CHAPTER 2
THE FARM

We turned off the road onto a gravel drive. The Golden View Retreat sat ahead. For miles around, there was nothing but heather and rock, the loch broken into small, steel-grey waves, and beyond that, a thin line of open sea. The isolation was magnificent, in the way an empty room is magnificent right up until you remember you're alone in it. Even Brian – who'd been talking steadily since we left the ferry – fell quiet when we stepped out into the still, cool air.

We hadn't even started unloading our luggage when the farmhouse door swung open. A tall, angular woman with copper hair pulled into a loose tie strode out, sharp-featured and brisk. Then she smiled, and the severity softened into something warm enough to make you forgive the whole windswept-witch first impression. To be fair, she was actually a very beautiful woman.

"Welcome to Golden View! I'm Isla MacLeod," she called out, her voice carrying a lilting island melody, softened by time and effort for mainland ears."You must be Joana and Brian."

I smiled at her."Thanks for having us. The drive was spectacular."

"Yes, well, Harris likes to show off." She winked, then switched to a more practical tone."Does your electric car need a charge? The charging point is right by the barn. My ex-husband insisted on putting it in before he left. It's one of the few useful things he did for this place."

Brian's face lit up."Oh, thank God. I've been having visions of being stranded."

"Well, you won't starve if that happens," Isla laughed, giving Brian's well-fed frame an appraising look."Though I can't promise the Wi-Fi won't give up during the storm."

Brian's expression of horror made me bite back a smile.

"Anyway," Isla turned and headed towards the main building,"this farm’s been in my family for generations."

"Lucky you," Brian muttered.

Isla either didn’t hear or chose to ignore him."After my completely useless ex left to chase his ‘lost youth’ somewhere Down Under – and took all the money – the bank gave me six months before they would repossess the place."

"That’s brutal," I said, because it was, and because it seemed safer than commenting on the ex.

Isla gave a brisk shrug."I had to do something. Sheep alone weren’t going to cut it. Then I realised city folk are really into detox and mindfulness these days, so I turned the farm into a small retreat."

Brian glanced at the buildings as if calculating how much ‘mindfulness’ he could tolerate before dinner."And workshops pay better than sheep?"

"Slowly," Isla shrugged."The business is picking up, but the money isn’t exactly flooding in. Mostly crafts and writing groups, so your photography lot is a nice change."

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or apologise. Within minutes, she’d given us her name, her divorce, her finances, and a tidy summary of her ex-husband’s shortcomings. Maybe the place did that to you – too much sky, too few people, and suddenly you were telling strangers things you normally saved for your best friend and a large glass of wine.

"Let me show you around before the others arrive." She gestured broadly."We’ve four buildings – the main house with guest rooms, the converted barn for your workshop space, the stables, part of it now converted into holiday flats. And what was once the sheep shed, now reimagined as our spa."

We did our best to keep up with her brisk pace. She took us straight to the stables, where four surprisingly well-kept horses watched us with mild curiosity.

"Do guests ride them?" I reached out to stroke a chestnut mare’s velvety nose. The tag on the box read ‘Goldmoon’.

"That was the plan." Isla’s smile tightened a fraction."But the insurance was too expensi