Though in one way Marnie could hardly bear to say goodbye to the castle, there was suddenly so much to look forward to in the future for both of them that they felt ready to go south. Before they left Glendrochatt, Christopher had e-mailed the novel to Jonathan Mercer’s agent, Barry Forster at Barnes & Peterson. ‘The magic of technology,’ he said. ‘It took me eighteen months to write in longhand and about two minutes to send all thirty chapters to London. Fingers crossed he’ll like it.’ He was very much looking forward to meeting Barry Forster.

Christopher was adamant that it was too far for Marnie to drive from north of Inverness to Warwickshire in one day, so at the suggestion of Jeff and Cherry Barton they booked into a Wolsey Lodge run by some friends of theirs only a few miles off the M6 near Carlisle.

They had a hilarious evening, much entertained by Marge and Dahlia, the joint owners. The contrast in style with Finterie Lodge could not have been greater. Here all was glitz and glitter, as though a thieving magpie had been responsible for the decor. Jelly moulds and warming pans, old horse brasses and kettles – there was hardly an inch of wall surface that wasn’t covered with gleaming copper and brass; gold-sprayed bulrushes stood to attention in fireplaces and wallpapers had a metallic sheen. Venetian glass ornaments, at their garish worst, competed for position with multi-coloured art deco lamps and there were several eye-catching examples of the work of a local artist who specialised in collages made from milk-bottle tops. Glass baubles, dangling dangerously from light fittings in the low-ceilinged rooms, made Christopher complain that he needed a tin hat to avoid concussion every time he got to his feet. Wind chimes tinkled in the garden.

‘Oh brother! Wouldn’t I love to see this place at Christmas,’ exclaimed Marnie, awed by such an Aladdin’s cave of collectively terrible taste. ‘What do you suppose they get up to then?’

‘Imagination boggles.’

But their two hostesses were kindness itself, the food at dinner was good if rather elaborate and the bed in the frilled and flounced bedroom was large and comfortable. They both relished this extra night together before they had to expose their developing relationship to the scrutiny of relations and friends.

‘Hold me,’ whispered Marnie, turning to Christopher in the small hours of the morning. ‘Please hold me very tight.’