It was the best thing that could happen, if you ask me. You were too good to be working for Michael Brown and his silly family. His grandfather once tried to kiss me, you know … brazen old coot.

‘Gran?’ Elle shook her head irritably. She was just missing her, that’s all.

Of course it’s me. You have no idea how difficult it’s been trying to get your attention around here lately. Sit down and have something to eat. You look pale, darling.

Elle wasn’t sure if she sank or collapsed into the nearby seat at the kitchen table—either way, she was grateful for the chair because she wasn’t sure how long she could have remained standing. Maybe she’d slipped over and hit her head and didn’t remember doing it?

Her gaze fell on the plate of freshly baked biscuits and she once again felt a little lightheaded. She hadn’t made these, and she doubted very much if anyone else would have dropped them off. Her mother didn’t bake, and there were dishes in the sink from this morning’s breakfast—but no baking paraphernalia.

They smelled amazing. Gingerly, she reached out and touched one, certain they would disappear like the illusion they were. But they didn’t. The biscuits were still warm. She dropped the round, buttery treat back onto the plate and stared at it.

They’re just the way you like them—crunchy enough for dipping.

‘Gran, what’s happening? Why can I hear you?’

I know it’s a wee bit dramatic, but it was the only way I could get your attention.

‘My attention … for what?’

For keeping your promise to me. I want to go home.

Elle looked around nervously. ‘Gran … you died,’ she said quietly.

Well, I know that, Gran said wryly. It was a lovely service, by the way. The flowers were beautiful.

The garden club had outdone themselves for the occasion, and it had touched the family deeply that they’d gone to so much trouble.

And I was chuffed by the Lady of Glencoe bit on the service program, Gran added.

As a Christmas gift last year, Elle had bought a tiny plot of land through a heritage charity that was selling titles to fund nature reserves throughout Scotland. It was done as a bit of a joke, but Gran had taken the title seriously and from that day forward had addressed all her correspondence using her title, Lady Iona of Glencoe.

But the fact remains that the last time we spoke, you promised me you’d take me home, she continued.

‘Gran, that was before you had the fall,’ Elle started to point out, trying not to feel ridiculous for having an argument with her grandmother who wasn’t even there.

Not that time … in the hospital. I asked you to take me to Stormeil.