“No, I suppose not. What are you doing? Are you working on that little book of stories?” He pulled the notebook from her and began to flick through it. “I agree with your friend Lochiel: you should have them published, they are quite out of the ordinary. And, of course, your name on the cover will ensure that they will receive lots of attention in the press.”

Margaret shuddered. “One of the best things about being here is that the press have forgotten all about me. I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to have my name in the newspapers again, for any reason.”

“Understandable, though I think you could use it to your advantage if you wished.” He rifled through the pages, frowning. “You need illustrations to go with these. I could dash them off for you.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I could, but they would be too good. Now, don’t give me one of your haughty looks, I mean that the stories have a childlike quality to them. They need drawings in a similar vein. Perhaps one of your star pupils?” Lewis set the book down again. “Just a thought. Come for a walk with me, will you? I want to talk to you.”

“That sounds very serious.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I do have a serious side; I simply keep it well hidden. Come on, let’s get out into the sunshine or the rain—I have no idea what the weather is doing. Let’s stick to the gardens as a precaution. I am in the mood for a little introspection.”

“I really will miss you,” Margaret said, a few moments later as they walked arm-in-arm through the walled garden. “Have you decided what you are going to do when you get back to London—assuming that London is your destination?”

“For the moment. I have itchy feet, the one trait I share with Mervyn. I am thinking I might voyage to China.”

“China! Good heavens.”

“Or perhaps not. Perhaps I’ll get married, if I can find a female who understands me as you do, my dear.”

“If this is the prelude to a proposal, Lewis, I should warn you—”

He burst into a peal of laughter. “You deserve better than me, Margaret, and I need someone—oh, I need someone like Julia. A nice understanding woman who will make no demands and who will be waiting patiently for me when I come home from my travels. No,” he added, patting her hand, “don’t subject me to one of your reprimands. I admire Julia, I really do, but I did not ask you to come for a walk with me to talk about Julia or even myself, believe it or not. Let us talk about you. What are you going to do when I am gone?”

“It will be very dull here without you. I shall carry on at the school, I suppose.”

“But they have Breda now, don’t they?”