‘You’ve been wonderful. I never expected half as much.’ Marnie thought Evelyn Fergusson suddenly looked very tired and she and Christopher were getting to their feet just as Isobel reappeared with Louisa and the Colonel and Morwenna.

They all made their farewells with many expressions of appreciation. Morwenna wrote her Cornish address down for Evelyn and promised to send her a draft of a possible article about the gardens; Evelyn explained to Isobel exactly where Eilean Dobhran was to be found, north-west of Inverness, and Marnie promised to keep in touch and let her know what happened in the next stage of the search. Evelyn insisted on walking to the front door to see them off.

‘I wish I could repay your Lucy-Anne, my Contessa, for all she did for me,’ said Marnie. ‘It’s awful not being able to thank her.’

‘Repay her by being happy,’ said Evelyn unexpectedly.

‘Oh,’ said Marnie, surprised. ‘I’ll remember that. And thank you more than I can say. You’ve made her come alive for me again – and it all fits.’

As Isobel drove them down the Tillydrum drive, Flapper and Lozenge respectively hurtling and puffing their way to the bottom again, Marnie looked back and saw another gallant old lady still standing on the steps of her house, waving them goodbye.

Chapter Twenty-four

Dinner that night, at the round table in the kitchen, was like a happy, informal gathering of old friends and Giles and Isobel felt that they had succeeded in achieving the atmosphere they aimed for at Glendrochatt and were well pleased. Marnie couldn’t stop thanking them both for having taken her to Tillydrum. ‘I really lucked out there,’ she said, shaking her head in wonder and sparkling away in a manner that would have seemed impossible when she first arrived. She and Morwenna had both been fascinated by the eclectic mix of treasures and junk, the threadbare and the opulent, in Evelyn Fergusson’s house and said they’d never encountered anything like it before. Was it unusual?

Giles roared with laughter. ‘Oh, it’s very common in this part of the world – dealers call it “shabby chic”. I have to tell you, Marnie, that most of your compatriots either think it totally incomprehensible or prize it out of all proportion. It will be interesting to see what style you adopt yourself if you become chatelaine of your own castle!’ he teased. ‘I await developments with interest.’

‘Well I certainly don’t intend to invest in piles of old newspapers by way of furnishings,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t think anyone could assemble all that clobber on purpose.’