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someone he wanted to see in Glasgow, so he was taking this chance to fit that in. He had booked on tomorrow night’s sleeper, and would head up to Oban on Friday. Then, she gathered, he would get the ferry the next morning, Saturday. Would that be right?
    â€˜It could be. I was hoping he’d manage tomorrow’s boat, but Saturday would be great. I’ve found out more about it now, so if you wouldn’t mind giving him a message, Ruth? Have you got a pencil handy? Well, the ferry is the one for Coll and Tiree . . . C.O.L.L. and T.I.R.E.E. . . . Yes, they’re two of the islands in the Inner Hebrides; Crispin will know. It leaves at six in the morning, and they want you on board soon after half past five. I stayed at the Columba Hotel, just near the quay. I’ll make a reservation for him for Friday night. Oh, and tell him that Moila’s too small for the ferry to dock, so he’ll come ashore in a boat. I won’t offer to meet the ferry – it docks at eight in the morning – but I’ll arrange transport for him to the cottage. Did you get all that?’
    â€˜Yes. But wouldn’t it be better if I got him to call you back when he comes in?’
    I laughed. ‘It would be difficult. There’s only the public phone in the post office, and I’ve just walked two miles to get to that. But I’ll give you the number –’ I gave it – ‘and if he wants to leave a message for me, Mrs McDougall will take it.’
    â€˜Mrs McDougall. Yes.’ Now it was her professional voice, quick and cool, the doctor’s wife taking another message down. Then she was herself again. ‘Rose, what’s it like? Two miles from the phone? And you had to walk it? I must say, it sounds just the sort of place Crispin would love.’
    â€˜He would. He will. It’s quite lovely.’ I added, in total insincerity: ‘You really ought to have come, Ruth. The cottage is tiny, but it’s charming, and the views are out of this world.’
    â€˜But what on earth would there be to do ?’
    â€˜Well, nothing.’ Nothing, blessed state for the hard-working Crispin, and for myself after the turmoil of exams and end of term.
    â€˜I,’ said my sister-in-law, who never, I am sure, means to be offensive, ‘simply cannot stand being idle. I’m going to Marrakesh in September. Marvellous hotel, bags of sunshine, and plenty of tours and fascinating shopping.’
    â€˜That sounds wonderful. Enjoy it. I’ll have to go now, Ruth. I’ll ring again on Thursday evening to see if Crispin’s going to make it. Goodbye now.’
    â€˜Goodbye.’ And she rang off.
    Mrs McDougall was in her kitchen taking a batch of bread out of the oven. I paid her for the call, and stayed chatting for a while, answering her queries about the cottage and then telling her of my brother’s expected arrival, and the possibility that he might telephone with a message.
    â€˜I expect I’ll walk over this way every day anyway, and if he does come on Saturday could Archie be here, please, to take him down with his bags to the cottage?’
    â€˜He will be there. He always meets the boat. There are always goods to carry that have been ordered. Well, it will be nice for you to have your brother here, and we will hope for the best. I am afraid that there is bad weather forecast. I have just heard it on the news.’
    â€˜Oh, dear, is there? Really bad? Enough to stop the ferry crossing?’
    â€˜It has to be very bad indeed for that. Don’t worry, your brother will get here. But you might find the cottage a bit draughty if it gets really rough.’
    â€˜I’ll batten down the hatches,’ I told her. She laughed, and we talked for a few minutes longer. When I left I had a bottle of midge-repellent in my pocket, and a loaf of new bread, still warm, in a plastic carrier. The loaf was a gift. The natives were