“It’s Lennox, isn’t it? From Lennox Farm? He’s dead old,” said Ainslee.

“He’s in his early thirties!”

“Yeah. Really, really old.”

“Uh, all right,” said Nina.

“But he’s pretty cute. For an older guy.” Ainslee had blushed bright pink.

“You think?”

She nodded. “I mean, not that it matters what I think.”

“Ainslee,” said Nina, leaning forward. “Never believe that. What you think always matters.”

Ainslee looked at her for a moment. Then they both heard her name being called by whoever was in charge of the waitresses.

“So you’re going to go for it?” she said, attempting a conspiratorial smile.

“Um, no,” said Nina. “But I value your opinion.”

Ainslee nodded, as if it was the way of the world for her to be roundly ignored, and lumbered off into the dawn.

A fleet of taxis, and cars that had been pressed into service as taxis, turned up to take the partygoers home. Several people were just flat out and would stay that way until they woke up, rather damply. Some well-prepared tents were dotted here and there. Nina felt very sobered up after about four pints of coffee and shared a cab with some of the villagers she’d met there, glad that she didn’t catch sight of Lennox again on her way out. Her hair had gotten loose, and she didn’t even want to think about her eyeliner.

“Did you have a good night?” asked their driver. “I always used to go as a young man. Great place to meet the lasses, oh yes.”

“Did you meet any?” said a very drunk girl squashed into the backseat.

“Met my wife,” said the cabbie. “She won’t let me go anymore, unless I’m working. It was fun, though. Did you get the lights tonight? I’ve never seen them in the summertime.”

“They were amazing,” said Nina, thinking back. If she forgot about that awkward moment with Lennox, it had been, in many ways, the most marvelous evening. She recalled nights out she’d had in the city. Yes, it was definitely true. There was no comparison. She might not go out as often here, but when she did, it really meant something. She wished Surinder had been there, she’d have loved it. And the Gus had been asking after her, too. She didn’t think he’d ended up with anyone either.

But now, as she sank gratefully into bed, after taking off the lovely dress and checking it for marks—fortunately she appeared to have gotten away relatively unscathed, just some mud here and there; she’d need to look for a lovely set of new books for Lesley to say thank you, especially now that she knew what she liked—her memories weren’t of the wild dancing or the sweet wine or the shimmering lights across the horizon.

They were, disagreeably, of the look on Lennox’s face when she’d snatched her hand away; and a growing uncomfortable knowledge that what she’d felt wasn’t dislike, or fear, or anything like that, which she suspected had shown on her face.

She had pulled her hand away because what she had felt, the very second he had touched her, even lightly, was heat, deep, instantaneous, burning heat. It had seared her.

She didn’t want to—couldn’t—think about that now, the trouble she could cause as she was on the point of losing her home, of losing everything she’d worked so hard to build.

(And she never cast a thought, never even considered that a couple of miles to the west, a train had stopped, sat idling on a train crossing, as the driver leaned his head out of the window beside an empty tree, and also gazed up at the astonishing lights in the sky, and thought that no one but he had ever felt so lonely.)

Chapter Twenty-five

The morning sun fell across her bedspread as Nina woke late but arose feeling oddly better, considering how much she’d drunk and danced the evening before. After a long soak in the bath, using the incredibly expensive bubble bath and bath salts that had been left out in a basket, like a posh hotel, and which she’d never dared use before (she cared less now, if she was en route to eviction), she even felt cleansed.

As long as she didn’t think about Lennox.

She blinked as she sat down and combed out her hair. This was terrible. This was a truly awful idea. He was a vulnerable man. In Wellingtons, for God’s sake. Who had lowered his guard for one night, who had himself said he wanted to get drunk.

He was almost certainly every bit as embarrassed as she was this morning. Probably more so. The best, the only thing to do was to ignore him, because if he had to walk in here one day—soon—and tell her that she was being evicted and that Kate was getting the entire farm, well, she was going to have to deal with that. She looked at her computer and saw another friendly message from Orkney Library suggesting she go up and have a look around, and saying that the northern lights were particularly tremendous this year, which made her smile. Perhaps she ought to. Anything to get out of the way for a few days.

To leave everything behind would be so hard, though. She thought back to the antics of the night before and smiled, couldn’t help it. But then that was the Scots, wasn’t it? Endlessly welcoming and hospitable, particularly up here. It didn’t necessarily mean she belonged, did it?

But she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want to hang around, moping, on the farm. She really didn’t want to see Lennox. No. She might feel strange, but she’d get out, make some money, stock up the van, make sure everything was in tip-top condition . . . try to see herself as a rolling stone, someone who liked moving on, who liked to travel and keep going.

Even though it was Sunday and none of the shops in the village was open, she decided to get out there anyway. The sooner the better. And also, she realized, the farther away she was from Lennox and his stupid farm the better right now. The idea that he might pop over and apologize made her feel embarrassed and awkward. She remembered again the look on his face when he’d first seen her in her white dress.

No, she told herself. She was imagining things. Again. As she always did, as Surinder kept pointing out. It was nothing. Or at the very best it was a lonely, angry man wondering if she’d oblige because she only lived up the hill, and that wasn’t at all what she was after either.

Then her traitorous thoughts strayed again to the feeling of his strong, large calloused hand on hers.

No. No no no no. Moving on. She was moving on. This wasn’t her home; they wouldn’t really notice. It was a stopping point, that was all, a way of getting her out of an unsatisfying career and into an interesting one. Life would go on here and she would go elsewhere, and no one would miss her.