‘Mr Brown’s fine. I take comfort from that. I have to tell myself that one day he’ll die of old age and I’ll have to come to terms with that as best I can, but if anything should happen to him in any other way, if he were to have an accident or something . . .’ Louisa let the words hang in the air. ‘Anyway,’ she finished fiercely, ‘I mean to go on living for a long time yet . . . and exploring and laughing and loving.’

‘But not loving Adam?’ Marnie couldn’t help feeling sorry for the unknown Adam.

‘I’ll always love him – but not in the way he wants. He’s been terrific and I feel miserably guilty about him but I have to have my freedom.’

‘And do you have feelings for Christopher?’ asked Marnie, afraid to ask but needing to know. They looked at each other, liking each other despite their rival interest in the same man. Marnie felt as if her future depended on Louisa’s answer.

‘Well I’m certainly not in love,’ said Louisa honestly. ‘But I do find him wildly attractive and I could easily fall for him. I’d like to fall for him – and I’d certainly like him to fall for me! What about you?’

‘I really like him too,’ said Marnie, astonished to be making such an admission to anyone, even to herself – let alone to Louisa. ‘I guess I’m not too qualified to talk about love.’ And they looked at each other with understanding and some apprehension.

The concert in the evening was a great success. Amy played like a dream, and Isobel, a lump in her throat, thought she was being shown a glimpse of the future as she watched her gifted daughter gracefully acknowledging the applause, with just the right combination of youthful modesty and professional confidence. Even critical Valerie Benson was delighted with her former pupil’s performance. After a delicious buffet supper most of the audience departed but the Grants had invited a few special friends to stay on. The chairs were cleared from the theatre and the students of the creative writing week found themselves herded on to the floor to dance reels.

‘We can’t let our special guests leave Glendrochatt without taking part in our tribal dancing,’ announced Giles from the stage. ‘We must end on a carnival note. Amy will now transform herself from a mere violinist into a proper Scottish fiddler and Valerie and I will join her. For those of you who’ve never done it before, we’ll walk through each reel first and there are plenty of old hands to guide you through it.’

‘Old tribal custom or not, I can’t possibly dance reels,’ protested Morwenna. ‘I’m like an elephant! But I’d love to watch.’