After a few miles she caught sight of Glendrochatt. She had forgotten what a landmark the old house was as it stood against the dark, wooded hills behind: a tall house, harled white, grey-slated and dominated by a central tower – a romantic house, almost a castle, really, thought Louisa. What a setting for creative writing! She wondered what her fellow students would be like, but if she felt a little doubtful about her writing capabilities in the week ahead it did not occur to her to be anxious about human relationships. Louisa, who had been loved and cherished all her life, had the happy gift of expecting to find friendship wherever she went and was seldom disappointed.

The wrought-iron gates were open and it was with a sense of adventure that she turned into the mile-long drive and rattled over the cattle grid. There were still a few primroses embedded in the moss on the shady side, but where the ground fell away on the sunny side, the sweep of daffodils which she remembered were always spectacular in April were now mostly over; the great beech trees had started to come into leaf and though it was too soon for the later azaleas and rhododendrons for which the grounds were famous to be at their very best, some early varieties made vivid splashes of apricot and yellow and pink. She wound down her window and breathed in their honeyed scent, together with great gulps of air that smelt of moss and peat and the coconutty smell of gorse. Halfway up the hill, where the drive divided, there were two notices. The one pointing right said TO GLENDROCHATT ARTS CENTRE, OLD STEADING THEATRE AND CAR PARK and the smaller one to the left simply said PRIVATE. After a moment’s hesitation Louisa took the left hand fork and drove round to the front of the house. Stone steps arched up to the front door over what might once have been a moat but now held sunken flowerbeds that were filled with spring bulbs. Hyacinth and tulips were coming out and green Alchemilla mollis sprawled elegantly over the edge of the beds. Louisa happily tooted her horn, got out of the car and stretched.

‘Louisa! Hi there!’ Isobel Grant, a wooden garden trug filled with white ‘pheasant eye’ narcissi over one arm, was coming up through the rhododendron bushes below the house accompanied by two dogs. She was wearing ancient gumboots and a rather grubby fleece. Isobel might not be conventionally pretty but looking at her bright, amusing face Louisa was reminded again of how attractive she was.

‘Oh, how lovely to see you,’ said Isobel now, dropping the trug on the bottom step and giving Louisa a welcoming hug. ‘I did so hope you’d manage to arrive before the others. It’s far too long since we’ve seen you. Giles and I were so pleased when you booked for this course. How are you?’ She looked at the younger woman appraisingly. ‘Goodness, you look well, Louisa – you look stunning!’