COTTAGE Once, this was your home. Once, until you were twelve, you lived here with your aunt. At least, you always called her that. Now, having been away for a long time, you are back. Alone. An hour before you were at your aunt's graveside, ankle deep in autumn leaves, shaking the hands with the small number of people who knew her and wanted to  pay their last respects - a neighbour, her doctor, her home-help and her lawyer. The lawyer did not really know your aunt well but he evidently thought it polite to come  It was also a convenient moment to hand you the key of her cottage. This cottage. The one before which you now stand, overwhelmed by memories. Some things you do remember well. Your schooldays, your friends, your aunt - her cheerful face and her passion for tidiness. But the early years are hazy. A visitor, a man. On the grass outside, you played with him. Childish games. Your mother does not appear in these memories but always there was that photograph on the mantelpiece. A round face with intelligent eyes that hinted at a smile. She loved flowers, your aunt said.  Once there were flowers everywhere.  Now they are gone leaving only dust and dry books. Someone also had a deep love of books. This cottage holds a secret. The secret of a man who made a terrible journey and of a gentle smiling woman who liked flowers. So where would you like to start in your search for the truth? SITTING ROOM | KITCHEN | BEDROOM | LOFT | WHAT_NEXT ----------------------------------------------------- Alternatively, use the BACK facility or return to [Tartan Hen Homepage]