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some eggs, a little cheese occasionally, and maybe some logs if she ran out.
    She was glad of her cosy boots as she left her doorstep. The snow wasn’t very deep, and already it was melting in the sun; but by golly, it was cold. Cassandra walked up the path towards the gate, which was open. She paused. She could have sworn she had latched it the night before after fetching the last of her things in from the car. Perhaps the latch was faulty.
    Lochend Farm was about a hundred yards further up the road. She passed the house belonging to Elizabeth and Lorna Blackmore. The only other house in this direction was the one occupied by a couple, whom she assumed were unmarried—Donald and Fiona. In the other direction, the last cottage in Inverdarroch belonged to Angus, who, according to Elizabeth, was a composer of some sort. Cassandra had spoken to him once when she was out walking. She had climbed the highest hill and was lying on the ground, setting her camera. Because she was in the lee of a rocky outcrop when he suddenly appeared, she hadn’t heard him approach. After her initial fright and as her heart calmed down, she realised who he was when he explained they were neighbours. Angus had been pleasant and friendly and took time to point out and name the hills surrounding their valley.
    “I’ll never remember all those names,” she said, laughing. “They sound very romantic and roll off your tongue so easily.” As she looked at the tall dark-haired man properly, she found she was mesmerised by his eyes. They were deep blue, with black irises and lashes and a fair sprinkling of crow’s feet in the corners. Angus was much taller than Cassandra, and when he held her gaze, she bathed in his warm smile.
    “Give it time. You’ve only just arrived. In a month, you’ll be talking about them like a native. If you enjoy walking, like me, you’ll find there’s something about this place that captures your heart. It isn’t just the beauty or the peace of the place…it’s something I’ve never fathomed out. It pulls at you, somehow.”
    Struck dumb with sudden shyness, Cassandra nodded. There was something about him that made her completely breathless. He was gorgeous. Cassandra wished she had spent time on her hair that morning, aware that, in all probability, she looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. She had a sneaking suspicion she had mud on her face, too. She wondered whether there was a Mrs Angus back home. Knowing her luck, there was a very good chance.
    “Well, I mustn’t keep you from your ramble. It’s been charming meeting you, and I hope you enjoy living here.” Angus reached out to shake her hand, and as their fingers touched, she felt a spark between them. She caught her breath and wasn’t aware of what she mumbled in reply as he left and resumed his walk back down into the valley. She wished she had the nerve to say she would go with him, but his overall maleness made her tongue-tied, and when she had recovered, it was too late.
    Sighing at her daydream, Cassandra returned to the present and studied the route. Although, the snowfall had been light, the road was icy underfoot, and Cassandra unsteadily followed the lane leading to the farm. Nobody appeared to be out and about, and she hadn’t heard any traffic so far. The farm was set back from the road, and the main entrance door was at the side of the building. Cassandra knocked and waited. When no one appeared, she thought she should try round the back. Farming folk were known to rise early, and the whole family might have been involved with the routine of morning milking.
    She picked her way over the path, into the back yard. She saw there was a high wall along one side, with an L-shaped thatched barn adjoining it. There were lower walls with inset gates, which she thought were livestock holding pens. All around her was a strong smell of cattle dung. As with farms the world over, a collection of aged implements lay scattered,