Isobel wondered what significance, if any, there was in his reticence. She thought he looked interesting, possibly the most interesting person in the group, except perhaps the grouchy Marnie who was intriguing too.

The Colonel, who said his name was John, wanted to write a history of his regiment; the retired schoolmistress announced in a breathlessly girlish voice that her name was really Barbara but she did hope they would all call her Bunty because that’s what her friends called her and she just knew they were all going to become the best of chums on this exciting venture. Her dearest ambition was to write stories for ‘little ones’ and she had brought several examples of her work, which she also illustrated, with her.

‘Aren’t we all really still children at heart?’ she enquired hopefully, though looking round the guarded circle of faces about her, Isobel didn’t feel Bunty was getting quite the response she was hoping for, any more than Stanley had.

Morwenna wrote a gardening column for a regional monthly magazine, which, she informed them gloomily, had a decreasing readership and was likely to go out of business soon, unless the newly appointed editor could dramatically increase the circulation; she needed to change her style of writing but hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it and didn’t expect to be able to manage it anyhow. Her friend, Joyce, a toothy but well-groomed woman with smooth bleached hair and immaculate make-up, looked a much breezier character. She kept a gift shop, which, she said, left her plenty of time during the winter to take up some other occupation, though she had had to get a friend to stand in for her this week, the tourist season having already started. Morwenna had persuaded her to come along. ‘I’ve no idea at all if I can write. I just thought the course sounded fun,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Excellent,’ said Catherine. ‘Fun is just what I hope it will be. A very good reason to try it.’

Isobel admired, as she often had before, the friendly way in which Catherine coped with her very varied students, dealing firmly with potential monopolisers like Stanley but quietly encouraging everyone, no matter who they were or what they were like. It was the third year that Catherine had come to Glendrochatt to run a writing course and places were always much in demand when she was the tutor. She had become a great favourite of the Grants who now regarded her as a personal friend and always looked forward to her visits.