Saturday morning dawned fair and found Anna waiting at the pier well before 6 a.m. She wasn’t the only person up and about, either – she passed Douglas McKean coming the other way as she left the cottage. Anna risked a smile and a quiet ‘hello’, but the old man ignored her. She thought the energy required to be so contrary was probably draining for one of such advanced years, and wondered why he found it necessary to be so dour. Part of Pat’s explanation – that he was the only original Crovie blood left in the village – made a kind of sense, she supposed, but still seemed to Anna to be a spurious reason. After all, if not for those who had chosen to make a life here – even a part-time one – Douglas McKean would be alone in a village crumbling to ruins. It must be more to do with the other aspect that Pat had mentioned, that McKean somehow thought he had a claim over the Fishergirl’s Luck.

Robert MacKenzie would be the one to ask, of course, and for several reasons – not least of which was Rhona’s teasing the day before – Anna was resolved to stay as far away from him as possible.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the whine of an on-board motor, and a couple of seconds later a small rear-powered skiff took a wide arc around the promontory and slowed as it angled into Crovie’s pier. Liam Harper saw her waiting and gave a broad smile.

‘Hope I’m not late,’ he called, as he killed the engine and threw her a tether. She wound it around the nearest post and, without any idea of how to tie an appropriate knot, held the free end while he climbed out to join her, carrying a white plastic crate.

‘Right on time,’ she said. ‘Thanks again. What have you brought me and how much do I owe you?’

‘Well, I hope this is all right, but it’s langoustines, not fish,’ he said, setting down the crate.

‘Perfect,’ Anna said. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s a relief,’ he grinned as he took the end of the rope from her and tied it off. ‘I didn’t want to be another disappointing male in your life. And I’ve brought you something else too, but you’ll have to give me a hand to get it out of the boat and down to the bothy.’

He turned and nodded at the skiff, and Anna saw that what she’d thought was an old wooden crate resting in the base of the boat was actually a picnic bench tilted on its side.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, astonished.

‘It’s a table, for your garden, like we talked about. Remember? Come on, give me a hand.’ Liam leapt back down into the boat and hefted the bench around.