Susan snorted. ‘Please. I bet, like anything of that sort, all the real hard work is someone else’s.’

Anna allowed herself a smile at that. ‘Anyway, I’m not there anymore.’

‘How long had you worked there?’ Pat asked.

‘Since it opened. Fifteen years, give or take. Long enough. Too long, to be honest.’

‘I like his programmes,’ Marie volunteered. ‘There’s a new one starting next week, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, I read a thing about it yesterday,’ Rhona said, and Anna’s heart sank. ‘It sounds quite good. He went out and found little out-of-the-way places in the UK and learned new recipes from the owners. Pity there’s nowhere here he could come, I’ve always rather fancied him. He’s recently split up with his long-term partner too, apparently. Another opportunity lost to me! Come on, Anna, reopen the Inn and persuade him to visit, for my sake!’

Everyone laughed. Anna felt Pat watching her and kept her eyes on her glass, instead. Then the doorbell rang. She was nearest the door and saw a chance for an escape, however brief.

‘Shall I – get that?’

‘Sure, love,’ Pat said with a smile, as if she could read Anna from across the room. ‘It’ll be Old Robbie. He said he was going to be late.’

She was so preoccupied with the excruciating mess of a conversation behind her that she went into the hallway and opened the door without really thinking about what was on the other side of it. She’d heard ‘Old Robbie’ and her mind had conjured the grizzled, weather-beaten face of Douglas McKean. So when she pulled open the door to be confronted by a man who could be mistaken for Robert Redford in his forties, standing on the step with a broad smile and a bottle of wine in each hand, Anna’s mental processes ground to a complete and utter halt.

‘Um – hi,’ he said, his smile faltering after a few seconds of her silence. ‘You must be… Anna?’ He wrestled one bottle under his left arm and held out a hand. ‘I’m Robert MacKenzie. I sold you the Fishergirl’s Luck?’

Anna opened her mouth but found it still wasn’t connected to her brain. She closed it again, then shook his hand and finally managed to take a step back to let him in.

‘Of course, sorry,’ she said, in a rush. ‘Sorry, sorry. Come in, they’re all in the sitting room. It’s nice to meet you.’

He moved past her, looking a little wary. Not surprising, she supposed, and kicked herself.

‘Sorry,’ she said again, feeling a need to explain herself. ‘But – you’re not old.’

He blinked, then frowned. ‘I’m not – what?’