It was freezing up here, good God. Her smart London mackintosh wasn’t going to cut it at all. No wonder all the locals looked like they were going to join the British Antarctic Survey. The wind cut through her and she narrowed her eyes. How the hell could people live here?

It was even slightly spooky, all of them gathering around an enormous lit-up statue of an angel. At least she thought it was an angel; it was hard to tell. Modern art, she thought. Her readers absolutely hated modern art or anything that smacked of fancy concepts. If it had public funding, that would probably be another excellent take on things. “Island Wasting Taxpayers’ Money on Crazy Modern Art” was definitely an angle that would work with this.

She asked the first person she met who was responsible, who nodded toward a tall, surprisingly good-looking blond boy who was laughing and looking at something over by the foot of the statue. Her eyes narrowed. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Nonetheless, her journalistic instincts were tingling.

She marched up to him confidently. “Hi there! I’ve heard this is your doing?”

AT FIRST KONSTANTIN found it hard to break Isla’s gaze. Why, he was thinking, had he not noticed before? How lovely she was. How sweet and shy and . . . just so different from the people he knew.

“Candace Blunt? Daily Post ?”

The blond girl standing next to him was looking cross. He noticed she was wearing expensive high-heeled boots that could not have been less suitable for walking up a Mure hill at midnight. She stood confidently next to him, in no doubt she was about to claim his attention.

“Yes?” he said reluctantly.

“So is this your doing?”

“Well, I had a lot of help.”

“And the council funded it?”

Konstantin wasn’t really listening; he was looking for Isla, but she’d disappeared back into the crowd. He frowned. “The council?”

“Yes, the council.”

Konstantin shrugged. He knew they’d had something to do with letting them have the space.

“Sure,” he said, and Candace smiled happily.

“Wow, amazing,” she said, jotting it down in her notebook. “You must be very proud.”

“It’s a great thing,” said Konstantin. “It needs brightening up, ja ?”

He meant, of course, the Christmas lights. This was not what it sounded like to Candace.

“Well, it’s a pretty dark, cold, miserable place,” she said, looking round.

“Hmm,” said Konstantin. Isla had disappeared from his line of sight. Where on earth had she gone?

“And what’s your name? You’re Norwegian, right? What brings you here?”

“I’m just working in the hotel.”

“The new hotel?”

“Yes. Excuse me, I have to go.”

“Perhaps I can come talk to you there tomorrow? And can I just take a picture of you next to the . . . That’s right,” said Candace, bringing out her camera. She caught Konstantin mugging and sent it immediately to the pictures desk. They had people on there who were world experts at recognizing faces. If his rang a bell with anyone, they would let her know.