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arched. “The shoe’s on the other foot. However oven-like London may be in summer, I shall be the one to envy you. If only we could go back..."
    “But you couldn’t expect Andy to throw up his holding after less than two years!”
    “Why not? He threw up his good, safe job to come here.”
    “But, darling, you were willing. You could have refused. Andy would never have forced you to come.”
    “I tried to be fair. I wanted Andy to have the chance to see how he shaped as a farmer. He would always have resented it if we hadn’t given the scheme a trial.” Barbara gave a sad little laugh. “I’m the one who hasn’t really shaped up to being a farmer’s wife.”
    Judith ached with sympathy, seeing clearly her sister’s dilemma. Perhaps it had been too much to expect a sophisticated girl accustomed to working in glamorous surroundings, then making herself a married life with some elegance, to uproot herself so ruthlessly.
    The point was even emphasised when, on the homeward journey, Andy tied up his boat at the ferry mooring and the party trudged up the sloping path over the shoulder of the hill to the other side of Kylsaig.
    “I’ll be glad when Stuart gets some sort of slipway ready on our side of the island,” Andy murmured apologetically to Judith. “If I could moor there, it would save all this long tramp home.”
    Barbara threw her sister a glance that said plainly, “You see what I mean?”
    “Couldn’t you moor your boat nearer to the house now?” asked Judith. “The sea’s quite close.”
    Andy laughed, and Barbara joined in. “The last time I tried that,” Andy replied, “the dinghy stuck fast in the mud and we had to wait nearly a week for a high tide to shift her.”
    Next day, Barbara had several plans to suggest. “If you could manage to amuse yourself today, then tomorrow we might go over to Cruban together. I shall have to get my hair done anyway if we’re going to the Huntlys for dinner in the evening. After that you might like to go on some of the day trips to places. Otherwise all your holidays will fly by and you’ll have seen nothing of Scotland.”
    “I’ll have another shot at exploring the island today,” Judith declared. “This time I shall start the other way round.”
    Barbara began to giggle. “D’you know, Judy, that’s something I’ve never done yet myself. Made the round tour. I can’t even direct you. If Andy were here, or the children, they’d—”
    “Don’t worry. I shall find my way,” Judith assured her sister. “Just let me take a sandwich or two and a piece of cake. Then you needn’t bother about a midday meal for me.”
    She reached the high centre of Kylsaig from where the best views were to be seen. Across the water beyond the long coastline of Mull were the shapes of distant islands faintly silhouetted on the dazzling Atlantic. On the mainland, range after range of blue-grey mountains cut sharply into the clear sky and farther away snow-tipped peaks gleamed in the sunshine.
    The town of Cruban was hidden by the shoulder of the next hill, but across the Sound of Kylsaig she could glimpse a grey stone house half hidden by trees. Could this be Stuart Huntly’s home, Garranmure?
    She turned towards the downward track, but yet again the right path eluded her, for after clambering down to a stony beach and across a tussocky bog, she could see no way leading across the jutting spit of land.
    “But it’s an island!” she muttered aloud. “I ought to be able to walk all round it without getting lost.”
    She made several attempts to cross the swampy ground, then clambered through some barbed wire and across a deep, muddy burn. The hills of the interior folded across each other and obscured her view, preventing her from finding any known landmarks.
    Half laughing, half angry, she returned part of the way she had come and sat down in the shelter of a stone wall to eat her sandwiches. She lit a cigarette and the warm sunshine and peaceful atmosphere