Chapter One
Orkney, February 2026
Evie Muir was engrossed working on a new painting all day, so didn’t check her phone until late that night. It was winter and the long days of the Orkney Summer Dim when it was light until almost midnight were long gone.
Evie’s bright green eyes narrowed as she squinted at the dramatic seascape she’d created. Her blonde hair had been hastily tied back in a messy bun and there were smudges of blue and green paint on her nose and forehead.
She was a striking-looking woman, and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth crinkled with laughter these days rather than the distress and trauma of the past. She’d returned to Orkney only two years ago, after a long time away, and her Island home had worked its magic and almost healed her.
The painting was so nearly complete, and although she was sorely tempted to finish, Evie reluctantly put her paintbrushes aside for the night. She’d take a fresh look in the morning.
As was her usual habit, she had put off checking her texts and emails. For all of her twenties and most of her thirties, Evie had been scrupulously careful to be offline, terrified of being discovered if she posted so much as a photo. She still avoided her phone as much as possible.
She logged onto her work inbox and saw an email that read
URGENT. PLEASE READ.She clicked to open it.
Dear Miss Muir,
Please forgive me for getting in touch with you out of the blue like this. I will get straight to the point.
I think we might be related. I live in Seattle and my father was James McLean. He died in 1989 and going through his personal belongings, I found two letters from a woman named Sheila who lived in Hrossay. It looks like she and my father were the parents of a little girl called Cara.
They never married and as far as I know he never saw Sheila again.In fact, my father never met his daughter, but I know he sent her money until she turned sixteen.
I’ve been doing a bit of digging online recently and discovered Sheila passed away but that Cara married a man called Duncan Muir and had two daughters, Olivia and Evie.
I couldn’t find out much about Olivia, but I did discover your website for your paintings which had this email address. I have to say your artwork is really good.
Anyway, I think you might be the Evie I am looking for and if Cara turns out to be my half-sister, I might be your sort of half-aunt, I guess?
I guess I finally feel ready to come to Orkney to find out more about this side of my family. Would you be willing to meet with me?
I know it’s a lot to ask but it is very important to me to find blood relatives as I have no one over here since my dad passed. My mom died giving birth to me and she was an only child.
I can explain everything in much more detail when we meet.
Yours in hope,
Amelia McLean
Evie sat down, in shock. If she’d been tired before, there was no way she was going to be able to get to sleep now. She was buzzing with adrenaline and found it difficult to take all this in. She forced herself to get up and make herself a cup of tea, though what she really wanted was a stiff whisky.
She made herself re-read the email several times. It really did seem as though this woman could be her relative. The names and dates seemed right. Evie’s mother and father were indeed called Cara and Duncan, and how else would she know about Sheila?
Of course, her dad was dead – it was his death that had triggered her returning to Orkney in 2024 after so many years away – and her mum was in a nursing home living with dementia. She was well looked after but existed in her own twilight world. Evie went to see her as often as she could but if she was honest, it was more out of duty than love. There was no way she could talk to Cara about this email. She would be confused and upset.
Evie was torn. Coming back to Orkney, she had finally achieved a sense of peace, and she wanted to protect that new life. But how could she deny this woman’s longing to know more about where she came from?
As always when she had a problem or needed advice she would turn to Freya, the real mother figure in her life. Evie shut down her laptop and got into bed, resolving to message Freya first thing. She slept fitfully and got up earlier than usual. After two strong cups of coffee, Evie called Freya, knowing she would be up. If she slept longer than 6am she would joke that the day was almost half over.
Freya bustled over right away, driving the short distance from her cottage to Evie’s house overlooking Scapa Flow. Freya had lived in Orkney most of her life but never took the view of themountains of Hoy, the ever-changing blue hues of the sea and emerald-green fields dotted with candy floss sheep for granted.
She was almost eighty years old now and had grown even more pleasantly plump. She was wearing one of her usual multi-coloured, cheerfully flamboyant outfits. Today, in her blue silk caftan, loose yellow cotton trousers, straining a bit at the belly, and her dainty red silk slippers, she was like a glorious vision fromThe Arabian Nights. She’d recently taken to wearing all sorts of jewels in her hair kept in place with Kirby grips, and she gleamed like a disco ball. Evie made them both a cup of strong builder’s tea, and they sat down at Evie’s kitchen table.
“Well, all the way from America, this really is a turn up for the books,” said Freya after reading the email. She took her glasses off and turned to Evie.
“You know your mother and I didn’t get on, but I do remember once when we were very young, she told me that her real dad had gone to California and become rich and famous, and would soon be coming to take her back to live in a big house in Hollywood.”
