The Grants had come down to London for a meeting with lawyers to discuss legal arrangements for Rory’s future, and it had been Giles’s idea to have a mini reunion with some of the participants from the writing week in May. They always tried to have a week away from Glendrochatt after the season had finished and before they settled in to the Scottish winter and the psychological adjustment of having their house to themselves again. Giles had already planned most of the events for the following year and October was a month to which they both looked forward with pleasure and relief.

The day before, Isobel, needled by the sartorial humiliation she had endured at the hands of Lorna on her last visit to London, had treated herself to a London haircut and paid a satisfying but expensive visit to Pantalon Chameleon in Duke of York Square where she had bought a pair of purple suede trousers, this purchase then necessitating another little trip to Brora, further down the King’s Road, to find a trendy cardigan to go with them. Giles had been very enthusiastic about the result of this spending spree and Isobel was feeling uncharacteristically groomed and chic.

‘Who do you think will arrive next?’ asked Giles. ‘The Newly-Weds or the Still Walking Outs?’

‘Well, here comes someone,’ said Isobel, peering out on to the street through the big plate glass windows. ‘Oh, good – it’s Christopher and Marnie. Oh, Giles, isn’t it lovely to see them like this – laughing together and looking so happy? Wonderful to think they met under our roof. Cupid was busy at Glendrochatt this summer, wasn’t he?’

A good deal of noisy greeting and much hugging and kissing ensued as Christopher and Marnie came in through the door.

‘Oh, wow, Isobel! Don’t you just look a million dollars,’ said Marnie, standing back and looking at her admiringly.

‘Well don’t sound so surprised – it’s my new cool image. You don’t look too bad yourself. Being the chatelaine of a castle must suit you,’ said Isobel, laughing.

‘And here comes the bride,’ announced Giles. ‘Morwenna . . . John . . . great to see you both. How are you? But I don’t need to ask!’