KIRRINFIEF WAS A village arranged around a central cobbled square, with a war memorial in the middle, Eck’s pub on the corner, Mrs. Murray’s general store, a hunting and fishing shop, three antique/bits-and-bobs stores, a bakery, and, most days, a little bus that stopped to sell books. It was nestled in the hills, hidden away near Loch Ness but not on the main tourist routes. Any tourists who did stumble upon it, though, were generally taken by its atmosphere—an air of a timeless place, a Brigadoon—which wouldn’t last long as soon as they heard old Eck and Wullie shouting from outside the pub, although they meant well really. The sleeper train from London to Fort William ran close by; otherwise, Kirrinfief was a haven of peace and tranquility, and that was just how people liked it. Well. Mostly.

Cormac stalked across the square. It was a cold but sunny day; too early for lambing, but a few ambitious crocuses were pushing their way up in between the cobbles. He got three steps before an old lady stopped him. “Ooh, Cormac, what was all that kerfuffle with young Islay?”

He smiled politely. “Och, you know I canny talk about that, Mrs. Norrie.”

“Yes, well, everybody already knows,” she said rather sniffily.

“Well then.”

Mrs. Murray in the shop was even more direct. “Why did I see that young Emer in here earlier sniffing and buying three bars of Dairy Milk?” she said. “That’s not like her, young slim thing that she is. Three! Were they for you?”

“No,” said Cormac.

“Well then,” said Mrs. Murray, as if that proved something. “How’s your ma?”

“She’s good,” said Cormac slowly. He hadn’t seen her in a fortnight, which was a long time around here. His brother Rawdon had been commended for something, and she’d wanted to talk about that in a rather emphatic way.

“Still fussing you about your job?”

“I’ll just take this cheese,” said Cormac, smiling heartily. The shop was so overstuffed with things he had to lean over the counter away from the newspapers. “Thanks, Mrs. Murray.”

“Oh well,” said Mrs. Murray, who took rather a lot quite personally, as Cormac escaped.

He got home to an email from London. The brochure had a picture of bright high skyscrapers. “Secondments in a fast-moving environment!” he read. “Experience a high-paced community in central London and sharpen your clinical skills!”

Cormac had been to central London with a girlfriend long ago. They’d gone to the Imperial War Museum; eaten at a steak house, where they’d had to sit in the window and get gawked at by other tourists and where the food was absolutely awful; then gone to see a West End show about a lady murderer that had made him fall asleep fifteen minutes in. That relationship hadn’t lasted much longer either.

Chapter 15