His eyes held hers for a long moment. Something in her wanted to capture his look forever. It held love, trust and, yes, desire. He pulled her close. ‘I will imagine all night that I am in our bed with you. Imagine me there, too.’

‘I won’t be able to sleep. I might sit in my office all night, watching the boathouse, as that is the only window I can see it from.’

‘No, you mustn’t. Please promise that you will go to bed. Even if you don’t sleep, it iz for zee best.’

When he kissed her, the kiss lasted for a long, long moment. To Mags, it felt as though Montel was saying goodbye.

As he turned from her and went out of the door, she wanted to beg him to come back. But she knew it would be no use. Sinking onto a chair, she put her head onto the kitchen table and sobbed her heart out.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A flickering light woke Mags from her sleep. Two days had passed since her encounter with Harold and ever since she hadn’t been able to sleep, until tonight. Earlier she’d lain on the bed, fully clothed in readiness to get up every few moments and sit by the window in the office, but after spending most of the previous night there, she was exhausted and must have drifted off. Looking at the clock on her bedside table, she saw that it was two o’clock.

The light was unusual, as it danced on her walls. Catapulted to a sitting position, Mags swung her legs off the bed and slipped her feet into her shoes. As if her life depended on it, she ran to her office. What she saw started a scream from deep within her. The boathouse was on fire!

Hollering so loud that her throat hurt, she was outside before she’d registered that she’d come down the stairs. Something tripped her up. As she fell heavily, her breath left her body for a moment. When she recovered, she felt something under her. A dog! Rory’s? The animal didn’t protest at her falling over it or move a limb, making Mags realize that is was dead. But where was Rory? Oh God, where is everybody?

Mags didn’t feel the grazes and bruising she’d suffered from the fall and looked frantically around her. Betsy came through the door, a shawl wrapped round her shoulders and covering her nightshift. ‘Mags, eeh, lass, what’s to do? Oh God, the boathouse!’

‘Rory’s dog’s dead . . . and . . . Oh, Betsy, we have to get down there. Where’s Rory, and Montel? Montel!’ Screaming his name, Mags ran down the slope. Betsy caught up with her and took her hand.

When they rounded the corner, Mags felt her heart sink. The flames looked as though they were licking the sky. Suddenly she realized that others were out of their houses and were trying to douse the fire.

‘Montel! MONTEL!’

A hand caught her arm. ‘Lassie, you cannot go in there.’ Angus, a local, called out to Betsy, ‘Hold yon lassie back, hen.’