The Copper Horse was now maybe one hundred yards away. No sign of George yet, but there were still a few minutes in hand.

What would they say when they saw each other again?

She walked with purpose, her breathing increasing with every step.

Fifty yards.

Ten yards.

Five yards.

She reached the base of the monument.

He wasn’t there.

Well, she told herself, she had left early and walked quickly.

A movement to her left caught her attention and as she turned, a pair of hands clamped themselves over her eyes.

She gave a little yelp. ‘George?’

‘Aye.’ His familiar deep voice was as sweet as Scottish air.

She laughed. ‘Let me see you.’

He stood before her, dressed in good tweed trousers and his familiar overcoat and trilby hat. He put his hand into one of his pockets and brought out a sprig of white heather tied with a tartan ribbon. ‘From near home – picked specially to remind you of home and to bring you … us … luck.’ He handed it to her with a courtier’s bow

‘Oh, George!’ She lifted the flowers to her nose; they smelt of the Scottish hills.

He asked, ‘Do you forgive me for missing you at the tearoom?’

‘I was so worried.’

‘How do you think I felt when you weren’t there?’

‘I was there until closing time. The waitress told you.’

‘I am only kidding you. I am so sorry I had to wait for the interview at the bank. However …’ He grinned. ‘I have good news.’

She gripped the heather, not noticing the prickles in her palm. ‘You got the job?’

‘Aye.’

‘How wonderful. Does it mean you’ll be working in London?’

He looked around them. ‘Is there anywhere we could go to talk comfortably? Maybe get that cup of tea at last?’

Marion checked her small watch and sighed. ‘I don’t have much time. Can’t we just sit here? It’s such a lovely day.’

‘But the grass is damp.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind.’

‘Well, we can sit on my coat. I wouldn’t want you to get your skirt damp.’

Marion watched as he spread his coat. It seemed such a romantic gesture, and she felt her heart swell. He took her hand and helped her to sit down comfortably on the bottle-green coat. It still held the warmth of him.

‘There now.’ He lay, propped on one arm. ‘Tell me all your news. You don’t write as much as you used to. I miss your letters.’

‘When I hadn’t heard from you for a while I thought maybe you were bored by them. By me.’

‘How could I be? And it’s not just the letters I have missed.’ His deep brown eyes wandered over her face. ‘How are you, Marion?’

‘I’m happy to see you.’ He was here in front of her at last. She was floating somewhere above herself, looking down on them. She swallowed hard, tried to bring herself back to the moment. ‘I can’t believe you are really here.’