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Arlo had his back to her and a memory of squeezing those firm glutes flooded back to her.

Katie closed the curtains so hard, the rings rattled. Good job they were high quality, given the abuse they were taking this morning.

She needed a shower, cold preferably, but she was far too cowardly and needed a couple of minutes to recover from the shock of seeing herself in the en-suite mirror.

The washed-out, tangly-haired woman staring back at her bore little resemblance to the smiling, polished author staring at her from the jacket of her most recent book. The picture had been taken some months ago and the publisher had hired a professional hair and make-up artist for the photo shoot.

They’d worked wonders with Katie’s hair, which she thought was brown, but which Ned had described as the colour of ‘dewy beech leaves in an autumn dawn’. Katie smiled – even she wouldn’t have come up with that flight of fancy. Whatever. The professionals had given her hair a lustre and bounce that she could never achieve, and made it curl on to her shoulders in natural-looking waves. Even her pale Celtic complexion was glowing with health in the photo, her cheeks tinged with pink and her eyes luminous from an array of miracle products.

No one would ever guess how nervous she’d been; the photographer had made her look friendly, happy yet slightly impish all at the same time. Her book-jacket persona was someone whom you might want to invite down the pub or on a girls’ night out and you’d certainly want to read her books.

Katie decided to make an effort to live up to the image before she met her friends. Freshly showered, she dressed and checked her phone for updates. There was one that had come through at 6 a.m. while she’d been asleep. Predictably, it was from her parents saying that the twins had been restless and that all four adults in the house were ‘absolutely knackered’. It was accompanied with smiley, baby, bottle, poo and sick emojis.

Katie replied with: You’ll need a holiday after that.

Athene had also messaged before setting off from her sister’s in Lichfield where she’d stayed overnight. She’d collected Wanda, who lived in a village a few miles further north. While her agent and aunt had met at book events a couple of times, they didn’t know each other well and Katie wondered what they would find to talk about on the long drive up to Cumbria. At least it meant the ice would be broken by the time they arrived.

Jess was also driving, but on her own as she’d been to a gig in Manchester the night before and was travelling directly from her hotel. She hadn’t messaged but Katie wasn’t worried.

She made herself some toast and coffee and then decided to make the most of the daylight and precious sunshine to explore the island. Luckily, Arlo and Greg were nowhere to be seen although Katie could hear the odd bark from the woodstore area of the garden.

She’d only gone a few steps when a chainsaw started up.

Marooned on an island with two strange men who had an axe and a chainsaw. I should message Wanda, she thought wickedly. Armed with a flask of hot chocolate and a book in her backpack, she crunched over frosty leaves to the far side of the island where Arlo had said the other boathouse was located.

The boathouse was made of local stone to match the house, but was partially hidden by a thicket of rhododendron, holly and rowan still loaded with scarlet berries. There was a tiny shingle beach punctuated with tree roots and flat-topped rocks.

Katie sat down on the most comfortable-looking rock and poured a drink into a metal mug. Chocolate-scented steam rose before her and she blew on it, cradling the mug between fingerless mittens. She had a feeling her book wasn’t going to get the attention it deserved given the scene in front of her was more dramatic than any plot.

On this crystal-clear morning, the vista stretched right down the lake and into the beautiful valley. The fells were russet with bracken, gilded by the morning sun, and in the far distance rose the Lake District’s highest mountains, all capped with snow.

All of this, for two weeks, was hers – and her guests’ – and what a gift. Katie inhaled the crisp air and told herself that her decision to invite them had been the right one. Yesterday had been a momentous day: the anniversary of the accident that had changed her life, and now she could truly move on.

A crack of a twig, the crunch of leaves and a low bark told her Arlo was nearby. She stood up as he emerged from the trees with Pongo.

Her heart sank a little. If she’d been hoping that last night’s episode had been the result of beer – or rather whisky – goggles, and that the harsh light of day would render Arlo less appealing, she was wrong.

Once more, Katie was struck by how tall he was, the morning light accentuating the golden tones in his strawberry-blond hair. He’d had a shave, which had reduced his beard to designer stubble and made him look younger and less Viking-like. While she wasn’t quite sure she approved of his more ‘civilised’ looks, her racing heart and flushing cheeks as his eyes focused on her said otherwise.

‘Hello,’ he said, catching sight of her with a slight look of alarm.

‘Um. Hi there.’

‘Hope I’m not disturbing you?’

‘No. Not at all.’ She scrambled for any topic other than the elephant in the room. ‘Has Greg gone?’

‘Er, yes …’ Arlo’s brow furrowed. ‘Did we wake you up?’

‘No, but I did I spot you both when I opened my curtains. He had a shepherd’s crook and a sheepdog so I kind of guessed.’

Arlo nodded as if impressed. ‘Greg came over to loan me a chainsaw to fell a dodgy tree that was damaged in the last storm and he carved the crook. It’s a Christmas present for Erin, a friend of mine. He’s gone back to the farm now. I just thought I’d check in with you about timings for your guests. Have you heard how they’re getting on?’

‘Yes. About ten minutes ago. Jess stopped for coffee and gave me a rough ETA. She said she’d be here about twelve and I was about to reply to say we’d be at the lakeside jetty waiting.’ She didn’t want to sound passive aggressive after his late arrival the previous day.

‘We’ll be there in good time. Could you ask her to text when she gets to Keswick?’

‘Of course.’