September by Rosamunde Pilcher

Just home from my seventh holiday in Scotland and I want to recapture everything I love about the place: long winding roads alongside abandoned lochs, sombre glens, isolated cottages, bracken and Rose Bay Willow Herb, deserted beaches, pewter skies and fly fishing. Country houses with stags’ heads, tartan cushions and log fires, renovated castles, malt whisky and smoked salmon. And so I turn to Scott and Burns or rather, Rosamunde Pilcher’s Wild Mountain Thyme or September to evoke a splash of Tweed perfume once more.
September starts in May, as summer comes at last to Scotland. A September dance is planned in the Highlands as family and friends converge in Scotland. Old relationships are rekindled and the lovely, troubled Pandora returns to her childhood home for the first and last time.
September was passing, and soon the winter gales would begin. She made her way to the foot of the garden, to stand by the gap in the hedge, looking out to the south, over the incomparable view. The glen, the river, the distant hills: sunless today, sombre but beautiful.