‘Grannies can be useful confidantes sometimes, darling.’ Dorothy swivelled round on the chair. ‘So are you going to meet him today?’

Fiona nodded and looked at her watch.

‘Yeah, I’ll go over to the Green after lunch. Might need a large glass of wine first.’ She smiled. ‘Did he really say he loved me?’

* * *

Fiona left the house and headed for the Green. She had on her boots and raincoat, as Dorothy insisted rain was forecast. Also, she didn’t want to look as if she’d made too much effort. She could hardly eat at lunch, her stomach was churning. But she did manage to glug down a large glass of wine, as did Dorothy, who had cancelled her appointment and was going to continue trawling through Struan’s affairs.

As she crossed the grass, Fiona spotted a figure sitting on the old bench overlooking the river. She got nearer and saw it was him. Even from behind, he looked as if he’d not changed much. His hair was a bit shorter and he looked a lot thinner, but apart from that, it was the same old Pete. He turned round and beamed. Oh, he was handsome. She smiled and resisted the urge to run. No way would she just fall into his arms, he had six months of explaining to do.

He got up from the bench and stood, leaning on something. What on earth was it? When she saw it was a cricket bat, she smiled. It must be a present for Jamie. Pete had always said he’d buy him a bat in Australia. He put the bat down on the bench and came towards her. She continued walking towards him, taking in his dimple and the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled, trying to tell herself not to get carried away, not to forget how he’d hurt her and Jamie. But he looked like the same gentle, loving Pete she remembered. She stood in front of him and he gazed at her.

‘Christ, Fi, you look nervous!’

‘I’ve not seen you for so long, I was terrified I’d forget what you looked like.’

He smiled and leant in towards her. ‘I’ve never forgotten anything about you, Fi.’

CHAPTER 53

Chapter 53

Tuesday 13 January 1880

‘There’s a note for you, Mrs Craig.’ Jessie bobbed and held out a silver tray.

‘Thank you. Where is Mrs Baxter this morning?’

‘Says she doesn’t feel good, she’s staying in the kitchen.’

‘I see. And are the children still upstairs with Miss Graham in the nursery?’

‘Aye.’

Ann took the note into the drawing room and turned it over. It was his writing. She must calm herself before reading it. She poured herself a glass of Madeira which she quaffed in one, then headed over to the window seat. Ripping the letter open with the paper knife, she began to read.

My darling Ann,