A Flight of Fancy (Scottish Island Escapes Book 6) Read online

  A Flight of Fancy

  Margaret Amatt

  Contents

  Copyright

  Five years ago

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Now

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Share the Love!

  More Books by Margaret Amatt

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  First published in 2022 by Leannan Press

  © Margaret Amatt 2022

  The right of Margaret Amatt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs 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 or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Isle of Mull is a real island off the west coast of Scotland and most of the villages and sites mentioned in this story are real. Homes, farms, and other specific places and organisations are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual places or organisations is purely coincidental.

  For more information on places in the story, please see the map here.

  Cover illustrations © Margaret Amatt 2021

  ISBN: 978-1-914575-89-1

  Five years ago

  Chapter 1

  Taylor

  Taylor sat bolt upright on the end of the couch, eyeing her therapist, who didn’t return the look but flipped through her notes, pursing her lips. The soft cushion yielded under Taylor’s fingernails as she clawed into it like a cat. Had she done enough? Maybe if she smiled. She relaxed her face muscles and widened her eyes.

  ‘Ok, Taylor.’ The therapist glanced up, dazzling Taylor with her white teeth. Her neon pink Chanel jacket glowed like a nuclear warning light. ‘You’re doing great. I know you’re eager to get back to normality. That’s what we all want.’

  Taylor nodded.

  ‘I’m also very conscious it’s your birthday this week and a special one too.’

  Taylor’s lips remained curled up. Holding the expression became painful. ‘Yup, twenty-one.’ She was twenty-one? Her brow creased and she rubbed a finger over it before continuing to her hair and pushing a blonde lock behind her ear. She didn’t want to appear confused but how could she be only twenty-one? Some days she felt about a hundred. Releasing her hand from the cushion,

  she placed it on her knees, jutting from beneath her short skirt. Her Hollywood tan glowed. Everything here could be bought. Otherwise, she’d be pale, freckly, and unremarkable. Her focus landed on a small silver globe on the pristine white shelves behind the desk, beside an aerial photograph of the Beverly Hills clinic. Taylor breathed deeply but silently, her gaze not leaving the shelf.

  ‘Well, I’ve reviewed everything,’ said the therapist. ‘You can go back to your family.’

  Taylor barely heard the conditions. Her inner self was air-punching and whooping. She was getting out.

  ‘Just remember, feelings are not actions. Try to keep the two separate. You may feel like doing something but that doesn’t mean you have to act on it.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll remember.’ Taylor leapt to her feet, almost grabbing the door handle.

  Her therapist blocked her and shook her hand. ‘If you need me, you know where I am. Call me anytime.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Taylor returned the handshake as briefly as she could without being rude before hightailing it out the door.

  *

  The following day dawned bright, hot and dry. Taylor swapped the therapist’s couch for a seat in a limo. The stereo pounded a low beat and Taylor rubbed her forehead where a dull ache blossomed.

  ‘Is this nail ok?’

  Taylor glanced across to see Skylar, her twin sister, examining an inch-long designer nail, her slim legs crossed in front of her. She turned her fingers this way, then that, so the glitter sparkled under the track lighting.

  ‘Sure, honey.’ Bianca Kane, their mother, took her hand. ‘They’re amazing.’ Her eyes flickered from the nails to Taylor, then back. Sammy Rousse, Taylor’s father, was watching too, though making a good show of pretending to look elsewhere.

  Forgiveness wouldn’t come quick – if ever – not from her parents and definitely not from Skylar. Skylar’s grudge-holding capacity was legendary and right up there with her back-stabbing skills and her egocentricity. Taylor sighed and adjusted her up-do. In the reflection, when she was done up like this, the likeness between her and Skylar was uncanny.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Bianca, flicking her golden hair. ‘What a lot of fans have gathered.’

  ‘I’ll go with Skylar.’ Sammy smoothed back his white hair. ‘I’ll get the driver to take the car around the back with Taylor.’

  Taylor’s jaw tightened and she stared out the window. Why had she thought things would be different? This was her life now. Unseen, hidden. Maybe before rehab, she’d have spoken out, but she couldn’t risk being shoved back in, or worse, if Skylar had her way, being locked up and the key thrown away.

  Cheers and shouts rang out as Skylar got out. Her bodyguard flanked her and ushered her up the hotel stairs. Cameras flashed and people jostled for a better view. The limo moved off. Bianca squinted at Taylor and pressed her lips together, fiddling with the hem of her short skirt.

  ‘So, what are we going to find for you to do?’ Bianca asked, her voice unnaturally high, like she was addressing a child in kindergarten. Would she whip out a colouring book and some crayons to occupy Taylor while they indulged in the weekend of birthday festivities without her?

  ‘It’s my birthday too,’ said Taylor. The whole event had been planned around Skylar’s wishes. And what’s in store for me? A padded cell? Why would they bother asking if she fancied anything different from Skylar? In their eyes, only one daughter truly existed.

  ‘Of course it is, sweetie. We just have to be careful.’

  ‘Of what?’

  Bianca resumed fiddling with her hem. ‘Taylor, you’re just out of rehab and therapy. I don’t want to upset you or ruin your progress, so I think it’s best if you keep a low profile. By all means, enjoy yourself but don’t do too much and don’t distress yourself.’

  Like she’d have to. Everyone else distressed her without her having to try. Wasn’t that their mission in life?

  The back entrance to the hotel was like a different place: a grim street with graffitied walls. Taylor and Bianca got out of the limo and entered through a sliding door. A porter greeted them and led them through a warren of corridors and fire doors to the lobby.

 
‘Skylar’s gone to her room already,’ said Sammy, meeting them and taking his wife’s arm. ‘Taylor, you should go up too.’

  ‘You can get ready for the party, sweetie,’ Bianca said. ‘I’ll be up as soon as I’ve sorted my things. I’m sure Skylar’s stylist wouldn’t mind giving you a hand when she’s done with Skylar.’

  ‘I’ll do it myself,’ said Taylor. She was done with Skylar’s leftovers. She held out her hand. Her father’s jaw set as he stared at the key card. Five seconds passed. Would he give it to her? With a grudging look, he dropped it onto her palm.

  ‘No nonsense,’ he said. ‘You wait in your room for your mother.’

  Taylor headed for the elevator. On the first floor, she jumped out, made her way to the back stairs and came down again. Sitting in her room all afternoon while Skylar had a pamper session wasn’t happening.

  Opportunity for entertainment knocked. If she slipped out the front door, she could pretend to be Skylar and cause merry hell. Not for the first time. The punishment for pulling a stunt like that before had almost driven her to taking her own life. Then she’d been bundled into rehab and therapy. Now her family all but had her under lock and key and were hellbent on erasing her existence. Only the die-hard fans of their early work remembered Skylar Rousse had a twin sister. It was the best-kept secret in Hollywood.

  As children, they’d shared roles, but that had been swept under the carpet, and anyone who asked was told the ‘Taylor is ill’ story. Her career had imploded while Skylar’s had rocketed.

  If she didn’t look like her sister, she’d be cast to the dogs. But her parents couldn’t risk letting her go. Taylor smiled at her reflection in a gilded mirror in the corridor; her face – like it or loathe it – was her only weapon. She could bring down Skylar with this face. All it would take was a few choice words to the paparazzi outside. Or better still, she could humiliate her sister by stripping off, acting the fool or perhaps attacking someone while pretending to be her. The possibilities were endless.

  She reached the lobby and stopped. What was she doing? Two days of freedom and here she was planning trouble already. So much for not acting on her feelings. This wasn’t her.

  Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she peered around. What to do? Go back to her room and behave?

  Soft music drifted out a half-open door to the side of the lobby. Taylor snuck up and peered inside. Glasses clinked over the gentle murmur of chat in the ambiently lit dining area. People sat scattered about at polished wood tables, drinking either coffee or wine. A couple held hands in a raised area half obscured by a line of pot plants built into the divider. Some individuals sat alone with cells and open laptops. Taylor followed the music, humming along though she couldn’t place the song, and waited by a giant fern at the door. A server dressed in black approached. ‘Are you here for lunch? Or just a drink?’

  ‘Er,’ said Taylor. A drink. What irony. She could legally buy a drink. But she hadn’t grown up in Hollywood without tasting the hard stuff. Her drinking binges never ended well. Was this just asking for trouble? She could stick to pop like a good girl. ‘Yes, a drink.’

  ‘Of course, follow me.’

  The server led Taylor to a table close to the bar, screened off by another divider with more ferns and greenery. She accepted the giant menu and made herself comfortable. ‘A Coke, please.’ She passed back the menu and took out her cell. Why was she here? Why was she anywhere? Her life had little or no point. She was drifting in a sea of nothingness.

  At the modern wood-panelled bar, a group of men laughed, sipping from beer glasses. Above them, copper lamps flooded the area with light, gleaming off the rows of wine glasses hanging over the bar. A beam spotlighted one of the men. His back was to Taylor, and she smirked. His white shirt and tight pants were neat, but he hadn’t noticed his shirt had come untucked at the back. She contemplated it, wishing he would tuck it in. Another man slapped his shoulder and he turned away from him grinning. His gaze found Taylor and before she could stop herself, she was looking back. A rush of heat flooded through her, and, shit, she must be blushing.

  ‘Your Coke, madam.’ The server blocked her view. Taylor blinked as her drink was placed before her. Her attention lingered on the group at the bar but the man with the untucked shirt had his back to her again. She slipped her hand under her low-cut black top and traced her fingertip lazily along her collarbone. He looked like a real man, not some spotty boy with Hollywood aspirations – the type Skylar liked.

  With a deflating sigh, Taylor turned her attention to her cell. No messages? Not even from her parents asking where she was. They couldn’t have discovered her absence yet. The screen was blank, much like herself. She scooped it up and browsed nothing in particular. What could she do with her life? Her acting career was over. Even if she tried to revamp it, she could see Skylar shooting her down before she was airborne and her parents wouldn’t allow it. But what else was she fit for? Perhaps a change of direction? She’d always loved singing. Maybe Broadway? Could she expect her name to carry some clout? It would probably be the opposite. She hadn’t made friends in the biz. Her open attempt to bring down Skylar earned her cold shoulders and snidey glances from those who knew. Even with it swept out of sight, producers and directors might be wary.

  She tapped the cell screen. Why was everything so complicated? There had to be a way out. Someone passed by – the man with the untucked shirt. From the fleeting glimpse of his face, he reminded her of one of the Hemsworth brothers. Well, the blonde hair and the build anyway. Her gaze followed him for a second, noting his shirt was still untucked. Still chatting to his friends, he looked her way and she caught his eye again.

  Why couldn’t she look away? He didn’t either. A mad urge to go over and talk to him seized her. Her brain scrambled hundreds of crazy things she wanted to tell him and she felt sure he would listen intently. He ran his thumb along his lower lip, perhaps trying to erase the smile that had spread as he looked at her. She was receiving his vibes loud and clear. Maybe she should be weirded out. He could be a total creep, but that wasn’t the feeling she was getting at all. Aside from being jaw-droppingly handsome, he was emitting more signals than a cell tower, and all of them were interfering with her thought process. Her insides swelled and vibrated, forcing her lips to curl into a smile. One of his friends shifted and moved between them. Taylor jerked her eyes back to her phone. What the hell am I doing?

  Still aware of them close by, she focused on her drink, her ears pricked.

  ‘So, guys,’ one said, and Taylor squinted sideways, not moving her head. A neatly tucked shirt was level with her sightline. She flicked her glance upwards and saw the blond man grinning at the man who’d spoken. He’d fixed his shirt. Actually, none of the Hemsworths had anything on him; hot didn’t begin to describe this firestorm. Her Coke sat abandoned on the table; drinking in this guy was way more appealing, even if it meant she had to ditch breathing for the next few minutes.

  ‘So,’ he repeated. ‘What’s the plan?’

  Taylor grabbed her glass to stop her hand shaking. What a cute accent. British maybe?

  ‘Are you going straight back to the airport?’

  ‘No,’ said the blond man. ‘I’m going to the party.’

  ‘Ooh.’ The other guys jeered and laughed. ‘You’re going to the party. Did you get an invite from Princess Courtney herself?’

  ‘Or the birthday girl. Has she got the hots for her rival’s pilot? That would be quite a story.’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ The blond man rolled his hand through his hair. ‘I thought you guys were going too.’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re working, not partying’ said a thickset man with a stubbly beard.

  ‘You gonna try to bed Courtney?’ said another.

  Taylor leaned slightly closer to the gap between the tables where they were standing. Courtney Hines was the star Skylar was chasing for popularity. The fact Skylar had invited her to the party was typical of her phoney life. She’d kiss her cheeks
and pretend they were best friends, only to stab her in the back as soon she turned around.

  The blond man cleared his throat. ‘Absolutely not. That’s how to end my career overnight.’

  ‘How about Skylar then? That’d be some conquest, especially on her birthday.’

  ‘Time to shut up,’ he said, putting his arm out to steer the other men away.

  One of the guys coughed so loudly it sounded like he was having an attack. Taylor peeked up; the thickset man cocked his head in her direction. She bit her lip and scanned around. Oh no, he thought she was Skylar. The blond man moved away, taking the other guys with him. Taylor sipped her Coke and half closed her eyes, trying to refocus on what she’d been doing before.

  As she scrolled through her cell, manically trying to prevent herself checking out the blond guy, a shadow fell over her table. Taylor glimpsed up and her heartrate quickened. It was him.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, ruffling his hair. ‘Can I sit for a second?’

  ‘Oh.’ Taylor bit her lip. ‘Sure.’ He slipped onto the bench opposite.

  ‘I just want to apologise for those guys. I don’t think any of them realised who you were. That wasn’t a nice thing for you to hear.’

  Taylor opened her mouth. She had to let him know she wasn’t Skylar. Her cell flashed her mother’s name. Crap. The lookout had started. She couldn’t let this guy know who she was. If he thought she was Skylar, then Skylar she’d have to be and a well-behaved, noncontroversial version. ‘It’s fine,’ she said.

  ‘I guess you’re used to it.’

  ‘I guess.’ She wasn’t used to any of this. Guys talking to her, people paying her attention.

  ‘I work for Courtney Hines and she’d be angry if she thought I’d upset you, so I thought I better say something.’

  ‘Would she?’ Surely the opposite was true.

  ‘Absolutely. She’s a really nice woman. The press have said stuff, but she doesn’t hate you. Just like all the stuff the press say about you is rubbish. I mean, here you are.’ His gaze travelled over her. She read his meaning loud and clear. The press would never believe Skylar Rousse would hang about alone in bars and they’d be right. This little stunt was going to have her locked up for the next twenty years.