Page 8 of The Scottish Island Wedding

‘Laird and Lady Balhennie, may I present my father, Laird Campbell of Glenorchy, and my mother, Lady Campbell?’ Matty approached James and Evelinda deferentially; Heather stood dumbly next to them, feeling blindsided and more than a little hurt and confused.

This was the first she’d heard of Matty being part of the Scottish nobility and she was having trouble allowing it to sink in.

It was something that he probably should have mentioned in the year that they’d known each other.

In fact, Matty had been quite quiet about his family, just saying that his parents travelled a lot in their retirement, and that his brothers worked in London. This was the first time Heather had met anyone apart from his sister.

So, there was that. But these Campbells – the Campbells – were infamous.

Heather was the niece of the local laird. She’d grown up visiting the castle, playing in its dusty old rooms and swimming in the loch. She wasn’t exactly new to lairds, and occasionally, over the years, Uncle James would host a fancy ball at the castle, and lairds and ladies from across Scotland would come, as well as locals, business contacts, friends – it was a mishmash of people.

But the Campbells of Glenorchy were different.

Most of the noble families in Scotland either opened their houses to the public so that they could keep them running, or they sold off their land and property to foreign investors. Golf courses were very popular, which Heather violently disapproved of, because that was old, clan land, not to be riddled with retired men hitting very small balls into small holes for pleasure, and also, golf courses and other land development schemes ruined local nature habitats. At her job, they often protested against new housing schemes or new entertainment or retail parks that would go up around Scotland without consideration for the local wildlife. People didn’t seem to understand that if you destroyed the land’s fragile and delicate ecosystems, then the land would stop being as hospitable as it was.

The Campbells were a celebrity family. Some years ago, a TV producer had thought it would be a good idea to find a wealthy Scottish family and make a documentary series about them, and thus The Campbells, the sensationalist, outrageous, multi-season series, was born.

It had shot the whole family to fame – at least, the Laird and Lady Campbell and their older two sons and daughters-in-law – all of whom were awful, apart from Arthur Campbell, Matty’s father, who seemed to regard their antics with a kind of befuddled amusement. Heather was now watching those same people extricate themselves from their shiny cars.

She’d watched the show a little, but it wasn’t really something that her family liked. She did know, however, that there were two children who had refused to be in the show, and kept out of the public eye. It now made sense that this would have been Matty and his sister.

How could he have kept this from me?

She shot Matty a look of incomprehension. He looked away uncomfortably.

‘Balhennie, old chap.’ Matty’s father shook James and Evelinda’s hands. ‘It’s been years! Evelinda. As beautiful as ever.’ He kissed Heather’s aunt’s hand; Evelinda also looked a little shell-shocked.

‘Hello, Arthur,’ she replied, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Hello, Elizabeth. It’s been a long time. You’ll have to excuse us… we had no idea we’d be welcoming you to Balhennie today. Heather didn’t mention it.’ Evelinda shot Heather an irritated glance.

Elizabeth, Matty’s mother, stood impassive and silent as the meet and greet happened around her. She was probably only five feet tall, and petite like a little bird, but wore high-heeled leather boots, dark glasses and a thick, expensive-looking coat with a fur collar.

‘I… I didn’t know,’ Heather protested weakly.

‘Ah, not to worry, not to worry, my dear.’ Arthur Campbell held out his large hand, and Heather shook it instinctively. ‘She must have forgotten, in all the excitement. Delighted to meet you, my dear girl. Matthew has told us so much about you,’ he added, kindly. ‘Though we hadn’t quite put it together that you were James and Evelinda’s daughter.’

‘Oh… no. I’m not. James is my uncle,’ Heather explained, hurriedly. She could see Angus puffing up with outrage to her right, and winced. ‘This is my mum, Catriona, and my dad, Angus.’

‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance, old chap.’ Arthur Campbell pumped Angus’s hand vigorously. Angus acquiesced slightly, but Heather could see he was still pretty annoyed. ‘And Lady Catriona. What a pleasure. May I introduce my wife, Elizabeth.’ He gestured to the birdlike woman standing next to him.

‘Oh, just Catriona, please. We’re not Laird and Lady.’ Heather’s mother laughed. ‘Just the poor relations, I’m afraid. We run the Balhennie Inn, on the castle grounds.’

‘Indeed?’ Elizabeth’s lip curled. ‘How charming.’ She shook Catriona’s hand, and then Angus’s. Finally, she turned to Heather.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you at last, Lady Campbell.’ Heather wondered if she should curtsey, but stopped herself. James and Evelinda were the same, rank-wise, as Matty’s parents, and she’d never curtseyed to them in her life.

‘I’m sure you are.’ Elizabeth took off her glasses and regarded Heather dispassionately. ‘We’ve advised Matthew to insist on a prenup. Just so you know.’ Without her glasses, Heather saw that her eyes were an icy light blue. There was no warmth there at all. Elizabeth held out her hand to one of the women who had carefully unfolded herself out of the car and was teetering towards them all in a pair of vertiginous heels that were definitely not made for gravel. She wore a Chanel suit in pink and white, with a thick gold necklace. Her nails were long, pointed, and pearly-white. She was thin to the point of falling over.

Heather felt suddenly frumpy by comparison; she had curves, and she thought she’d dressed nicely that day in a tasteful knitted dress and her nicest coat, which had a faux fur collar and cuffs.

‘Heather, this is my daughter-in-law, Clara. She’s married to my son Charles. And this is Estella, married to Gerald.’ Elizabeth indicated an almost carbon copy of Clara, but where Clara was platinum blonde, Estella had long, perfectly ringleted hair in a deep, rich brown. ‘They’ve been such wonderful daughters-in-law. So helpful. So elegant.’ Elizabeth looked pointedly at Heather’s outfit; Heather felt as though she wanted to hide in the nearest plant pot. ‘I’m sure that they’ll whip you into shape.’

‘Mother, Heather is perfect, just as she is,’ Matty replied, a laugh in his voice as if this was all a joke. Perhaps Elizabeth Campbell had a very, very dry sense of humour? But somehow, Heather doubted it.

‘Hm.’ Matty’s mother looked disdainfully at Heather, and then at the castle. ‘Estella, dear, I’m not sure that we needed to pack our evening wear.’ She swept past the receiving line of Balhennies and into the castle entrance like a regal and aggressive black swan, her daughters-in-law following her like cygnets.

FIVE

‘Talk. Fast,’ Heather murmured to Matty as they walked into the castle.