Isobel led the way, back through the hall and down a passage to the covered way that led to the theatre and across a courtyard to the pretty old farm buildings that the Grants had converted into accommodation for the visiting artists, musicians or students who attended the various events that took place during the spring and summer. She chatted brightly away, explaining about the changes she and Giles had made and how they had based their idea for the centre on the original fortnight’s summer music festival which Giles’s parents had started years ago. Louisa, who knew the past history of Glendrochatt and was genuinely impressed at all the alterations, responded enthusiastically, but Marnie Donovan walked along in silence.

‘Have you anything more you want from your car, Marnie, and if so would you like help to carry anything?’ asked Isobel.

‘I’ve got my laptop and a few bits and pieces – nothing I can’t manage myself.’

‘Let me take your bag for you then, and we’ll wait while you collect whatever else you need.’

‘Goodness,’ said Louisa as they watched Marnie walk across the car park. ‘What a charmer! Hope the rest of them aren’t like her. I don’t know how you managed to stay so friendly, Izzy, after she was so rude and disagreeable.’

Isobel laughed. ‘Oh well, it’s my job. We have to try to please the punters, you know! Wonder what’s eating her though . . . she looks so unhappy. But she’ll probably mellow – people usually do. She’s not the first tricky customer we’ve had and I don’t suppose she’ll be the last. See if you can befriend her.’

‘Hmm. I might.’ Louisa looked noncommittal. ‘I don’t like grumpy people. I’ll sit out here and wait while you take her in.’

After she had shown Marnie to her room, pointed out the bathroom and the facilities for making hot drinks, suggested that she might like to walk round the grounds – ‘Please feel free to go anywhere’ – and told her that she hoped she’d come over to the house for a pre-dinner drink at seven o’clock, Isobel collected Louisa and took her to look at the theatre.

Leaning on the windowsill of the charming little bedroom above, Marnie Donovan watched them go. They looked so relaxed and companionable, she thought, chatting and laughing together, with the dogs frolicking around them: the epitome of easy friendship. She could see two cars coming up the drive. Other participants, no doubt. More people to contend with . . . more people to offend . . . oh, God.

She turned back into the room, slumped on the bed and buried her face in her hands. ‘Shit,’ she said to herself, ‘oh shit. Why, oh why have I done it again? Why do I always have to be like this, alienating people before I’ve even started to know them?’ Isobel Grant had been conscientiously friendly, but there had been something about the way the tall fair young woman had looked at her that made her feel like a bit of flotsam washed up on a beach. Snooty cow, thought Marnie, who does she think she is with her wah-wah voice, her confidence and her airs and graces?