It was beautiful, and the people disgorging behind Joel and Flora oohed and aahed their way appreciatively up the steps, even though the cold wind was blowing straight off the sea. At either side of the door was a gas brazier jetting fire into the air, which looked incredibly impressive too, and inside all the windows glowed an inviting yellow and orange, temptingly warm and cozy, and the scents of champagne, ladies’ perfume, and woodsmoke filled the air, along with, of course, the great heavy Christmas wreaths everywhere.

Flora felt a flush of pride. It was going to be okay. The Rock was going to be fine. Several of the guests from the mainland were staying over tonight, some in the main house, others in the guest cottages dotted around the grounds, which came with underfloor heating and all the mod cons. Joel had lived in one of the cottages when they’d first began working on Mure. Even thinking about those days now gave her a little frisson. She looked at Joel to see if he was thinking the same thing, but he appeared to be texting Eck, who was babysitting and who didn’t pay any attention to his phone or know how to text, so she wasn’t sure how useful that was going to be.

Inside, Gala was standing with flutes of champagne and sparkling juice for the guests, and waitstaff recruited from the village were already circulating with canapés. The fires were burning high, and everywhere were groups of well-dressed, happy-looking people, many local but incredibly unrecognizable out of their tweeds and fleeces. Mrs. Docherty sparkled in a glittering diamanté shirt and bright fuchsia lipstick that Flora would wager (correctly) was the only lipstick she had ever owned; the farmers scrubbed up well in ancient handed-down kilts, patched and mended. Pam was wearing a bright purple satin dress with puffed sleeves. Flora thought she looked like a Quality Street candy tin, but kept it to herself as Pam swept in to see Joel.

“Come on, darling, I have to rush you away,” she said. “You don’t mind, do you, Flora? He has to meet the sponsors.”

Flora did mind, very much. This was the first night they’d had out, just the two of them, since Douglas had been born. She was hoping to say a quick hello to everyone, then grab a bottle of champagne and retire to one of the as-yet-uninhabited suites. She had been hoping for that very much. Perhaps a bit of dancing first (Joel did not dance, but he liked watching her at it), followed by an amazing dinner, then . . . well, she had quite a lot of plans for Joel Booker that evening, as it happened.

But here he was, allowing himself to be impounded by Pam. Charlie came up, smiled at her apologetically, and kissed her on both cheeks. Pam turned round and gave him a stony stare, which meant that the nice little chitchat Charlie had been very much looking forward to with Flora about baby sick—he couldn’t discuss anything tough about child-rearing with Pam, as she insisted it was all brilliant and everything was perfect at all times—was not going to be in the cards at all. So he smiled apologetically again and backed out of the entry hall. Flora eyed the big stag head over the door.