Jane had arrived in Fair Isle without any real idea of what to expect. It was an indication of how disturbed she was that she hadn’t researched the place beforehand. That would have been her normal style. She’d have checked out the websites, gone to the library, compiled a file of important information. But her only preparation had been to buy a couple of cookbooks. She would need to prepare hearty meals brought in to budget and she wasn’t acting so completely out of character that she could contemplate doing a poor job in her new role.

She’d come in on the mail boat, the Good Shepherd. It had been a sunny day, a light south-easterly wind had been blowing, and she’d sat on the deck watching the island approach. There had been the excitement of discovery. It had occurred to her then – and it still did – that this was like meeting a lover. There was the first affectionate glimpse, then the growing understanding. Spring in good weather and it’s easy to fall in love with Fair Isle. The cliffs are full of seabirds; Gilsetter, the flat grassland south of the havens, is covered with flowers. And she’d fallen head over heels. With the centre as well as the island. It had been converted from the North Lighthouse, now automatic, which stood in magnificent isolation on the high, grey cliffs. She’d grown up in the suburbs and had never imagined she would live somewhere so wild or dramatic. She thought that here she could be quite a different person from the timid woman who hadn’t been able to stand up to Dee. The kitchen had become her place immediately. It was big and cavernous. Once it had been the senior lightkeeper’s living room and there was a chimney breast and two windows which looked out over the sea. She’d ordered it to suit her as soon as she’d arrived, before even she’d emptied her case. It was too early in the season then for guests but the staff still needed feeding.

‘What were you planning for supper?’ she’d asked, rolling up the sleeves of her cotton shirt and slipping her favourite long blue apron over her head. When there’d been no immediate response she’d looked in the fridge and then the freezer. In the fridge there was a stainless-steel bowl of cooked rice covered with cling film, in the freezer some smoked haddock. She’d rustled up a big pan of kedgeree, using real butter despite the expense and big chunks of hard-boiled egg. They’d eaten it around the table in the kitchen. The talk had been of wheatear nests and seabird numbers. Nobody had asked why she’d decided to come to Fair Isle to be a cook.

Later Maurice had said it was like Mary Poppins arriving and taking over. They all knew that everything would be all right. Jane had always treasured that remark.

She could tell from the smell that the baking was almost ready. She lifted out the tray and set it on the table, pulled the scones apart so they could cook properly inside, and put them back in the oven. She set the timer for three minutes though she wouldn’t need it. In this kitchen things didn’t burn. Not when Jane was in charge.