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“None taken. To be honest, I agree.”

I’m confused. With another glance down the table, to make sure I won’t be overheard, I whisper, “Why have you got such a low opinion of Aidan? He’s lovely, and he’s your best friend—and your brother.”

“I don’t have a low opinion of him,” Ally corrects. “He’s my best mate, and I love him. I just wouldn’t want to see a nice lass getting together with him.”

“He’s not interested in relationships,” Iona explains, “only . . . the other thing.” She shivers. “God, I can’t believe I’m talking about my brother’s sex life.”

Ally leans close to my ear. “Aidan has what he calls a ‘one-and-done policy’. He’ll flirt with a woman to get them to his bed, but after that, he loses interest in them and starts looking for the next lass to chase. Growing up, he fairly got around the girls of Bannock and the neighbouring villages, and from what I’ve heard about the time he was off travelling . . . well, let’s just say he has a good bit of experience in the bedroom.”

I shift my gaze back to Grace, who’s engaged in what is clearly a flirty conversation with Aidan. Would it be a bad thing for her to have a one-night stand with him? It’s been a long time since she slept with anyone. Maybe a no-strings-attached encounter is what she needs to move on with that part of her life. But I make a mental note to chat with her after lunch. She should know about Aidan’s reputation.

Lewis and Jamie wander into the restaurant, and as soon as Jamie spots the empty chair beside Iona, he shoves his brother out of the way and races for it, claiming it before Lewis can. He’s smug about it too. Lewis looks crestfallen when he realises he won’t get to sit next to Iona over lunch. He sinks into one of the last two remaining seats instead.

Feeling bad for him—given Jamie only did that to annoy him—I try to distract Lewis by asking a question.

“Lewis, if we’re all here, what happens if a customer needs something?”

“Oh, I put a wee sign on the reception desk saying we’re in the restaurant. If anyone needs us, they’ll know where to find us.”

This makes me smile. If this were a big chain hotel, the staff wouldn’t get away with that. It’s nice things can be more informal in a family business.

Lewis matches my smile with one of his own. “Aye, for the next few hours, we can all sit back and relax while—”

“Lewis!” Elspeth calls from the kitchen. “Could you come through and help me serve? Thanks!”

I can’t help but giggle at the timing.

Lewis grins. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Even for non-work events, it seems he’s Elspeth’s number two. It’s his help she wants over that of her own children.

Soon, Elspeth and Lewis place down ten steaming plates of haggis—including a vegetarian one for me—plus ten drams of Glen Garve whisky. It’s only lunch, but we’re all going to be drinking, apparently.

“Wow, Elspeth, this looks amazing!” David says.

“Tuck in!” Elspeth encourages. “I’m keen to know what our London guests make of traditional Scottish fare.”

So I take my first forkful, and I nearly moan out loud. With all due respect to Lewis, who serves a bit of vegetarian haggis at breakfast, this is next-level stuff. It’s nutty with warm notes from the spices, and with an earthy taste Elspeth informs me comes from the mushrooms she used in place of meat. The accompaniments go with it perfectly: “tatties” (potatoes), in this case mashed and delightfully creamy; “neeps” (swedes), a root vegetable similar to a turnip, also mashed and buttery; and whisky sauce.

After a few delightful mouthfuls, we all shower Elspeth with praise.

She smiles, pleased. “Now, Emily, Grace, and David, it’s wonderful that you’re joining us. I love nothing more than having meals like this when Iona and Cat are up. It takes me back to when these six were just bairns and a big meal between the two families was a weekly occurrence. Of course, it’s never been the same since we lost my best friend, Mairi, and her man, Angus. They truly were the best of people.”

Ally dips his head in appreciation at this tribute to his parents.

“Here’s to remembering those we’ve lost and also to making new friends.” Elspeth raises her glass. “Slàinte mhath!”

I think of my dad, as I always do whenever I have his favourite drink, and I repeat the Gaelic words. “Slàinte mhath!”

Everyone else joins in with the toast, although I hear David ask Cat what the words mean. With a laugh, she assures him it’s just the Gaelic equivalent of “Cheers!”

“The three of you will need to experience a full Burns supper one time,” Elspeth says. “Haggis, the poems of our national bard, ceilidh dancing . . . oh, it’s wonderful, it really is.”

“And kilts?” David asks with wide eyes.

Everyone laughs.

“Yes, and kilts,” Elspeth assures him. “You know, Rabbie Burns actually wrote a poem called ‘Address to a Haggis’.”