be back by then, and she’d have finished her project. It hadn’t left much time to plan a wedding, but she’d thrown herself into it.
She’d found the ideal venue for the country wedding she’d dreamed of—a marquee with pretty bunting. She’d organised a whisky bar for Dan, and trestle tables, wild flowers and traditional music. She had even found the perfect dress—vintage silk and lace with tiny pearls. She’d cried in the bridal boutique because Colleen hadn’t been there to tell her how beautiful she looked.
Everything had been falling into place. And then, three months ago, Dan had flown home unexpectedly to tell her that he’d fallen in love with a German artist called Maria.
Milla had been devastated. To have won his commitment only to lose it again had been too much to bear. She’d stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped working.
When her tutor had called her in for a talk she’d ended up crying on his shoulder. He’d advised her to take up photography. He’d suggested taking pictures of anything that caught her eye, for whatever reason. It had been good advice. Instead of trying to create images, she’d spent her days looking for ready-made scenes.
When she’d collated her photographs she had seen a pattern. Pictures of back streets, a single figure in a doorway, a soulful face staring from the window of a café, a couple perched on a broad step, their heads turned in opposite directions...
‘You’re attracted to loneliness,’ her tutor had remarked. ‘Your images remind me of Edward Hopper’s stuff. You should use them to take your work in a new direction.’
And then he’d handed her a brochure.
‘A change of scene might help you get back on track. I’ve stayed at Strathburn Bothy myself. Peace. Isolation. No phone signal, no internet, no distractions. It might be just what you need.’
She sat up and wiped her cheeks with her hands. She looked around the mezzanine bedroom which she was yet to claim as her own. Peace. Isolation... No distractions.
There would be no isolation at Calcarron House, and probably no peace either. As for distractions...
Cormac’s eyes stirred in her memory and she pushed the image out of her head. She would try to make the best of it; it was only one night. Tomorrow she’d be back in this room, and her healing process could really begin.
MILLA CONTEMPLATED THE large stone pillars which flanked the entrance to Calcarron House. She told herself she had no reason to feel nervous; it wasn’t her fault that she was imposing on the hospitality of the Buchanan family. It was their bothy, after all, their water pipe malfunction. They should be the ones feeling awkward, not her.
She conjured a memory of her mother smiling. ‘Go on with you, now, Milla. You’ll be fine.’ Then she threw the four-by-four into gear and drove through the gates onto the long, tree-lined driveway.
On either side giant rhododendron bushes brandished dense clusters of pink and purple flowers, while rabbits scattered in a flash of white tails. After a bend, the driveway emerged from the trees and the house came into view.
Set in substantial grounds of neatly mown grass and flowering shrubs, Calcarron House was an imposing grey stone mansion, its twin turrets reminding Milla of a fairy tale castle in a book she’d owned as a child. Elegant mullioned windows overlooked the gardens towards the loch, and in front, on the wide sweep of immaculate paving, she could see Cormac’s silver sports car parked next to a row of four-by-fours.
The house was undeniably grand, and despite her determination not to feel intimidated she felt the butterflies in her stomach start to dance.
With care, she pulled up next to Cormac’s car and turned off the engine. She’d barely drawn a breath when she saw him walking towards her. He must have been waiting, looking out for her arrival. The butterflies in her stomach doubled their hectic fluttering.
He opened her door. ‘Welcome to Calcarron House.’ His smile was hesitant. ‘Are you all right with dogs?’
‘That depends on the dogs...’ In spite of her nerves, she felt a small smile creeping onto her lips. ‘If the dogs are all right with me, then I’ll be all right with them.’
She saw his mouth twist in amusement, then he motioned to the house. ‘In that case, please go on in. My mother’s waiting for you. I’ll bring your bag.’
In the grand entrance hall she was greeted by three excited Labradors and, behind them, an attractive middle-aged lady with a smile and an outstretched hand.
‘Milla, I’m Lily Buchanan. I’m so pleased to meet you and I’m very sorry about the water situation at the bothy. Such a terrible nuisance.’
The light hazel eyes were Cormac’s, but in Lily’s face they were softened with warmth and gentle empathy. Milla liked her immediately.
‘Hello, Mrs Buchanan. It’s good to meet you too—and thank you for having me.’
Lily smiled. ‘But of course! You’re our guest, whether you’re staying at the bothy or not... And, please, do call me Lily. Now, come, I’ll show you to your room. It’s right next to Cormac’s grandfather’s old studio, so if you’re in the habit of working through the night, then carry on. You must do as you please.’
Lily led the way through the flagged hall to a wide oak-panelled staircase, clad in plush blue carpet. The walls above the panelling were hung with traditional landscapes, and some bolder, brighter pieces which caught her eye, but she couldn’t stop to look properly because Lily was hastening on, leading her across a sweep of landing and along another corridor.
Finally, she stopped and opened a door. ‘Here we are! I hope you like it.’
The room was spacious, and smelled of new fabric and fresh paint. The colour scheme of lilac, heather, moss and peat reminded Milla of a Scottish moorland, and she took delight in the muted tones and welcoming warmth of the textures. The large bed was made up with crisp white bedlinen and a large woollen throw. Mahogany tables gleamed on either side of the bed while a wide matching wardrobe hugged a wall. At the foot of the bed a large leather ottoman glowed in burnished tones, and near the window a wing-backed chair was positioned to take advantage of the view across the hills.
It was a beautiful room and Milla felt a sudden pang of guilt for being so disappointed at the prospect of staying here. She smiled at Lily. ‘It’s lovely.’
Lily gazed around the room approvingly. ‘My daughter Rosie is an interior designer. She’s gradually updating all the rooms in the house.’
‘Cormac told me she did the bothy too. She’s got a good eye.’
‘She inherited her artistic talent from her grandfather.’ For a moment Lily looked wistful. ‘Those are his paintings on the wall.’
Milla stepped closer to look. ‘I saw similar paintings in the hall. They’re wonderful. I thought they might even be Jolomo’s work. I love the bright colours.’
A brief tap on the door signalled Cormac’s arrival. Something about the way he moved drew Milla’s eye as he crossed
