Sunny Stays at the Shetland Hotel

Book 3: From Shetland, With Love

by Erin Green

Genres: Friendship; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

'A warm, funny, uplifting writer to celebrate!' KATIE FFORDE

If you love Lucy Diamond, Phillipa Ashley, Sue Moorcroft and Holly Martin, you'll LOVE Erin Green's novels of love, life and laughter!

'A lovely, heart-warming story . . . I was hooked!' CHRISTINA COURTENAY

'A delightful tale of friendship, family and love' JENNI KEER

'Thoroughly entertaining. The characters are warm and well drawn' SUE ROBERTS

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New friendship is just a stay away . . .

Pippa has long felt like the odd one out in her family. Taking a job driving a mobile bakery van around Shetland's villages gives her a sense of freedom and purpose, but also makes her realise how much she wants to belong.

Natalia has recently returned to Lerwick hoping to reconnect with an old flame. But she's engulfed by loss and rejection when she hears that he's moved on, and Natalia's world is turned upside down.

Autumn is dedicated to her job in hospitality and relishes her role as general manager of Lerwick Manor's new hotel. No guest request is too big or too small, but her own unrelentingly high standards could push Autumn to her limits.

Will the beauty of Shetland help these three women find the friendship, support and healing that they all need?
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'Wow! Reading this book was like comfrey tea. The more it fermented the better it got' 5 * reader review

'What a lovely and uplifting read. I really really enjoyed it. Definitely one of my faves from 2021...!' 5 * reader review

'A perfect heartwarming read which has provided a great escape' 5 * reader review

'Loved this thoroughly feel good read & now I'm just off into my garden to plant some carrot seedlings!' 5 * reader review

Don't miss any of Erin Green's gloriously uplifting reads in Lerwick - look out for From Shetland, With Love; From Shetland, With Love at Christmas and A Shetland Christmas Carol - perfect for any season!

You are invited to holiday at gorgeous Rose Cottage - where friendship, home comforts and romance are guaranteed . . . look for New Beginnings at Rose Cottage - out now! 'Utterly charming . . . an uplifting and optimistic story' Hot Brands Cool Places

If you don't ask you'll never know . . . don't miss Taking a Chance on Love - out now!

(P)2022 Headline Publishing Group Limited

Release date: May 26, 2022

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 400

Sample

Chapter One

Tuesday 1 February

Dottie’s diary

That peerie duck has walked mud throughout the tiled hallway! Housekeeping are overseeing the cleaning duties for the guests – scrubbing, mainly. Thankfully, my dusting duties are assigned purely to the Campbells’ private quarters. It’s lovely to hear laughter and chatter return to the old place, it reminds me of bygone days.

Pippa

I’m nervous standing here upon the cobbled yard in the low afternoon sunshine. That jittery expectation of fight or flight irks me as we await the big reveal for Lerwick Manor’s latest venture. I shouldn’t be nervous – after all, the Campbells seem to have enjoyed the Midas touch with their previous projects – but I am. For unlike the adjoining Lerwick Manor Allotment Association, which dates back aeons, or The Stables arts and crafts gallery, which has been a booming success since last autumn, and even their newly refurbished hotel, which occupies several floors of their stately home, this eagerly awaited project involves me. I’ll be at the helm, in the driving seat, so to speak! I have every faith in their vision, their ethos and business acumen, but something deep down inside is niggling away at me. And that unnerves me immensely.

‘Pippa! Pippa! Has anyone seen her?’ calls Ned, craning his neck towards The Orangery, failing to see me hiding amongst the crowd of artists lining the gallery’s cobbled yard.

At twenty-seven years of age, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I stand stock-still, peering over the artists’ shoulders at the monstrosity trundling through the stone archway. I can make out Levi’s frame through the tinted windscreen, as he proudly draws the vehicle to a halt centre stage, before killing the ignition.

I can’t remember what I had in mind when the initial plans were explained to me, but this . . . this wasn’t it! When I volunteered for my new job, I thought I had realistic expectations of what was required of me. My big boss, Ned, is a stickler for a job well done and his wife, Jemima – my older cousin by just two years – is pretty savvy when it comes to creative ideas and ingenuity. But this is a sodding joke! I’ll be the laughing stock of Shetland, driving this bulky wagon between the rural communities. And what for? All in the name of . . . I peer at the swirly script decorating the nearest side panel: ‘The Artisan Bread Basket – straight from our ovens to your doorstep!’ Well, that figures. The bulbous curves of the metalwork, with its gleaming new paint job in beige and brown, make it looks like a crusty loaf on wheels. I must be short of a loaf or two to even contemplate switching from being head waitress in the gallery’s artisan coffee shop, to belittling myself by driving that thing around.

‘There you are! What do you think, Pippa?’ asks Ned, an expression of delight plastered across his strongly defined features.

I don’t answer. He tilts his head, awaiting an answer. Flecks of grey nestle attractively amongst the darker brown of his temples.

He might have married into our family, but still I need to lie. I must lie. I can lie; I have before.

‘It’s g-great!’ I stutter, sounding the least convincing of any moment of my entire life.

‘Pleased?’ he continues, beckoning me forward from the huddled crowd.

‘Y-yeah. Pleased.’ I’m not, which I think is clearly obvious. Or rather, it might be to Jemima, if she were present; despite our strained family ties, I suspect her female intuition would detect my disappointment instantly.

Ned hastily strides to the driver’s door where Levi, the local taxi driver and dear friend of my cousin, hands over the keys and swiftly departs in the direction of the manor.

‘This way, Pippa . . . come and have a look what’s inside. I think you’ll be impressed,’ says Ned, indicating for me to follow him to the rear of the vehicle.

He unlocks the double doors while I stand waiting, like a petulant child refused sweets. My sulky words slip from my mouth before I put my brain into gear.

‘Given the shape, I assume it was an ambulance?’

‘It certainly was. We got her for a bargain price, removed the interior to create more space, and –’ Ned wrenches open the rear doors and pins them back to reveal the new interior – ‘now she’s fully functional, with storage racks, a serving counter and cupboard space!’

My mouth falls open. I simply stare. Mute.

Metal racks line both sides, from floor to ceiling. Sturdy wicker bread trays sit neatly upon each shelf, with a gleaming lip of metal securing each one in place – clearly to prevent mayhem whilst driving. A wooden counter, with many drawers and cupboards, is positioned behind the driver’s padded seat, completing the refurb. Metal hooks and carabiner clips hang from the ceiling struts, providing easy access and storage for paper bags, serving gloves and metal bread tongs.

‘There’s even a tiny sink with running water,’ says Ned proudly, pointing at a set of taps protruding from the countertop. His words fill the growing silence but, sadly, only serve to highlight my lack of enthusiasm.

‘Well. At least . . .’ I’m desperately trying to find something productive to say, as there’s no way I can stall any further. ‘I can’t wait to get started,’ I lie.

‘Great! That’s the spirit, Pippa! We were thinking as soon as tomorrow morning . . . out and about, advertising and possibly taste-testing,’ says Ned, passing me the keys.

‘Great,’ I repeat, but without Ned’s enthusiastic tone. I suspect that the assembled artists are expecting me to deliver a witty line of appreciation. I’m not impressed. Surely they’ve got things to do, to make or create, rather than wasting precious time watching this tragedy unfold?

The conversion job was entrusted to the MacDonald lads, a local trio of brothers on whom everyone relies when a favour is needed. I’m grateful that they’ve removed the blue lights from the roof, the trolley ramp and the colourful Battenberg stripes. They’ve done a decent job – but still, this simply isn’t me.

Wouldn’t it have been lovely to drive a custom-built bread van of which I could be proud? Instead I’m presented with a second-hand ambulance, resurrected from retirement, in which I presume some folk may have died and others could possibly have been born.

‘It’s come all the way from the mainland,’ says Ned knowingly.

I wish Jemima was showing me around instead. I could be honest, say what I truly think. She’ll understand my disappointment, or possibly remember the root cause. Being the youngest of three girl cousins, I rarely got anything new. Callie and Jemima were both careful with their clothes, their childhood toys and belongings; our parents thought they were being thrifty passing on bin liners bulging with outgrown clothes. Being the youngest, guess who always had the final wear? And now I’m lumbered with this cast-off from an NHS ambulance depot. Ned’s expecting me to show delight, so just like with those pre-owned clothes of yesteryear, I’ll fake a smile and dream of alternatives. I could ask Jemima if Aileen still wants the job. At the time, I was miffed when she eagerly volunteered, but now I think Aileen is more capable of making a success of this new venture than I am. I’ll happily give her a chance at promotion from being a waitress in the artisan coffee shop – I know she hates wiping tables as much as I do. If she wants to prove her true worth, she could start tomorrow. Label that as ‘personal development’ in the next round of appraisals – mine, not hers.

‘Where’s Jemima?’ I ask.

‘She’ll be along in a while. She’s settling new guests into their rooms,’ Ned says, his dark eyes twinkling as his gaze roves about the vehicle’s reconditioned interior.

I’m stuck. Lumbered with this monstrosity until I speak to Jemima.

Autumn

‘Dottie, please. You frighten me when you gallop down the staircase at such a pace. What’ll happen if you fall and injure yourself?’ I enter the reception area of the newly converted Lerwick Manor Hotel to find the spritely octogenarian dashing through the hallway clutching her favourite feather duster.

‘I’ve run down that grand staircase more times than you’ve eaten haggis, Autumn. My days of light dusting are over when I can’t choose my own gear speed,’ she says, her watery blue gaze intent upon mine. She wafts past me, heading for the rear kitchens. ‘Don’t you forget, Ned said I could do as much or as little cleaning as I please round here, now we’re open.’

‘I haven’t forgotten, Dottie.’ Though I don’t know what I’ll say to Jemima or Ned if she breaks a hip – it doesn’t bear thinking about. I’ve only been here a week, and I thought she’d heed my warning after daily reminders, but no, I suppose old habits die hard. I’m aware that Dottie knows this manor house like the back of her hand, but the ground floor plus the next two floors have all been refurbished to accommodate paying guests. So there are definitely more bodies, obstacles and trip hazards lining these once-silent corridors. I can do without an emergency occurring on what’s supposed to be a quiet midweek opening.

A collection of suitcases and holdalls are lined up on the hallway’s classical black-and-white tiled floor. I’m hoping each is clearly labelled, ensuring swift delivery to the assigned suite; there isn’t anything nicer than entering your suite to find your luggage awaits you. There are plenty of staff on hand, prepped and ready to assist, eager to iron out any unexpected niggles; nothing’s ever perfect until it is up and running, despite the Campbells’ meticulous planning.

The shuttle bus from Sumburgh Airport delivered our first group of guests, travel-weary and hungry, some ten minutes ago. Jemima quickly ushered them through to the library for a warm buffet lunch and a brief introduction, while I prepare the necessary paperwork. I don’t suppose this will happen every time but I understand her attention to detail; it provides me with some breathing space, ensuring their luggage is delivered correctly.

I’m excited that today has actually arrived. After much anticipation and effort I’m fully prepared, but slightly nervous in case things don’t go as smoothly as planned. But that’s all part and parcel of a front of house role in a top-class establishment – you need to think on your feet and be able to pull a rabbit out of a hat, when necessary. My current position is an amalgamation of roles; the Campbells are calling me the General Manager, on account of my responsibilities and daily duties, but I also have shifts on reception. I’m certain my role will change as the establishment develops over time.

Amongst the rows of luggage, two in particular grab my attention. A couple of identical hessian duffel bags, standard army issue in khaki, complete with drawstring and metal eyelets. The second pile, a set of seven designer cases, decreasing in size, accessorised with bulging buckles and straps, in a taupe colour. It’s a silly game, but old habits linger from my previous employment working in hospitality on cruise liners. I’m yet to meet any of our residents but their luggage speaks volumes about their personality. The cruise ship’s gangway would still be in place and we’d be waging daft bets on who’s who and what’s what – a bit of fun that made arrivals day less monotonous for the staff.

‘Autumn, are the keys ready?’ asks Levi, entering from the rear kitchen door, through which Dottie had disappeared just minutes ago. He’s full of energy, his blond hair sticking up at his crown.

‘Perfect timing. I was just assigning their suites.’ I indicate my prepared booking sheet and gesture towards the wall-mounted key cupboard. ‘Is Ned happy with his new bread van?’

‘Mmmm, he is. I’m not so sure it’s to Pippa’s liking.’ He joins me at the reception desk. ‘Knowing Pippa, there’s bound to be a drama before too long.’

I can’t comment; I know her by sight from the local area but we’re yet to be fully acquainted. I believe she has the room opposite mine in the refurbished servants’ quarters up on the fourth floor, which partially extend above the Campbells’ private quarters below. Every night this last week, I’ve climbed the old wooden staircase at an ungodly hour to fall into bed, ready for an early start in the morning – much like I did on board ship, when I hunkered down in my tiny cabin.

It takes me a matter of minutes to attach a suite label to each guest’s luggage before Levi swiftly collects suitcases and carries them up the grand staircase. He might be moonlighting from his main taxi job to help out for today – filling in for the lack of applications for the advertised bellboy/waiter role – but Jemima assures me Levi’s a legend. There’s nothing more rewarding than being surrounded by willing, pleasant staff who take pride in doing their job well. That’s one of the things I’ll miss about the cruise liners; nothing was too much trouble if it pleased our guests. Be it a special request for an anniversary meal, or arranging excursion trips ahead of disembarking at a port, or locating a member of staff who could serenade a proposal, perform a magic trick or walk an elderly guest to their seat. But a long career spent at sea has left me hankering for roots on land since my fortieth birthday. And, dare I confess, a smaller, more homely establishment to organise instead of being responsible for an entire deck of cabins. The long working hours and lengthy absence from family takes its toll in the end, regardless of how organised and dedicated you are.

I linger at the reception desk and admire the swathes of Black Watch tartan and elaborate tapestries which decorate the high ceiling, encircling the impressive crystal chandelier which plunges into the vast hallway. Generations of family portraits watch the proceedings from their gilt-edged frames, high above our heads. I wonder what they’d make of the Campbell family being confined to the third-floor landing as their private residence?

The Lerwick Manor Hotel may be a newly refurbished establishment but the standards are incredibly high, the facilities plush, and the family history provides an ambience to die for. I’m impressed. My two-piece uniform of dark navy is teamed with a silver satin blouse, which wasn’t of my choosing, but it looks rather fetching against my mature complexion and auburn hair. The staff radio hanging from my slender belt feels bulky as I walk, but I’ll get used to it. I’d much prefer to rely on my mobile, which remains in my pocket throughout my shift.

‘Does Levi need a hand taking the luggage up?’ asks Mungo, appearing from nowhere and gesturing towards the many suitcases. He strokes his greying beard as he crosses the hallway. I’ve sussed that he’s Dottie’s companion but I know from growing up in Lerwick that he lives at the end of her road.

‘I’m sure he’d appreciate it – and if he doesn’t, I certainly do. Thank you, Mungo. The hessian holdalls are for the Whalsay Suite on the first floor.’ Each suite has a geographical name based on the local area. I pass him the assigned key before he bundles the luggage up the grand staircase.

It’s a pity there’s no lift facility yet, but guests are informed prior to booking; luckily, that isn’t a concern for our current crop. Of the twelve available bedrooms, just eight have been refurbished to accommodate paying guests, with all mod cons and stylish en-suite bathrooms. The Campbells have created many new ventures in recent months: The Stables gallery, The Orangery, and now, a plush hotel. Being locals, my family can’t believe how a manor house can lie dormant for decades, with hardly anyone seen about the premises, only to become a thriving estate brought to life with guests and gallery customers in a matter of six months. I keep telling them, that’s what happens when the right two people get it together in life and work as a duo; anything is possible. My sister reckons the Campbells ­weren’t even dating this time last year, which I find hard to believe.

‘The large set of cases is for which suite?’ asks Levi, returning from his first delivery.

I quickly check my booking list. ‘The Unst Suite on the first floor. Though I believe the occupant didn’t arrive on the shuttle bus. She’s gone sightseeing in Lerwick and will be checking in later tonight.’

Levi collects the largest two cases before saying, ‘Can you send Mungo up with the lighter ones? I’ll return for the heavier suitcases.’

‘Sure. I appreciate your consideration, Levi,’ I say, attempting to fix a stray strand of hair which has escaped from my low bun.

‘The old bugger’s as fit as a fiddle, but he needs to pace himself.’

‘Aye, the same goes for Dottie.’

‘You’ve more hope of curbing Mungo’s antics than hers,’ chides Levi, with a chuckle, before grabbing two taupe cases and ascending the staircase.

Chapter Two

Pippa

‘Hello, Pippa, come on up. Ned said you wanted a word,’ says Jemima, leaning over the banister of the third-floor landing and viewing my ascent. Her dark flowing locks fall forward, enveloping her olive skin. We’re first cousins, our mothers were sisters, though you wouldn’t know it. I take after the Quinn family in appearance: the Scandinavian blonde colouring with piercing blue eyes. Sometimes it would be nice to be as unique as our Jemima, but that’s thanks to her father’s side.

‘Please. A quiet word,’ I say, not wanting to chat in the stairwell for fear that Ned might overhear and assume I’m being ungrateful.

‘Sure. We’ll use the office as Ned’s just gone out to visit a tenant farmer.’

I climb the remainder of the grand staircase under the watchful gaze of Ned’s descendants, honoured within decorative gilt frames, before reaching the only modern landing in the manor, complete with its row of skylights, leading to a minimalistic office. Jemima waits patiently in the open doorway; I know she’s sussing me out as I draw closer. She probably senses what I’m about to say before I explain. We might be blood relatives but there’s a world of difference between us since her recent good fortune in meeting, marrying and moving up in the world, becoming joint owner of this place. Not that I’m jealous: I’m certainly not. But name any single woman you know who wouldn’t give her right arm for her dreams to come true in literally two seasons? Exactly. I don’t know anyone who’d say ‘no, thanks’ to the good fortune that’s been bestowed upon my cousin.

Having embarked on a sabbatical, spent mostly on Granddad’s allotment, Jemima quit her role at the local tourist office, before suggesting and setting up The Stables gallery, providing me with much-needed employment and an escape route from a boring admin job, proving that blood is thicker than water. I’m grateful to her, especially as we haven’t always been the closest of relations. Waitressing in The Orangery, reporting to Isla as my boss, I confess I was jealous of her dedication and talent for baking. I definitely became lazier and slapdash when I realised I couldn’t compete with Isla’s skillset. I don’t blame her for reporting back to Jemima and Ned, I’d have done the same in her shoes. Five months on, they encouraged my interest in their new mobile delivery venture. Though now, having seen the actual vehicle, I’m not too sure.

Jemima gestures for me to enter the office and I settle at the meeting table. I rarely come up here, but I know Isla attends daily meetings to report on The Orangery’s previous day’s sales.

My cousin settles opposite me, her elbows resting on the white table, an expectant look in her eye.

‘I don’t want the delivery role for the Bread Basket,’ I say. I feel incredibly guilty, but there’s no point beating around the bush. She might be my boss, but I should be able to say what I want to family. ‘I’m sorry for wasting your time.’

‘O . . . K . . .’ Jemima slides her elbows from the table and sits back. ‘And you didn’t think to mention this to Ned while he was giving you a tour of the vehicle a matter of thirty minutes ago?’

I shake my head, biting my lower lip. I wasn’t expecting her to be happy at my announcement, but she seems shocked.

‘So the account he relayed to me of a smiling, excited Pippa wasn’t actually the truth?’

I shake my head again. ‘Remember when you were little and all you wanted for Christmas was a lovely big doll’s house filled with lots of tiny furniture and pretty objects?’

‘Yeah, I had one like that when I was about eight. I loved it.’

‘I remember it well, I wanted one just like it . . . but I received a skateboard instead!’

Jemima grimaces, as I knew she would.

I swiftly continue, ‘I didn’t ask for a skateboard, but it’s what I was given, as it was the popular craze at the time. That was a definite “smile and be grateful” moment on Christmas morning.’

‘You loved that skateboard – you were forever doing tricks and stunts. And if I remember correctly, didn’t my mum give you my doll’s house years later?’

‘She did; that’s precisely why my parents wouldn’t buy me an identical one. Am I always to receive second best in this world, then grin and bear it, regardless of what I want or how hard I try?’

She averts her gaze, before giving a hefty sigh.

I wait for her to speak; I’m not about to trip over my own apology by making whimsical excuses purely to satisfy my cousin.

‘Pippa, Ned is hoping to hit the road with this new venture tomorrow. He isn’t going to be impressed to learn that he’s . . . we’ve . . . forked out for a conversion job, only to find we have no driver.’

‘I had an image of actually enjoying what I do each day. No more wiping tables, fetching coffee or clearing dirty trays, but taking sole responsibility for the enterprise,’ I say. I want to add, it’s amazing how your enthusiasm dies when reality doesn’t live up to expectations, but I don’t.

Jemima doesn’t look best pleased.

I change tack. ‘Look, I wasn’t expecting anything state of the art – or even posh – but I never imagined I’d be a laughing stock by the end of day one in a converted ambulance. I’d prefer to be wiping tables and making umpteen lattes than driving that thing.’

‘Oh, Pippa!’ grumbles Jemima, her eyes pleading with me.

‘Ask Aileen,’ I urge. ‘She’ll be up for the job at the drop of a hat. She wanted it initially, before you awarded it to me. There’ll be no chance of her refusing the opportunity, if you pitch it right.’

‘If I pitch it right?’ Jemima’s furrowed brow returns.

‘You know . . . explain that there was an issue with my driving licence . . . or that I failed my written assessment for the health and safety certificate . . .’ I pause.

She’s listening intently and doesn’t appear amused by my solution. ‘So the long and the short of it is that you want to bail out because you’re embarrassed by the second-hand vehicle we’ve purchased, yet you’ll freely volunteer Aileen as your replacement without speaking to her.’

‘It makes sense,’ I mutter, feeling less confident now.

‘No, Pippa. What would make sense is that you honour the task you were assigned after you volunteered. That you step up to the plate with the venture you said you wanted. You said, and I quote here, “I want to be on the open road, being my own boss.” You were excited at the prospect of spreading the word about the gallery and making deliveries to the smaller villages and the isolated communities. Or is that something that I’ve made up?’

‘Err, not quite. I doubt I said “the open road”.’

‘OK. I might be ad-libbing slightly, but words to that effect?’

I nod gingerly, feeling bad for voicing the truth. She’s not a happy bunny. Ned will be even less amused when he hears.

‘And I suppose I’m the one who’s to deliver this news flash to Ned upon his return, am I?’

‘Err yeah, you’re the other half of the management team.’

Jemima’s jaw drops. That last phrase came out slightly wrong. I give a fleeting shrug, not trusting myself to speak for fear of annoying her further.

‘Can I ask what you are choosing to do instead?’

It’s my turn to frown. Surely that’s obvious.

‘I’ll continue to waitress in The Orangery and work alongside Isla.’

Jemima purses her lips. ‘And if I were to say we’ve already lined up a replacement with immediate effect, given that you were to begin preparing “your project” for trading.’

‘Oh.’ The realisation dawns; I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Can’t she replace Aileen instead? I’ll happily train her up in the role, if it helps.’

‘If it helps?’ Jemima shakes her head – in disbelief, I think. She has a habit of repeating phrases when a quick-fix solution fails to spring to mind.

‘Sorry, just trying to be honest. Surely a happy workforce makes for a productive team!’

Jemima offers me an exasperated look; she clearly thinks I’m a waste of space.

Natalia

I didn’t think I’d be this anxious at the thought of seeing him again, after months of silence. No doubt he’ll portray his usual cool exterior, while my senses are spinning into orbit, but I’m used to that. Ned’s a man of few words, but deep down he cares immensely. I’ve always suspected his mannerisms were moulded by upbringing, family duty and a deep sense of tradition. Thankfully, I know the other side of his nature: his tenderness towards me, his gentle encouragement on each visit, and our intimate pillow talk. I sense this is the right time for us; as long as I don’t mess up like last September. I’m trying to steer clear of calling this my ‘last chance saloon’, but the notion certainly fits.

I’ve made every effort to ensure my arrival is a complete surprise. Ned hates surprises; I think they keep life interesting. I refused the shuttle bus from the airport, opting for a taxi ride into Lerwick and a few hours to browse the quaint shops. I’ve enjoyed a manicure, a fresh pedicure and a very nice afternoon tea overlooking the busy harbour.

My blonde hair is discreetly swept up beneath a woollen peaked cap, which will hide my face, if needed, and my bulky winter coat and large designer sunglasses complete my disguise. I’ve no fear of bumping into Ned. It’s early evening, so there’s only one place he’ll be: in his third-floor office, shouldering his daily worries as lord of the manor. It’s the locals who might rumble me – the Dotties of this world.

I’m taken aback by the refurbishment of the manor’s hallway, which includes a stylish reception area situated to the right of the grand entrance. The elegant wooden counter encircles the entrance to what was once a disused parlour in which Ned housed his old estate accounts and dusty box files, but which now appears to be a fully functioning rear office.

‘Your luggage has been delivered to your suite, Ms Muir,’ says the receptionist – or Autumn, as her name badge declares – who’s being extremely efficient with the paperwork and my keys. ‘If I could ask for a quick signature here, here and here.’ She indicates each place marked with tiny crosses. I oblige with a squiggle; I doubt room service will be checking my signature against each order, come the morning.

The past few months have been taken up with non-stop modelling assignments for high-end cosmetics or beauty products. I realise that others outside the industry think the work is easy money, labelling it as ‘pose and pout’, but having jetted here, there and everywhere to please the agency bosses and photographers alike, I’m exhausted; which is why this little excursion comes as a welcome break. I may not have reached the heady heights of the catwalk queens but my face, hands and flowing locks have featured in many glossy magazines. I’ve yet to sign my latest contract with the modelling agency; I’m unsure if another three-year commitment is where my heart truly lies. Who knows? Ned might surprise me with a suggestion that will encourage me to put down roots sooner than I imagined.

Nobody interrupts or appears during the check-in process. I knew arriving at this hour would reduce the chances of bumping into anyone before reaching my room. Society believes it embraces a modern lifestyle 24/7, with the time of day no longer dictating people’s activities, but they’re so wrong; certain parameters still exist. Most hotel guests check in early, making the most of their first night, either in the bar or restaurant, which means corridors and staircases are free from guests, staff or a watchful proprietor. There’s usually a hive of activity in kitchens or dining rooms, with no one paying attention to the final check-in of the day: the solo traveller.

The Unst Suite is unchanged in many ways from my previous visits, apart from the new name. This large airy room was never the bedroom of my choice, but usually the one which Dottie assigned me after her cleaning duties. She knew perfectly well that I adored the larger bedroom, two doors along, on this floor. His mother’s old room, I believe, though now renamed the Sumburgh Suite. A stunning room with the same prospect, overlooking the manor’s grounds and stables, but being the corner room of the building, the layout provides a true suite comprised of a dressing room and connecting boudoir, complete with a four-poster bed suggesting an extravagance which this