‘Off you go.’ Maggie pushed them both out onto the doorstep and shut the door behind them.

Out in the light snow, shame made Marion shiver. ‘I am so sorry about my mother. It’s the sherry. She’s not used to it.’

‘Och, she’s a lovely woman, but you don’t have to stay out here. Go on in, it’s cold.’

Marion shivered again and pulled her coat over her shoulders. ‘I should be wearing the lovely gloves you gave me.’

‘I’m glad you like them. Well, goodnight.’ He took the few steps to his car. ‘This snow is settling.’ He reached out and brushed a frosty layer from the cars windscreen. ‘Another reason for me to remember such a special day.’ He brushed his hands against his coat and opened the car door. ‘Well, goodbye then.’

‘George?’

‘Yes, Marion?’

‘It’s not that I can’t tell people about my job. It’s just that …’

‘Are you asking me to be discreet?’

‘Would you do that?’

‘Of course. I completely understand.’

‘Thank you.’

George pulled his coat collar to his ears. ‘I admire your loyalty.’

‘Thank you again for my gloves.’

‘My pleasure. And, look … if you do find yourself free on New Year’s Eve …’

‘I—’ she began, but he stopped her.

‘Think about it. I’ll ring you up.’ He looked at her and smiled, his eyes warm, his deep voice gentle. ‘It would be my honour to escort you.’

She watched as he climbed into his car, his headlamps lighting the snowflakes as he drove away.

And in that moment, she knew she trusted him. He had bought her a thoughtful but not overly expensive gift. He seemed to like her but was gentle in his invitation. She knew he wouldn’t tell anyone about her work, and there was just something about him that made her feel secure. She hoped he would ring.

Two days later he did. Her parents were out so there was no one to overhear their conversation. She had made her mind up to spend New Year’s Eve with him, so when she picked up the receiver on the hall table and tugged it so that she could sit on the stairs and watch herself in the small hall mirror, she felt no nervousness.

‘Hello, Marion Crawford speaking.’

‘Hello, Marion?’

‘Hello, George.’

‘How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you. And you?’

‘Good, thanks. Erm, I was telephoning about New Year’s Eve …’

‘Yes?’ She cradled the phone a little closer, his voice purring in her ear.

‘Well, if you are not doing anything else, it would be my honour to take you out.’

‘I would love to.’

She heard him draw breath, then his laugh of relief. ‘Wonderful. I can pick you up at about six thirty?’

‘That will be fine. Where are we going?’

‘The Glen Mule. They are having a Hogmanay dinner dance. Can you dance the eightsome reel?’

‘Of course. First dance my mother taught me.’

‘I’ll have to brush up then. By the way, I had better warn you, apart from two left feet, I’ll be in my kilt.’