‘If you take Thor,’ Morag handed her a rope, attached to which was a solid blue-grey pony, ‘I’ll bring Mouse and Rhona, and we can take them down to the bottom
field.’
Thor surveyed her through huge, liquid-brown eyes fringed with lashes that a supermodel would die for. His forelock reached down to his nose, like a 1980s pop star. Kate was in love. They
clopped down the drive in a cloud of ponies’ breath.
‘So what brings you to Auchenmor?’
‘Oh, I just fancied something different.’ Kate attempted nonchalance. ‘Bit of a chance to escape from reality.’
Morag looked at Kate and raised her eyebrows.
‘Oh yes? What was his name then?’ She laughed, clicking the gate shut and turning away from the field. ‘I tell you what: why don’t you tell me the whole story over
breakfast. I like a wee bit of gossip with my bacon.’
Kate opened her mouth, then shut it. Jean had been right about everyone knowing everything. It was going to be excruciating if she had to tell the whole Ian saga to every person she met. It
sounded a bit pathetic to say she’d escaped to the island to recover from breaking up with Ian – especially when the truth was that she didn’t miss him at all.
Sitting at the table, frozen fingers hugging a cup of tea, Kate watched Morag prepare bacon and eggs. The kitchen was huge. A battered leather sofa in one corner was dominated
by two Burmese cats, which had looked at her disdainfully when she’d entered. In contrast she’d been greeted effusively by Timmy, a skittering Jack Russell, and presented with a tea
towel by Bert, a smiling Labrador retriever. Kate was desperate to investigate the huge bookcase, which was stuffed two layers deep in places. BBC Radio 4 was playing in the background, a soothing
mutter that reminded her of her father.
As a child, she’d sit for hours in his study, drawing ponies on the back of discarded manuscripts, while he sat at his desk, always forgetting to drink his tea until it was cold.
He’d been a huge giant of a dad, big shoulders in a long overcoat in winter, coming in from the office smelling of damp wool and buses and rainy, wintry Cambridge streets. Even as a little
girl Kate had loved spending time in the office with him, charming his authors with her sweet, shy smile. She loved being flung up and caught in his big, capable hands, until one day she was thrown
up in the air and he wasn’t there to catch her. He’d walked out of the door, battered leather briefcase in hand, and never come home. Kate hadn’t spoken for a year after the
accident, stunned into silence by misery. Her mother, tortured with guilt at her last words to her husband being bitter ones, was suffocating in her need to prove herself a loving and ever-present
parent. When Kate began speaking again, a year after her father’s death, her mother saw that as confirmation that she was on the right track.
She’s been smothering me ever since, thought Kate.
Looking out of the window, she could see ponies grazing and, beyond the woods, glimpses of a rocky outcrop reaching into the sea. She found herself feeling curiously at home.
‘Here you are.’ Morag slid a plate of bacon, eggs and mushrooms across the table. ‘Now eat up and tell me all. I need to live vicariously through you young people, now
I’m an old lady.’
Morag, with her lined, still-beautiful, almost masculine face, didn’t look like the sort of old lady who sat around drinking tea and waiting for gossip to come to her. Her dark eyes
twinkled as she sat down opposite Kate, pouring the tea out of a huge Bridgewater pot. Despite Kate’s misgivings, Morag seemed so straightforward and kind and kindred-spiritish that Kate
found herself pouring out the whole story. How she’d met Ian at university and how his solid, comfortable nature had made her feel safe. How they’d ended up moving in together, not
because it was romantic, but because Ian had been offered a job in Kate’s home town of Cambridge and it seemed sensible. How being sensible had driven Kate slightly mad, and she’d found
herself wanting to scream. How she’d ended up feeling trapped and lonely and unsure. How she was determined to spend time on the island trying to work out who she was, without the influence
of a man. How she was looking forward to being single and living alone.
Morag listened intently, elbows on the table, silently topping up Kate’s mug with tea, watching as the girl’s breakfast grew cold.
‘So here I am. I have three days a week to be a Girl Friday, although I still don’t really know what that means, and the rest of the time I’m going to just be. That probably
sounds a bit selfish, doesn’t it?’ Kate looked down at her breakfast. ‘I’m sorry. You must think me very rude and self-obsessed. Your lovely cooking . . . ’
Morag scooped up the plate. ‘Five minutes in here,’ she said, popping it into the bottom oven of the Aga, ‘and it’ll be as right as rain. And no, I don’t think
you’re any of those things. I think you’re very sensible.’
Morag sat down on the bench beside Kate, putting her hand on her arm and giving it a squeeze. Kate felt her eyes fill with unexpected tears.
‘You’re not the first person to find yourself drawn to Auchenmor. I think there’s a wee bit of magic about this place. And, after thirty years of marriage, I can tell you that
the first thing you need to do before you think about finding someone else is to work out who you are.’
‘Is that what you did?’ Kate wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
Morag smiled: a small, wry, remembering smile. ‘Oh, you don’t want to go listening to me. I did it all the wrong way round. I wouldn’t recommend doing it my way.’
There was a tale there, but not one for today. Morag took her hand from Kate’s arm with a final reassuring squeeze. She retrieved the breakfast from the warming oven, and the conversation
turned to island life, Highland ponies and Kate’s plans to redecorate the cottage. It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours ago she’d been setting off from Cambridge.
An hour later, and clad in a pair of spare wellington boots and a padded coat (‘I keep them here for Anna, my daughter-in-law, not that they get up here all that often,’ Morag had
explained, giving Kate a pile of thick jumpers, and a fruit cake at the same time), Kate returned to her cottage. Dropping off her gifts, she grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, then locked the
door of the cottage behind her. A strong wind had blown up out of nowhere, and she could hear the waves crashing down on the shore. She scrunched along the gravel pathway through the trees and down
to have a look.
She could see something moving on the rocks as she walked closer. Slowing down, she realized it was a group of seals. They were staring at her with mild curiosity, but not
making any attempts to move.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’
The voice behind her took her by surprise and she shrieked, jumping into the air.
As one, the seals plopped into the water, startled by the sudden sound.
Kate spun round.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright,’ said an impossibly gorgeous specimen of gorgeousness. Oops, thought Kate. Still, no harm in looking.
‘Tom MacKelvie.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m the gamekeeper here at Duntarvie.’
Trying not to blush furiously at thoughts of Mellors, which were racing through her mind, Kate shook his hand.
‘And yes, I’ve heard all the jokes about Lady Chatterley’s lover,’ Tom winked. ‘Fortunately for me, there isn’t a lady of the house and, no matter how many
times he asks, I’ve told Roderick he’s not my type.’
Kate laughed, trying to look as if the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Tom was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and managed to make a battered green shooting jersey look the
height of style. He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater as he explained, showing off deeply tanned, muscular arms – the result of hours of physical work presumably, rather than evenings
spent at the gym.
‘We get a fair few seals on the island,’ Tom broke through her musings, just in time. ‘Although we don’t usually see so many round this side. This time of year
they’re arriving to breed.’ He pointed out a group of dark-grey heads, bobbing up and down in the water. ‘The grey seal pups are born from now, in September, through to the middle
of December. It’s mainly grey seals we have living around the island.’
‘They’re beautiful.’ Kate could have watched them all day. ‘So graceful in the water.’
‘They are indeed. Will you walk with me?’
Kate gulped. He was so incredibly handsome that her knees were having a wobbly moment. He looked like a film star, all bright-blue eyes and suntan and white teeth and dark hair and—
‘Have you met Susan yet? I’m just going up for a cup of tea – why don’t you come and say hello?’ He turned and started stalking up the path on long legs, leaving
Kate scuttling behind.
At this rate, Kate thought, I’ll still be exploring the island by Christmas. And I have no idea who Susan is.
‘No, I’ve met Morag, who cooked me a gorgeous breakfast; and Jean, who came over on the ferry to collect me last night. But that’s it so far.’ Kate puffed, trying to keep
up. It was hard work, and she was feeling nervous at the thought of being bounced into another introduction. Everyone here seemed effortlessly confident, certain of themselves and their situation
on the island.
‘Oh, you’ll be well fed, living round here. They’ll be fattening you up for Christmas, that lot. Susan and Morag’ll be in cahoots no doubt. They’ll have you in a
kilt in time for the Hogmanay ceilidh.’
Still trailing behind, Kate remembered her attempts at joining in the ceilidhs that had taken place during her time at Edinburgh University. There had been foot-tapping, mad music, a lot of
whirling about, even more people yelling ‘Wheech!’ and quite a lot of falling over. That might have had something to do with the vast amounts of eye-watering malt whisky consumed.
‘Daddy! Mummy, there’s a lady here with Daddy. Look!’ Oh well. It was just as well she wasn’t looking then, wasn’t it? After all, going weak at
the knees over the first gorgeous man she saw wasn’t exactly part of the plan – even if he was ridiculously handsome, he was also very much attached. Kate suppressed a small sigh.
A small boy ran to the door, stared at her, then ran away down the toy-strewn hall, managing somehow to avoid breaking his neck in the process.
‘I’ve brought you a waif and stray.’ Tom kissed the tall, dark-haired woman who appeared in a doorway. ‘I thought, after I’d nearly killed her with fright, that a
cup of tea was the least we could do. Oh, and I’ve got us a wee bit of dinner.’ With a flourish he pulled out a brace of pheasant from inside his coat. Ugh, thought Kate.
‘I’ve just been talking about you,’ said the woman, with a warm smile. ‘Morag was riding by on Thor and we had a wee chat.’ She stepped over a toy castle and kissed
Kate on the cheek. ‘Susan MacKelvie. Or Lady Chatterley, as I like to think of myself. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have someone our age living here.’
She led Kate through to the sitting room, which was painted white with stripped floorboards, modern furniture and huge, abstract paintings on every wall.
‘Coffee? Tea? Gin?’ Tom winked, putting his head through the door of the sitting room. ‘I’ll make them – you two sit down. Come on, Jamie, leave Mummy alone for
five minutes.’
‘Coffee?’ Susan looked at Kate, who nodded. ‘I need the caffeine to keep me awake. Oh, thank God. A sanity break.’ She ran her fingers all the way through her long, dark
hair. ‘Tom always comes back, round about now, for a cup of tea. Some days I’m counting the minutes. The wee one is asleep in her cot, but Jamie never stops talking and it drives me
round the bend. I just want five minutes’ peace, like Mrs Large in the story . . .’ She burst out laughing. ‘Sorry. Here I am, ranting like a madwoman, and we’ve not even
properly met. I’ve been so looking forward to having someone to talk to during the day who doesn’t want to analyse the latest episode of
Thomas the Tank Engine
.’
Kate smiled, understanding. When the twins had been smaller, Emma had found it hard to cope with the incessant demands of small people and had been desperate for company, escaping most days to
toddler groups and music classes – anything to avoid the endless hours until Sam returned.
She was still feeling faintly embarrassed at having swooned at Susan’s husband, and was lost for words. Susan didn’t seem to notice, and was happily filling her in on the things
there were to do on the island (not much to speak of) and on the reasons why Kate must be insane to come and live here (countless).
‘Oh, I don’t really mean that. It’s a gorgeous place. And with another grown-up to talk to, it’ll be even nicer. And you’re staying in Bruar Cottage all by
yourself? Maybe I can sneak down with a bottle of wine and we can have a little house-warming party? I haven’t had a girly evening for God knows how long.’
‘Have you let Kate get a word in edgeways yet?’ Tom appeared bearing a tray of coffees and a plate of delicious-looking shortbread.
‘Um, maybe one or two,’ laughed Susan. ‘Now, it’s your turn, Kate. So, what on earth made you leave civilization and come up here to the ends of the earth?’
Realizing this question was going to be a frequent one, Kate took a breath and began again.
‘I finished a job, and split up with my boyfriend, and thought it was time for a bit of a change. I spent four years living in Edinburgh, and I’ve always wanted to spend time on an
island, and this seemed the ideal opportunity.’ Kate was pleased with her summary, and wondered if it might be worth putting a piece to that effect in the local paper. It would seem that
everyone on the island knew everything about everyone, so there was no point in trying to be enigmatic.
‘Ooh, so you’ll be on the hunt for someone new?’ Susan’s eyes lit up with the glint of the perennial matchmaker.
‘Nope.’ Kate shook her head, and took a slurp of coffee. ‘I’m getting a dog instead.’
‘A dog?’ Susan grinned at her. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place.’ Standing up, she called her little boy from his game in the hall.
‘Jamie, come and show Kate what we’ve got in the garden.’
The little boy smiled at her shyly and took her hand. He led her through the kitchen and a back porch cluttered with wellington boots, raincoats and a filthy three-wheeled pushchair, into a
fairy-tale garden. There was a playhouse that had been decorated by hand and was covered in fairies, toadstools and butterflies. Mirrored glass hung through the branches of an apple tree, and the
air was filled with the sound of wind chimes.