When it was finished, she gave Robert the first viewing in the sitting room.

‘What do you think, Dad?’

A big grin lit up his face. ‘Beautiful. You look like a film star.’

‘Thank you, Dad.’

Maggie came bustling down from upstairs, holding a large tissue-wrapped parcel.

‘I was thinking you might be cold, and you don’t want to wear your old coat over your new dress.’

She handed the parcel to Marion, who unwrapped it. ‘Oh Mother! Your stole?’

‘Real rabbit,’ Maggie said.

Marion hugged her mother with true affection. ‘Thank you. Thank you for the dress, and all your hard work and now your stole. I feel like Cinderella.’

‘That’s good.’ Her mother squeezed her. ‘Only you are quite a lot older than Cinderella was.’

When George arrived on the big night, he looked her up and down in admiration. ‘If you don’t mind my saying, you are a wee bobby-dazzler, Marion.’ He produced a small box from behind his back. ‘I hope you like this?’

It was a corsage of two white roses to wear around her wrist.

Maggie jogged out of the kitchen to the front door. ‘George! You are wearing the kilt! I could never resist a man in a kilt.’ She shouted over her shoulder, ‘Robert, come and see what a gorgeous couple Marion and George make.’

When Robert appeared, he raised an eyebrow to George. ‘Forgive her, Maggie’s never seen a man in a kilt before.’

Maggie elbowed him hard in the ribs. ‘Of course I have! But you haven’t taken me anywhere I can see one for as long as I remember, that’s all. Now, Marion, let me put your corsage on for you.’

Both parents stood on the doorstep as they watched George help Marion, wrapped in her mother’s rabbit stole, into his little car, then waved until it was out of sight.

George drove the car skilfully, and Marion relaxed into the leather seat, allowing herself to feel a pleasure she was unused to. She glanced at George surreptitiously.

She hadn’t noticed how strong his profile was until now. A good jaw, straight nose, bushy eyebrows. His hairline was receding a little which, she thought, was not a fault, more of a sign of maturity and reliability. And his moustache was rather dashing.

She had noticed that he was quite a bit shorter than her as he had walked her to the car, but then, she was very tall for a woman. Perhaps she shouldn’t have worn heels after all.

He said very little as he drove, which she was thankful for, but as they arrived at the Glen Mule, he looked over to her, smiled, and took her hand. ‘Forgive me, I am rather nervous. It’s a long time since I have taken a lassie to dinner.’

It was a wonderful evening. The food and wine swept the cobwebs from serious, learned Marion, the Marion who could be shy and too sharp. That night she laughed at all George’s jokes and stories and made him laugh with tales of her childhood.