you,’ says Dante, with a world-weary sigh, ‘but I’m a hotel manager, not Miss Marple. If you’d like to call the police and report your clothes asnotmissing, then by all means, go ahead. I’m sure they’ll send someone over in a few days. We don’t exactly have a large team of police at our disposal this far north.’
