Giles and Isobel had already heard from three of the participants of the writing week, though not, to their relief, from Stanley Heslington. Win had written a charming letter to say that the week had been a turning point in her life. She had signed on for a creative writing class run by her local WEA, and sent off a couple of articles to a Yorkshire countryside magazine and one to her local paper as suggested by Catherine. She intended to do an Open University course and had already booked to go up to London in the autumn for a writing weekend-workshop run by Catherine. She was sorry, she said, that Glendrochatt had not been as beneficial for Stanley as it had been for her, but after all, she added loyally, he already had his own local literary successes and would continue with those as before. Joyce sent a colourful, jumbo-sized card of various Cornish beauty spots, to say she’d loved the course and the company but had come to the conclusion that she was better suited as a shopkeeper than an author. I know my own limitations! she put. She was looking forward to hearing all the latest Glendrochatt news when Morwenna got back. Bunty had sent an effusive missive, written in purple ink on pale pink, wavy-edged writing paper which she had illustrated lavishly with dancing haggises in Highland dress. She wrote that she was busy with her new project and would keep everyone posted about its progress. Watch this space!!!! she ended thrillingly.

If Isobel seemed a little detached and preoccupied at dinner that was because a telephone call earlier in the day had given her much to think about and there had so far been no opportunity for her to tell Giles about it or discuss it in private.

‘I’m glad St Andrews was such a success. How did you and Marnie get on together?’ she asked Louisa, standing at the foot of the stairs, before they went up to bed.

‘We had a great time – really fun. She can be extremely good company. She’s full of surprises.’

Louisa didn’t tell Isobel how comforted she had been by Marnie’s reaction to her owl dream. She’d been amazed to find herself confiding such a seemingly trivial, but to her disturbing, personal incident to someone she knew so little and had been grateful to Marnie, not only for taking it seriously, but for providing such a plausible explanation, and one that she had not thought of for herself. ‘I almost wish I didn’t like her so much,’ she said jokingly. ‘You’ll be relieved to know, Izzy, that I think I’m giving up my bid for Christopher’s attention!’

‘And is that because you’d hate to hurt Marnie if he switched his attention to you, or because you know you haven’t a hope anyway?’ Isobel teased.