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“Wow.” Hannah looked like she was calculating something in her brain. “So you really did become a parent unexpectedly.”

“Indeed, and no partying required,” said Lottie with a wry wink.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply earlier that I thought you were…” Hannah seemed to have lost the ability to complete sentences.

“A tart?” Lottie raised an eyebrow. “Nope.” She raised a hand. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Were the children hurt in the accident?” Hannah’s face had reverted to professional interview mode.

“Miraculously, not. They were all in the car together but they emerged unscathed. Sadly, their parents weren’t so lucky.” Lottie remembered for perhaps the thousandth time the call that had broken the news.

“I’m so sorry.” Hannah put her hand on the table between them, as though about to reach out to touch Lottie’s arm but changing her mind part way through.

Lottie gave a rueful smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“I doubt that makes any of it OK,” observed Hannah.

“No. But it’s less, well, jagged if you like,” said Lottie.

Chapter Thirteen

HANNAH

Hannah was tucked up in bed, playing back the conversation she’d had with Lottie in the bar. She’d got her all wrong. All those assumptions she’d made. She should know better, really, having learnt long ago that the politicians she interviewed on a daily basis were rarely all they seemed.

The part of the conversation that kept returning to her was the revelation that Lottie had had relationships with women and not men. It was like a hook into a part of her brain. A part of her brain that was desperate to know more, with a kind of restless hunger. She had plenty of gay friends, so she didn’t know why this particular fact about Lottie had sparked such a response.

Hannah considered what it must have been like for Lottie, giving everything up for Zack and Freya. She was impressed. She couldn’t imagine ever doing something like that. She simply wouldn’t know how.

She picked up her phone and checked the news headlines. Old habits die hard. There was a story about the new prime minister, who had made a speech about cleaning up politics. And of course, there was the obligatory snap of Liam Saxon leaving his house, on a street that was now permanently thronged with photographers. She couldn’t think of anything worse. But then, when her investigation had discovered that he had profited from Russian arms traders through convoluted business deals, she’d had little choice but to make it public. It was her democratic duty as a journalist.

She clicked onto the story, written by a colleague. Saxon was being charged with misconduct in a public office, which was a serious crime, if difficult to prove. Police had been involved since the day after her story broke a few months earlier. At which point, Hannah had started receiving her own interview requests.

Within days, Saxon had resigned and a general election was called, throwing the country into chaos. All roads led back to Hannah, and she had the odd sensation of being part of the country’s history in a way that didn’t sit easily with her. It was, without question, the most important story she’d ever broken. And it was the story that had the greatest impact nationally, and even globally.

Her head began to swim, and her breathing sped up. Her vision blurred and it felt as if the lights were flickering. She sat on her bed and closed her eyes, trying to focus on slowing her breathing. Her mind raced but somewhere a voice inside reminded her that she wasn’t dying. This was a panic attack.

Slowly, she worked her way through the series of mental exercises she’d learned, to force the panic to abate, grounding herself where she was, feeling the cotton bed sheets beneath her fingers, hearing the wind through the window.

Gradually, calm began to descend. Hannah closed the story on her phone, and switched it off. Her brain was swirling enough this evening without reliving the events of the last few months.

The following morning she was awoken by the wind howling around the castle walls. She sighed. It had taken a long time to get to sleep, her attack having left her on high alert.

At least her window had held fast, thanks to Lottie’s ministrations. But the old-style rickety window frames allowed a chilly draft to enter in the room. Hannah quickly hopped out of bed and into a hot shower. While the windows might have been aged, the shower was a welcome modern start to the day.

The breakfast buffet was impressive, with golden puffed-up croissants, a tantalising selection of fruit and the full Scottish breakfast on offer – complete with haggis. A male voice spoke. “I think breakfast may be my favourite meal of the day here.” Hannah turned and gave the balding Asian man in his mid-thirties a polite smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m still remembering the chocolate fondant from last night,” she said.

“Yes, my son enjoyed that one.” The man gestured over to a small boy sat at a table tucking into a pain au chocolat.

“What do you recommend?” Hannah asked.

“The porridge is really amazing. It sounds counter-intuitive, doesn’t it? Anyone can make porridge, just oats and water, but the porridge here is exquisite.” The man closed his eyes as he spoke, as though savouring the dish.

“Good morning.” Anya had appeared from behind the counter. “What can I get for you this morning?”

“Morning,” said Hannah. “I was going to try the porridge. This gentleman has described it as almost transcendent.”