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new customer.
    Seconds later, a short woman with long, curly red hair, far wilder than Kit’s own bobbed red locks, wearing a pair of dungarees, a thick jumper, and a broad smile, was approaching the table.
    â€˜Kit? Is that you?’
    â€˜Erin!’ Kit stood up and returned the offered hug.
    â€˜I’m so pleased you could come. You’re a lifesaver!’ Sitting opposite her colleague, the writer smiled even wider. ‘My real name is Charlie – Charlotte. Some people round here call me Charlie, and some call me Erin. I like both, but I thought I should warn you.’
    â€˜It’s OK, I guessed. I met your gran earlier; only I didn’t realise it was your gran at first.’
    â€˜Gran’s great, isn’t she? She usually calls me Lottie, just to add to the confusion.’ Charlie nodded her thanks as the waitress placed two new drinks on the table. ‘I assume that as you haven’t run back to the airport and immediately taken the next flight back to London, Alice hasn’t been too intimidating?’
    â€˜She’s very … determined.’
    Charlie laughed. ‘Yes. Determined is a good word for it. Alice is very good at her job. She’ll get this festival to work whatever the obstacles. She always wins the day, does Alice.’
    Kit noticed an edge to Charlie’s voice, but not wanting pry so soon after meeting her, changed the subject, ‘It’s such a shame you can’t help run the festival. The Love-Blind Boy is one of my favourite novels. And you’re the most local author, of course.’
    Charlie began to fidget, and Kit saw that she had hit a nerve. Deciding to move the conversation on, Kit picked up her coffee. ‘I spend nearly all my working in a café in Richmond.’
    Grateful for the obvious change of topic, Charlie immediately felt more comfortable. ‘I heard you were a coffee shop writer. Don’t you find you daydream all day, and get nothing done?’
    â€˜Sometimes, but mostly I keep my head down and write. Plus of course, if I get stuck for ideas, all I have to do is look around. Inspiration is never far away.’ Kit pointed to one of the shelves of Highland cow ornaments. ‘Those, for example; don’t they scream out the plot to a children’s story?’
    Charlie laughed. ‘They sure do. How about Harry the Tartan Cow?’
    Kit lifted a fabric tartan cow from the nearest shelf. It was adorable. She knew her teenage daughter would love it, even though she’d deny it hotly if asked in public. ‘I think I’ll take this for Helena.’
    â€˜And you’ll tell her to call him Harry?’
    â€˜Definitely!’ Kit sipped her coffee, ‘And then there’s the castle. It’s stunning. Have you ever written about it?’
    â€˜Not so far, but I know what you mean. Crathes demands stories.’
    Sharing her previous thoughts, Kit said, ‘I bet Walt Disney would kill for it.’
    â€˜Funny you should say that. They say that Disney based his fairytale castles on the ones here in Aberdeenshire.’
    â€˜You’re kidding?’
    â€˜Nope. It was Craigievar Castle, a few miles from here, which inspired Sleeping Beauty’s castle. It’s got turrets, and it’s even pink.’
    â€˜For real?’
    â€˜Yep. At this very minute you are in the middle of a square of castles, all of which are cared for by the National Trust. There’s Crathes, Drum, Fraser, and Craigievar. They’re all different, all beautiful, and with the exception of Drum, they all have fairy tale turrets.’
    â€˜I hope I get time to visit them when Phil comes up.’
    â€˜Phil?’
    â€˜My husband. He’s coming up so we can go exploring the week after the festival. Our twins are seventeen, so they’ll be able to cope without us; although my friend Peggy is keeping an eye on them. Do you have a partner or children? You’re so young