A Skye Full of Stars (The Skye Sisters Trilogy #2)

Chapter One

Ezzie Wynter, manager of Rothach Hall, had the best job in the world at one of the most beautiful spots on the Isle of Skye.

Through the tall, elegant windows of her panelled office, lawns and gardens glittered with November frost. Beyond that lay the parkland, the silvery waters of the Sound of Sleat and then the mainland’s green and purple mountains, already dusted with snow. But what kept drawing Ezzie’s attention from checking over the Christmas decorations for the hall’s public rooms was a tall man in his sixties huddled into a shapeless, dated black overcoat and woollen hat. He stood where the drive broadened before the semi-circular steps, his hesitant gaze on the big double doors like a child unsure of his welcome at a party.

Skye didn’t draw as many winter tourists as it did from spring to autumn, so Rothach Hall was staffed sparingly at present. Orla from reception was off for a few days, and the new assistant manager wouldn’t arrive until February, so today Ezz had been the one to put out the sign saying Public rooms open . Now pride in the hall prompted her to offer further encouragement to their lone winter visitor to enjoy the public rooms’ polished wood and pink-streaked Skye marble. She put down a box of red baubles on tartan ribbon, grabbed her long, tailored coat from its hook and tip-tapped over the tiles of the lofty reception area past the mahogany reception desk. Opening the doors, she stepped out into the bitingly cold air with a bright, professional smile. ‘Good morning. Were you hoping to come in? We’re open.’

The man looked startled, and he was either given to old-fashioned gestures or hot flushes because he removed his hat to show a closely shaved head. As he gazed up at her, at the top of the steps, his lips formed a slow half-smile. ‘Thanks. Are you a guide?’

Skye attracted visitors from around the world, so she was unsurprised that his accent placed him somewhere in the middle of England, though further west than Suffolk, where she’d grown up. ‘I’m the manager, Esmerelda Wynter. I’m afraid the public rooms aren’t big enough to warrant guides. There are interesting information cards, though, prepared by a historian.’ She hoped he didn’t have a reading issue like her sister, Thea, because there was no aural alternative. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair blew annoyingly across her face, silky, yet poker-straight, and she pushed it back.

Finally, he began to tread slowly up the steps. But he didn’t gaze into the panelled lobby, where the dogleg staircase soared up to the next floor, instead pausing to give her a shy smile. ‘Have you been manager long? It looks a lovely place to work.’

‘I’ve worked here for over nine years, but as assistant manager till a few months ago. The public rooms are to the left and also up these stairs.’ She indicated the way to the first tall, gracious room at the rear of the lobby and then the imposing wooden staircase. A large glossy white door to their right was marked with an uncompromising Private , because it accessed the Larsson family’s own quarters. They owned Rothach Hall and were due to visit for Christmas this year. Previously, their visits had fallen in spring or summer, so one of Ezz’s current preoccupations was waking the hall from its customary winter semi-hibernation. Hoping to encourage him indoors so she could return to her desk, she added, ‘The public room furniture predates the hall’s restoration and there are framed examples of the fabric and wallpaper of the historical décor. There are also fine, traditional Skye marble fire surrounds and mirrored overmantels.’

‘Thanks.’ He continued to smile.

He didn’t set off her ‘unwanted attentions’ radar, but it seemed good sense to make it clear that she wasn’t alone, although it sometimes seemed as if she staffed the entire place by herself in winter. ‘Both the gardeners are here today if you have any questions about the grounds. Enjoy yourself. I’m afraid I’m expected on a video call.’

With a nod and a last smile, he ambled across the lobby towards the public rooms with their faded tartan upholstery and watercolour paintings.

Back in her office, she hung up her coat and switched her attention from investigating the Christmas decorations for the upcoming decking of Rothach Hall to the computer on the antique walnut desk. Earlier, she’d been searching for the standard operating procedure files. Unfortunately, her predecessor in this lovely office, Tavish MacBetha, having departed on bad terms, had provided no job description or handover notes. Ezz frequently had to formulate files and records from scratch because he’d apparently deleted random items as a you-can-kiss-my-sweet-backside-goodbye gesture.

The management of the building and staff was no problem in view of her years as assistant manager, but so far as her interaction with the Larsson family went, she was feeling her way. Tavish had dealt with the family himself wherever possible and given the impression of possessing special skills. From what Ezz had been able to glean whenever watching him in action, he not only did just whatever Erik, Grete and family required, but he also did it unobtrusively and obsequiously. He’d hinted at holding vital qualifications in five-star hospitality and having experience in a ‘private household’. As he’d passed on none of his knowledge, since taking over as manager in July she’d paid for online tuition. This placed great emphasis on ‘high-level service’ and ‘an impeccable say-yes attitude’, which recommended phrases such as ‘you need only tell me what you’d like’ rather than bombarding employers with direct questions.

Clearly, the polite-and-helpful manner that had served her as assistant manager required adjustment now she was manager – or ‘estate manager’, which, apparently, she should have been calling herself. Her dark suit remained the same, but colourful manicures had been replaced by clear polish, and her at-work make-up was discreet – which was a shame when she had bright blue eyes to make the most of.

The course termed owners of ‘substantial private households’ as ‘globe-trotting elite’, and she acknowledged that the Larssons fell into that category. Their fish processing plants in Sweden and Norway might not be glamorous but generated the money to restore Rothach Hall as the family’s retreat and a visitor attraction on an island off the west coast of Scotland. The hall provided salaries not just for Ezz but also for her sister Thea and the rest of the full-time staff, and seasonal staff from May to October. Despite all this, Erik and Grete had genial, down-to-earth manners – if you didn’t cross their boundaries on matters such as how other members of staff were treated – as Tavish had discovered to his cost. Ezz was more wary of their children and grandchildren, who’d been born into wealth and private education.

Now, it was Grete who’d be video-calling her, probably to give instructions regarding festive celebrations. Ezz ran her eyes over the notepad where she’d made notes about things like Christmas trees and menus, then checked her suit and hair before joining the call, professional smile at the ready.

The screen flickered, then an image formed of a smart, older woman, silver-framed glasses matching her silver hair. Ezzie’s smile widened. Grete was a powerhouse despite her seventy-or-so years. Her management style consisted of telling people what she wanted with a twinkling smile and expecting it to be done. Now, her eyes crinkled to slits and her soft Norwegian accent emanated from the machine. ‘Ezzie! How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ Ezzie answered. ‘And you?’

‘Good, good. We must speak of Christmas.’ Grete’s English was good, much better than her Swedish husband Erik’s. Their children – Mats, Jonas and Maja – spoke fluent English in what sounded to Ezzie like a lightly American accent, perhaps from attending international school. She’d investigated the term and found it meant multinational students, multilingual instruction and global perspective, which sounded like a privileged start in life.

‘Of course. You only need to tell me what you’d like.’ Ezzie poised her pen over her pad.

But instead of providing details about the family visit, Grete asked, ‘How far are you with plans to make a Christmas attraction at Rothach?’

Ezzie did a mental swerve to meet the unexpected question. ‘The lantern walk around the grounds and gardens will be easy to create, and Dilly at the Nature Garden Café has agreed to extend café opening hours for events, with a Christmas snack menu. I’ve been working on the programme starting next winter,’ she added cautiously, hoping she hadn’t got something horribly wrong and was supposed to be ready with a full winter wonderland already.

Grete propped herself comfortably on her elbows. ‘We did say next year. But I have wondered whether we can do anything this winter.’

Ezzie sought a positive way of saying that there was no time to advertise, and that interest would take a while to build. She licked her lips. ‘Of course. I’ll work on where best to find our customers.’

Grete’s eyes twinkled. ‘Ezzie, I know you cannot produce a few hundred visitors to Skye in December when it is already November 7th. But I have the idea that we should talk to the island’s bigger hotels and offer a short event for their guests. Many hotels advertise winter breaks with Christmas menus. A small-scale event would test the market.’

Relief at this eminently practical plan made Ezzie brightly enthusiastic as she scribbled notes. Her online course had advocated developing the memory of an elephant rather than writing things down, but that sounded risky. ‘I can certainly look into that for you.’

Grete nodded. ‘I will work with you on making Rothach a Christmas attraction. It will be a new project for me. I plan to arrive at Rothach in two days and stay until Christmas to enjoy Skye. I’m leaving Erik with the fish,’ she added wryly.

Ezz smiled at the small joke and hoped that nothing in her expression gave away her astonishment that instead of arriving around three weeks before Christmas as previously planned, Grete was arriving soon and apparently intended to spend a couple of months on Skye. She focused on logistics. ‘I’ll make Gwen aware, so she has your suite ready.’ Maintaining her anything-is-possible air she asked, ‘Will you want the family areas decorating for Christmas, for when you arrive? The public rooms will be decorated soon.’

‘But for the family rooms, not until December.’ Grete propped her chin on her fist. ‘For the first evening, perhaps Gwen will prepare my favourite Scottish meal – haggis with … Tell me again the name.’ Her smile became anticipatory.

‘With tatties and neeps – which is potatoes and swede,’ Ezzie supplied promptly.

‘Ha, yes.’ Grete beamed. ‘With also chocolate dessert. Not Scottish, but it is what I like.’

Ezz noted that on her pad. ‘I look forward to seeing you at Rothach again on …’ she glanced at her calendar ‘… Saturday. You need only tell me if you’d like meeting at an airport.’ They often flew into Inverness, but Glasgow was also feasible.

Grete hesitated. ‘Let me return to you on that. Meanwhile, I will send Gwen a shopping list. Oh, and Esmerelda, Mats will also contact you very soon with his own arrangements.’

Ezzie hesitated. Gwen filling the cupboards and fridge as requested was nothing new, but Mats calling Ezzie directly was. The eldest of Grete and Erik’s children, he was active in the family business. She’d interacted with him, his wife Inger and their children when the family spent summers at Rothach, but only superficially. Mats was tall, fair and good-looking. Inger was so polished and beautiful that she’d made Ezz feel like a conker husk, and habitually issued orders for her family without even looking up from her phone. Though Ezz wondered what ‘arrangements’ Grete could be alluding to, she didn’t want to break the rule of questioning her employer so said calmly, ‘Of course.’

Grete ended with a brisk but friendly goodbye. Then Ezz was free to arch her eyebrows and let her face reflect her thoughts – which were: Why is Grete coming to Skye for so long without Erik? And why would Mats Larsson want to speak to me?

As she had no choice but to wait and see, she stacked the boxes of Christmas decorations to the floor for now and began to research quality Skye hotels that they might work with on Grete’s new project.

In a good suburb of snowy Gothenburg in south-west Sweden, Mats Larsson stared from his apartment window watching his children, three-year-old Alvin and five-year-old Astrid, skipping around the gated gardens belonging to his apartment block. Alvin’s snowsuit was green and Astrid’s purple with silver stars. Their nanny, Josefin, who was happy to act as if she were five rather than fifty-five, kicked snow into glistening arcs that made the children scream with laughter as the spicules blew back into their pink-cheeked faces.

Mats smiled. Nobody could fail to be cheered by laughing children. Alvin plopped backwards into a miniature snowdrift and Josefin swooped him up, turning a bumped bottom into something else to giggle over. Josefin was a prize – overpaid, judging by what he knew other parents shelled out, but worth every krona. He’d gone for a Swedish nanny this time, though one with good English. He, his brother Jonas and sister Maja had all been brought up to be bilingual, and were each doing the same for their children.

He moved his gaze to the phone in his hand, rereading his mother’s message of five minutes ago, informing him that she’d told Esmerelda Wynter, the manager at the family’s second home in Scotland, to expect his call. Mats and Grete had made their travel plans despite frowns from his larger-than-life father – amiably bossy, lovingly impatient, and always mercurial – Erik. At forty-six, Mats was more than capable of running his own life, but he didn’t often disregard his dad’s opinion quite as directly as he presently was.

Mats tapped Esmerelda Wynter’s number in his phone’s contact list. As he listened to the calling tone, an image sprang to his mind of the efficient, blonde, blue-eyed Englishwoman in neat heels and a severe uniform that flattered her tall, slender figure. Dad had sacked the last manager, unctuous Tavish. His parents had told him the story, but this year had been so stressful that it had fallen through the cracks of his mind, especially as Ms Wynter seemed a nicer person than Tavish and his parents held her in high regard. He watched Astrid, Alvin and Josefin heaping up snow that he judged would soon become a snowman, patting handfuls of it onto the fat white body. Every face wore a smile.

A smooth, female voice echoed in his ear. ‘Ezzie Wynter. Good afternoon.’

‘Good afternoon, Ezzie,’ he answered briskly, glad she’d reminded him of her preferred name. ‘This is Mats Larsson. I’m calling to say that I’ll be arriving at Rothach Hall on Saturday with my two children and their nanny.’ Then he wished he’d thought to begin with, ‘How are you?’ as he would have if he didn’t have so much on his mind. She was a pleasant, polite person and he didn’t mean to be aloof. He continued, ‘I know my mother’s already contacted you. We’ll be arriving together. I hope you’ll be able to find my nanny, Josefin, a room close to the children – one that won’t be needed when the rest of the family arrive for Christmas.’

‘Of course,’ she replied serenely. ‘Everything will be ready for you.’

‘So, that’s three adults and two children arriving on Saturday, November 9th,’ he emphasised, in case her controlled response arose from not grasping the imminence of the visit. He pictured her behind the desk in the manager’s office, sharp-but-pretty features composed as she agreed with all he said. Tavish would have managed to convey a hint of reproach in his polite replies, letting Mats know that everything would be ready, but that not every employee would be capable of such wizardry. ‘Can somebody meet us at Inverness Airport if I send flight details? The seven-seater Volvo will be spacious enough, with the roof box for luggage.’

‘Of course,’ she repeated.

He watched Astrid knock Alvin into a snowdrift and Alvin decide to laugh rather than cry. The little boy staggered to his feet in his tiny green snow suit, then brought up a handful of snow and squashed it into his sister’s face. Mats grinned with parental pride, both because Alvin had evidently been planning his reprisal while he was down and because Astrid squealed with laughter, rather than getting upset. Yet somehow, the sight of his children being adorable, sparked anger – not at them, of course, but at Andreas who’d uncaringly split up Mats’ family over a year ago without apparently worrying about the effect on the children. There had been no point remonstrating with Inger for not trying harder at a marriage they’d both known wasn’t working, but her affair with Andreas had also been a blow to Mats’ pride.

He sighed. A sojourn in the Isle of Skye would be a distraction for Alvin and Astrid and provide Mats with some much-needed peace. The children usually saw their loving grandmother every week or two, but her holidaying with them for a couple of months would be a bonus. Then, in a few weeks, their grandfather, uncles, aunts and five cousins would descend to play Christmas games and eat Christmas goodies and share in the mountain of Christmas gifts.

‘Mr Larsson?’ The tentative voice in his ear reminded him that Ezzie Wynter waited patiently on the other end of the phone.

‘Mats,’ he corrected her, feeling unreasonably pricked at her formality. He cast around for something he could have been mulling over to account for his silence. ‘I hope it’s possible to have toys delivered to Rothach?’ In all the upheaval, he hadn’t yet bought a single Christmas gift.

‘Of course,’ Ezzie replied. ‘Delivery times are usually a little longer than to the mainland, that’s all.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll see you on Saturday.’

‘It will be a pleasure to see your family back at Rothach Hall,’ she responded with extreme courtesy, before they ended the call. Although Mats understood why his dad had promoted Ezzie, her decorum was overdone for his taste. Tavish had been the same. Larsson Fiskeri did business in the UK and, judging from that experience, other Brits spoke normally.

After a glance outside to check the children still played happily and were unlikely to come up to the apartment in the next five minutes, he dialled again. After a moment, he heard the familiar gruff, ‘ Hall? , Mats.’

Automatically, he switched to Swedish. ‘ Hej, Pappa. Just letting you know that we’ve confirmed our arrangements to leave for Skye tomorrow. We’ll be waiting for you when you come for Christmas.’

Erik gave a disapproving snort. ‘This is unnecessary. You have Nanny Josefin to look after your children. I don’t see why you’re taking a long leave. You’re so impetuous, Mats.’

Mats rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. ‘I want to be with my children at a difficult time for them, Pappa. I don’t approve of Inger taking an extended holiday away from the kids any more than you do, but getting engaged to Andreas, a rich man, has gone to her head. The kids will miss her while she’s on a superyacht for three months with Andreas and his friends. They’ve had too much to deal with this year. I’m needed more as a father than as chief financial officer of Larsson Fiskeri.’ Josefin valiantly divided her time between Inger’s house and his apartment just as Astrid and Alvin shared their week between the two, but since the breakdown of his marriage, Mats had become a more hands-on dad. Bath-time bubbles and book-time cuddles had quickly shown him what he used to miss out on every time he was late home from work. He took a breath and softened his tone. ‘I work hard enough to justify a rare long leave, don’t I? I have an efficient deputy and I’ll be contactable by phone or email, just as you are when you’re at Rothach. I’ll return in January. The children aren’t even at dagis here. Next year, Astrid will begin compulsory education and the opportunity will be gone.’ There was no point in sending the children to dagis – day care – when they had a nanny.

Half-heartedly, Erik grumbled, ‘I’ll never retire if my children don’t take the company seriously.’

Mats smothered a laugh. ‘If all our family members resigned tomorrow, Larsson Fiskeri would sail on with others in our roles. That’s how business works, and you created an exceptional business.’

‘Hm.’ Erik sighed. ‘At least your mother will have your company. Travel safely.’ Then he was gone, Mats’ quirky, growly dad, who’d worked so hard all his life that he was finding it hard to stop.

Mats checked outside again, squinting against the glare of the snow to locate his two blond cherubs, smiling as he caught the bubbling sound of Alvin’s laughter. His priority was those two figures in colourful snowsuits. Everything else came second – even the family business. He’d leave it if he had to.

An hour later, Ezzie’s usual calm had deserted her and she slapped her hands on her desk until her palms stung. ‘Shit, shit, shit !’ Each drawer in her beautiful desk had been upended, her computer subjected to every search she could think of, but there was no sign of what she knew had once existed – the plan of the Larssons’ section of Rothach Hall, with notes on which family member occupied each room.

Irritably, she reached for her phone to call the housekeeper. Gwen was friendly and bright, sailing through her sixties like Captain Imperturbable, a font of Rothach Hall knowledge. ‘Hello, Ezzie.’

Ezzie felt reassured just to hear her musical Scottish lilt. ‘Gwen, do you know where each of the family sleeps? I’m afraid the plan’s gone missing.’

Gwen laughed. ‘Missing? Ach, amazing how certain things mysteriously vanished when Tavish took himself out the door. Yes, dear, I know most, I believe, and we can confirm with Grete. We’ve plenty of time before they arrive for Christmas.’

Ezzie didn’t sigh, because not even with this trusted colleague of over nine years would she be anything but cool and professional. ‘I’ve just learnt that Grete, Mats, his two children and their nanny are arriving on Saturday and staying up to and including Christmas, so we need to have those rooms ready straight away, I’m afraid.’

Gwen earned points in Ezzie’s book by not breathing a word of dismay or anxiety. In fact, she sounded delighted. ‘Oh, really? Then we’d best get on.’

Ezz grabbed her pad and pen. ‘Can you meet me in reception to go into the family side and draw up a fresh plan?’ The private quarters were often referred to as ‘the family side’ by Rothach Hall staff.

‘I’ll be right there.’ Gwen ended the call.

Two minutes later, Gwen arrived through a small door marked Staff Only , which accessed the mud room, staff facilities and then the rear courtyard. Her uniform was a black and grey striped dress with flat black tie-ups, her dark grey hair in a smooth bun. She glided like a galleon under sail. ‘I’ve told Georgia and Peony to go in once we’re done,’ she said, referring to the other housekeeping staff, who communicated mainly with each other and seemed happy to live their quiet life in the staff accommodation behind the hall.

Ezz unlocked the big, glossy white door marked Private. The family side was silent, as if waiting for the people it belonged to rather than Gwen and Ezz, the smell of lemon polish on the air. At the far end of the corridor, the kitchen was more farmhouse than grand house, with waxed wood cabinets and worn marble surfaces. All the downstairs walls wore coats of emulsion rather than posh wallpaper, even the main lounge and the home office, and the floor tiles had been refurbished during the hall’s restoration, rather than ripped up and replaced. The furnishings were a mixture of traditional pieces that the family had bought with the house more than a dozen years ago, plus modern additions. Ezzie strongly suspected the latter had come from IKEA and that Erik and Grete would have enjoyed assembling them, Erik laughing until his cheeks glowed red and Grete’s eyes crinkling to slits above her broad smile.

Gwen moved towards the staircase. ‘Shall we go up?’

Ezzie followed her bulky figure over sage green carpet. Every brass stair rod gleamed, because Gwen, Peony and Georgia kept the place spotless whether it was echoing emptily or ringing with happy Larsson voices. On the first landing, Gwen sailed across a capacious area where the last of the daylight poured through the massive windows that characterised the hall, then halted at a pair of doors. ‘This is Grete and Erik’s suite, of course.’ She opened the doors and Ezz saw a giant bay window framed in blood-red velvet, a couple of comfortably creased cream leather chairs and a low table.

Gwen waved towards the door set into the left-hand wall. ‘Bedroom with twin en suites.’

Ezzie’s pen flew over the page of her pad she’d headed 1st floor , sketching and scribbling. She could draw a more careful version later.

Back on the landing, Gwen led the way down a corridor. ‘Mats and Inger stay in a turret room.’ The room was round and decorated with dazzling silk fabrics.

Ezz halted, pen poised. ‘Mats didn’t mention Inger, so I presume she’ll come later. He said it would be him and his children, with the nanny, Josefin. She’s not the same nanny who came the summer before last. Her name’s spelt with a J but it’s pronounced like a Y – Yosser-feen. The youngest child will be three or so now.’ She made a note to work out all the children’s ages – helpful for when arranging Christmas trees and other possible hazards. ‘Where do the children sleep? Mats requested that Josefin be found a room nearby, but not one that other family would need when they arrive for Christmas.’

Gwen nodded. ‘When they came last, the two rooms between the master suite and the turret were used. The wee boy slept with the nanny they had then – an American lass. She always talked to the children in English and Astrid was already swapping between Swedish and English as if it was the most natural thing in the world.’

‘All the Larsson children I’ve met speak English as well as Swedish. It makes me ashamed of my own language skills.’ Ezz took out her phone and began to text. ‘I’ll check Mats’ preference about sleeping arrangements. Who else sleeps on this floor?’

‘The room down the end is a playroom, but everyone else sleeps on the floor above.’ Gwen’s quick, flat-footed stride soon carried her to the playroom, a long room with uncurtained windows, two blue sofas, a group of tartan beanbags, a big TV and plastic drawers for games and toys. A bookcase displayed books in English and what Ezz presumed to be Swedish. Or Norwegian.

A ping of her phone signalled Mats’ reply. Ezz read it aloud. ‘“Astrid and Alvin will share a room. No doubt we can make changes if they suddenly want one each.’” She replied, Of course , then added to her plan Astrid and Alvin in the room next to the turret and Josefin in the one after.

They climbed a smaller staircase to confirm who lived where on the second floor, and, finally, put their heads together to try and remember the names of the children. ‘Astrid and Alvin belong to Mats and Inger,’ said Ezz, to recap.

‘Jonas and Ebba have Emil and Filip,’ Gwen added. ‘They’re the eldest of the cousins, I’m sure. Then Maja and Nils have Liam and Walter – he’s lively, that Walter.’ She smiled fondly.

‘They have another,’ Ezzie recalled. ‘In the summer, Erik and Grete told me they were grandparents again and the baby was about six months.’

‘Maybe walking by now then,’ Gwen suggested. ‘Not that I have my own wee ’uns, but my sister has enough grandkids for us both.’

They trod back downstairs. It was nearly five, and a luminous blue dusk was rapidly darkening the windows. Before Gwen retired to her apartment at the back of the hall, she paused. ‘No doubt they’ll be seeing in the bells with us?’

In Scotland, Hogmanay – known to the rest of the world as New Year – was celebrated even more than Christmas, with parties, ceilidhs, festivals and the enthusiastic rendering of ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Ezzie paused on this sinking reminder that this year, because the Larsson family would be in residence, she wouldn’t be able to go with Thea to see their eldest sister Valentina for Hogmanay. Now she was Rothach Hall’s manager, she’d probably be expected to be on call. Though Valentina and family had recently moved from Edinburgh to Inverness, it would still be too far away if Ezz were needed.

‘I believe so.’ She made a note to consider a Hogmanay event next year, when they started a winter programme for the public. Maybe the Nature Garden Café could serve the haggis, neeps and tatties that Grete loved, with an alternative of stovies – which looked to Ezzie like a disassembled cottage pie.

Gwen rested her hand on the door to the reception lobby. ‘Georgia and Peony are taking leave over Christmas, so we might need a seasonal or two.’

‘If we can,’ Ezzie said drily. She hadn’t been impressed with Georgia and Peony wanting Christmas and New Year off when the family were to be at the hall. Evidently, they hadn’t done her online course, which said household staff should forget any such expectation, but Tavish had agreed it, apparently – just before he’d left. There hadn’t been much Ezz could do.

‘We can,’ Gwen answered with a broad grin that creased the weathered skin around her grey eyes. ‘My sister’s granddaughter Caitriona has already said she’ll be home from university and is keen to reduce her overdraft with a wee job.’

‘That sounds perfect.’ Diplomatically, Ezz added, ‘We’ll have to be flexible this Christmas, with the family being here.’

Gwen shrugged. ‘I would only have visited my sister on Christmas Day. Her shower are so noisy that the hall will be more restful, even with folk to feed.’

Ezz smiled, envisaging Gwen tying her black apron over her striped dress and whipping up Christmas dinners on demand. ‘Thank you.’

When Gwen had departed, Ezz headed for her office, phoning her sister Thea as she went. ‘Hey, Head Gardener. Just letting you know of the imminent arrival of family on Saturday. Grete, Mats, two children and the nanny.’ Her online course would have had her refer to them as ‘Madam, Mr Mats Larsson and his children,’ but they’d told her to use first names, so she did.

Like Gwen, Thea dealt with the situation. ‘OK. I’ll delay the planting of the tulip bulbs so Sheena and I can get the garden vac on the pathways.’ Sheena was the assistant head gardener. She worked daylight hours only from November to February, unless Thea was off. As Skye winter days were short, that usually meant nine-thirty a.m. to three-thirty p.m., or maybe four.

‘Great. Thanks.’ Happy that Thea had everything under control, Ezz settled to working on a neater floor plan. As she wrote names into boxes representing bedrooms, she mused on all the empty rooms. By her count, even when all the family arrived, that would still leave around eight rooms unoccupied – mind-boggling to someone living in a two-bedroom cottage in Rothach village, nestling below the hall in a bay that looked to have been scooped out with a spoon.

But she felt no envy. The Larssons could afford an enormous house, partially open to the public, with a café and a car park in the beautiful grounds, but she was rich in other ways, like having two fantastic sisters, Thea and Valentina, and this job that she loved.

She paused on a sliver of regret. She did feel a tiny bit isolated this winter, as Thea was now part of a couple with lovely Deveron Dowie. And in the summer Thea who, like Ezz and Valentina, had been adopted when very young, had found her French birth mother, Ynez. Understandably, Ynez and her partner Jean-Jacques occupied some of Thea’s time with calls and video chats. They even planned to buy a cottage on the mainland, and Thea and Dev had visited them in Brittany in September. Adding to her slight loneliness, Ezz had paused her dating apps after the last man she’d met, Henry the auctioneer – she thought of him that way because he announced his profession so frequently – had been a bit weird.

But her heart lifted as she remembered that Valentina, husband Gary and lovely son Barnaby would be squashing into Ezz’s house over Christmas, Thea’s spare room being too small. Even if Ezz’s duties took up some of the time, there would still be some to spend with them.

Who needed eight spare rooms, when the one you had was full of family? Family meant love.