He stared. ‘You mean tomorrow?’

‘I mean today!’

What on earth was she doing?

And why hadn’t her guardian angel made sure there wasn’t a flight until next morning, thus giving her a night to see sense?

But the angel must have been off duty, because there had been a flight at nine that very evening to Manchester. Before she knew it she was on her way.

A belated attack of conscience had made Benedict try to argue her out of it.

‘You don’t know anything about this place. It’s isolated up there and you’ll be on the edge of the North Sea-gales and-and things.’

‘Stop fussing like an old hen and find me a hotel at Manchester Airport. I’ll need a room if we land at three-thirty in the morning.’

‘England is five hours ahead of us. It’ll be eight-thirty.’

‘Not in here,’ she said, pointing to herself. ‘For me it’ll be the early hours.’

She was glad of her decision when she landed and could zonk out on a comfortable bed. But after only a couple of hours she awoke feeling fine, and a shower followed by a hearty breakfast completed her recovery.

She was humming as she dressed in Benedict’s latest creation, an elegant olive-green trouser suit in a silk mo-hair blend, with a tawny sweater and matching silk scarf.

‘I suppose I should have called Lord Larne first,’ she mused, putting the finishing touches to her make-up. ‘Well, I would have done if I really meant to marry him. As it is, I just had a temper tantrum, and serves me right! Oh, Larry, the things you make me do! This is all your fault!’

Briefly she thought of catching the next flight home, but outside her window the day was glorious, and an adventure beckoned.

At the car rental firm she picked up an open-topped red sports two-seater that reminded her of her beloved car back home. A few minutes getting used to having the steering wheel on the left, and the traffic on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, and she was away on the hundred and twenty miles to Larne.