I gazed down into the swirling grey sea, keeping a firm grip on the railing as the tiny ferry bucked and plunged through the waves. The conditions had been described to me as bracing, rather than rough. If they were rough, I’d been told, I wouldn’t have been allowed on the deck.

Another burst of spray hit my face. I raised my head to shake it off, and for a moment I visualised Maria standing beside me at the rail, her dark hair being whipped by the wind, chin raised defiantly. Would she have enjoyed being out here? I had to admit I didn’t know, even after almost three years together. And now it didn’t matter.

We’d gone back to her place from the awards ceremony. She’d insisted that I shouldn’t be alone, and I didn’t want to tell her I would have preferred to go back to my own flat by myself. She sensed it, though. She was getting good at that.

We sat on Maria’s couch and she asked if I’d like to talk about my mother, and assured me she completely understood if I didn’t want to. All in good time, she said, and we could go straight to bed if I wanted to, and we could make love, or she would just hold me. Or not. Whatever worked for me.

‘Thanks,’ I said, and gazed at the floor.

She waited a moment, then stood up and left the room. Five minutes later she reappeared with a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and sat down beside me again.

‘Did you expect it?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t seen her for a while. We spoke on the phone about four months ago, but she didn’t say anything.’

‘Only seventy. That’s so young. And she didn’t tell you she was ill?’

‘She never told me anything. Nothing important, anyway.’

Maria took my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’

‘My mother liked to surprise people.’

She glanced at me with a frown, but relaxed when she saw I was smiling. I knew she found it hard to read my mood sometimes. That wasn’t her fault, especially at a moment like this, when I wasn’t sure of it myself. I wasn’t really feeling anything at all, to tell the truth, except a vague sense that something was over, like the end of a film or a concert. ‘It’s all right,’ I said, patting her knee, ‘don’t worry. We weren’t close.’

‘As you’ve mentioned before,’ Maria said, and refilled our glasses.

We went to bed not long afterwards, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. In the morning we had coffee together, then I left.

Four days later, I was sitting up in her bed, watching the patterns cast on the wall by the morning sunlight as the slender trees outside her window, dusted with green, swayed in a light breeze. I’d started to tell her about the inheritance, but now I was gazing at the play of shadows dappling the plasterwork.

Maria nudged me. ‘Go on.’

‘Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, it’s a huge house, apparently. Totally derelict.’

‘How much is it worth?’

‘It’s not clear. Like everything else about this whole fucking legacy. For one thing, it depends on whether anyone would want to buy it in its current condition. If not, is it worth restoring? I haven’t even seen pictures of it yet. Another thing that’s not entirely clear is whether or not I actually own the place.’

‘What do you mean? She left it to you! That what the lawyers said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but there are complications. Deeds, documents, god knows what. Stipulations and conditions. All kinds of paperwork that has to be verified. If it can even be found.’

‘What a pain.’

‘Tell me about it. But if I can get all that stuff straightened out, maybe someone will want to buy it from me. I mean, certain people might find it an attractive proposition, don’t you think? Romantic, even. A huge mansion on a remote Scottish island with a small population. All very quiet, and out of the way. There’s even a lake next to the house. It all sounds like Brigadoon, or something.’

‘Like what?’

‘That film. Brigadoon. The musical. About a magical place that comes out of the mist every hundred years.’

‘Oh, I remember! We saw it one night when we were stoned.’

‘That’s right. It was funny.’

Maria was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘Maybe you should go there.’