Cleo gave her a long, clear-eyed look. Lucy knew that her sister wanted to nag her about taking things easy and giving herself time to recover—all the things the doctor had also told her, in fact—but she didn’t want to hear it. It would only upset and irritate her. A tiny part of her hadn’t given up hope that she would soon be able to resume orchestral playing. The other part just didn’t want to talk about it. She certainly didn’t want them to quarrel. Cleo had been so kind and she meant well. Lucy knew her sister only wanted her to feel better and that was part of the problem. All her life she’d felt as though she was in debt to her family, that she owed them all because they had made enormous sacrifices for her career. As soon as she had shown any promise, her parents had saved every penny for her to have violin lessons with the best teachers that they could find. She suspected they’d even raided Cleo’s piggy bank for cash for her music lessons on more than one occasion. They’d paid for her to study in America and at the Guildhall School of Music in London. She’d tried to contribute to costs when she was old enough, of course, but between studying and playing she’d had little time for a job. And Cleo had never complained, not once, that she couldn’t have ballet lessons or learn to ride, or have new clothes like her friends because every penny went to Lucy... She owed her sister a vast debt in so many ways and sometimes the guilt was crushing, especially now they had made those sacrifices for nothing.

She raised a hand to shade her eyes, rubbing away a wayward tear whilst pretending she was looking at the view again. The orchard looked deliciously cool, the gnarled fruit trees casting spiky shadows on the lush grass. At the top was a small circular mound that looked man-made, it was so perfectly round. Lucy tilted her head slightly. It looked like the vantage point she had been standing on in her dream the previous night, with the orchard spread out below, where the man and the child had been walking between the trees...

A sharp bark interrupted them, then there was an equally brisk tap at the garden gate and a black Labrador stuck his nose around, then came bounding over to see them. He was followed rather more slowly by Finn MacIntyre. This morning he was dressed in what looked like an ancient pair of shorts, hiking boots and a faded denim blue T-shirt. He wore the casual attire and the outdoor tan that came with it with utter assurance, a man who seemed completely at ease in himself and his environment. Lucy felt an unwelcome prickle of awareness and at the same time a rush of awkwardness as she remembered their meeting the previous night.

Finn’s clothes might have been casual but the notebook in his hand looked completely professional and the camera he placed carefully on the table was top of the range. When the breeze ruffled the edges of the sketch pad Lucy saw drawing after drawing of plants, various garden designs and copious scribbled notes that were completely illegible.