He turned to look at her, and she was struck by how old he looked. Perhaps he’d been kept awake by the storm and hadn’t slept, she thought. He and Pat had been busy with the B&B at full capacity for weeks now, and the pace was obviously taking its toll.

‘Morning, love. I’m running breakfast around for Dougie. His kitchen – well, what he calls a kitchen – is still out of commission.’

‘When did that happen?’

‘That slip a few weeks back,’ said her neighbour. ‘He won’t let anyone but Old Robbie in to fix it, and the poor lad has got enough on his plate as it is. Pat and I said we’d make sure he’s fed until it’s sorted.’

Anna frowned. ‘Oh, Frank – you and Pat have got enough of your own to do.’

Frank lifted one shoulder in a shrug and smiled. ‘It’s what neighbours do, love. Otherwise it’d be Old Robbie having to run over here umpteen times a week. Can’t let the old man starve now, can we?’

Anna let him go but the conversation lingered as she prepped for lunchtime service. She served black cod on sticky rice with samphire and a sauce influenced by Japanese flavours, followed by a sorbet shot through with sea purslane and apple alongside a twist of caramel brittle and a shortbread crumble. It was an idea that had lingered in her mind since the night she’d looked after Young Robbie, and she tried not to think of him or his father as she made it.

‘This is truly inspired,’ said one of her guests, whose face was vaguely familiar though Anna couldn’t quite place it. ‘I’ve loved this. A lot of chefs talk about taking food to another level but I think this is the first time I’ve actually thought a chef has achieved it. Ironic, since I’ve not heard you say such a thing at all.’

Anna thanked the woman as she took her empty dessert plate. ‘I’m using what I have, that’s all,’ she said. ‘My dishes are pretty simple, really. It’s a lot about the setting, I think.’

‘As all the best chefs do,’ the woman replied. ‘As all the best meals are.’

Her takings, which were always fair, seemed to be far higher than usual that day.

Later, as Anna cleaned down, she looked at the ingredients she hadn’t used and realized that there was enough for another small meal. She went over and knocked on Pat’s door, following her friend into the kitchen when she answered.

‘I can do Douglas McKean’s dinner tonight,’ Anna said. ‘In fact, why don’t we say I’ll do it every night that I’m running lunches. Take some of the pressure off you.’

Pat looked surprised. ‘Oh, you don’t have to do that.’