‘Thank you,’ Anna smiled. ‘It’s just… I suppose I had reached an impasse in my career, and I’ve no real idea of what to do next. That’s another reason I ended up buying in Crovie, really. Thanks to the sale of my parent’s place, I was able to buy the Fishergirl’s Luck without a mortgage, and with my own savings and what Dad left me, I’ve got enough to live on for a year, maybe longer if I’m really careful. My plan was to use the time to figure out what I’m going to do for the rest of my life, because for years I’ve felt… I don’t know, a bit lost, I suppose. As if I’m aimlessly drifting along.’

Rhona tutted in sympathy. ‘Aye, hen, I know what that’s like, believe me.’

‘But now,’ Anna gestured to the plates that Frank and Pat were offering around, ‘after making my own food, exactly the way I wanted – I’ve realized how much a part of me it is. It’s what I do, it’s what I am. It’s how my brain works! So now I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it. I’ll have to work out where I want to work. That’ll probably dictate where I go.’

‘You should reopen the Crovie Inn,’ Philip suggested. ‘That place has a whole kitchen sitting there, not being used.’

There was an enthusiastic chorus of ‘yeses’, but Anna demurred. ‘Oh, I’d never be able to run my own place. I’m strictly a kitchen urchin, built for taking orders, not leading from the pass.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Frank asked.

Anna opened her mouth to reply and then stopped. They had been Geoff’s words, she realized, never hers. She’d been hearing them for so long – her entire career – that she’d never before thought to examine the truth in them.

‘I’m… I don’t have the experience,’ she said, shaken by her realization. ‘Or the capital, either.’

‘Well, I think it’s a great idea, and it’s obvious that the food wouldn’t be a problem. Where was it that you worked in London?’ Terry asked. ‘What sort of place? It must have been fine dining, judging by what you’ve fed us here.’

Anna gulped a mouthful of wine, the nerves of earlier returning. For a moment she wondered whether she should lie, and then decided that the truth was the only option. ‘It was a restaurant called the Four Seasons.’

‘Bloody hell,’ David said. ‘You mean Geoff Rowcliffe’s place? Didn’t that get another Michelin star last year?’

‘Yes,’ Anna said quietly. ‘It did. We did.’

There was a moment of silence, and then Rhona laughed.

‘Crovie has a Michelin-starred chef!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

‘Not me. It was the kitchen, under Geoff.’