Maggie Conway lived the first ten years of life in London before moving to Scotland. She has a degree in English Literature and spent many years working in offices dreaming of pursuing her passion for writing. A perfect day would include an early morning swim, a good coffee, a great book and a few hours spent writing before the chaos of a husband, three children, a dog and a cat begins. Having landed the role of chief dog walker, she spends far too much time roaming the streets but at least this gives her a chance to think up new storylines.
The Little Gift Shop on the Loch
MAGGIE CONWAY
HQ
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Maggie Conway 2019
Maggie Conway asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008330873
E-book Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008296582
Version: 2019-05-06
Table of Contents
This book is dedicated to Margaret Couttie
No matter how tired she was, Lily Ballantine prided herself on keeping to her strict morning routine. Her battle with sleep – or rather lack of it – had crept into her life over recent months, insidiously stealing precious hours of blissful oblivion.
She tried to regard her sleep deprivation as a measure of success; her inability to switch off from deadlines and to-do list was a good thing, a sign her career was on the up. So she endured her tiredness, wearing it like a slightly warped badge of honour, although some mornings were harder than others.
Earlier she’d stumbled through to the bathroom, her bleary-eyed, pale reflection confirming the few glasses of wine last night had done their worst. The alcohol sometimes helped, just enough to tip her over to sleep. But never for long enough. Somehow, frustratingly, she always managed to wake up at that deathly hour of 3 a.m., when the world was at its darkest and she just knew she was the only person on the entire planet who was awake.
The scalding shower and transformative contents of her make-up bag had worked wonders and now she was preened and polished, ready to face the day. Her unruly hair had been straightened into submission and she was dressed in her customary dark trouser suit and crisp shirt – pink today because it was Friday.
Lily automatically checked her watch as she closed her front door at precisely seven o’clock, pleased she was on schedule. Situated in a quiet cul-de-sac, the flat’s location meant she could make the walk to Edinburgh’s city centre in under thirty minutes. She walked at her usual brisk pace, weaving her way through the cobbled streets, past the elegant Georgian tenements and narrow alleyways.
The spring morning showcased Edinburgh’s unique charm to perfection, its turreted buildings silhouetted against a pale blue sky. Lily loved this time of day, while the city remained largely untouched by the throng of