“Above average,” Ronnie replied, knowing that the man’s understanding of the fish trade was below minimal and that he could have said anything. Billy, however, had decided not to be so forgiving.

“Prawns the size of elephants this morning. It’s aye good when the boats are fishin’ aff the Azores.”

Maxwell nodded understandingly. “Yes, so I have been told.”

The two buyers caught each other’s eye across the table. Ronnie took a drink of tea to stop himself from laughing and Billy dug frantically in his pocket for a handkerchief and gave his nose a prolonged blow.

“So who have you been buying for today, Ronnie?”

“Seascape.”

“Ah, right. I hear that the Englishman is not keeping so well.”

Ronnie glowered at the man. “Now, would that be Patrick you’re talking about, MacSwell?” He always liked to get the accent wrong on his name. He felt that it was more fitting for the bumptious blimp of a man.

“Of course. There’s no other Englishman that works for Seascape.”

Ronnie cocked his head to the side. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, MacSwell. Seemingly, Patrick has just hired another man to help him. From London, I believe. A banker, no less.”

Maxwell stared at Ronnie, unaware of the dribble of coffee that ran down the deep, podgy cleft at the side of his mouth. He placed his cup with a clatter onto its saucer. “Now, that’s just typical, isn’t it?”

Billy drummed his fingers on the table. “Whit dae ye mean by that?”

Maxwell clasped his sausage fingers together and rested them on his stomach. “Well, it just seems to me that there are plenty of good men up here looking for jobs. Why give priority to someone coming up from the south?”

Ronnie let out a quiet sigh. He was a Scotsman through and through, yet he didn’t like these “us and them” ideas that Maxwell had spouted so readily to the media. His own father had been a forester all his days, working on an estate up near Lochcarron in Wester Ross. Ten years ago, it had been bought by a Danish industrialist who had ploughed money into the place to improve its infrastructure. He employed thirty staff where before there had only been ten, and had funded the building of the new community hall, which thereafter became the main focal point of the area, being the venue for the various local council meetings and for the Saturday night ceilidhs. His father had always maintained that the Dane would have got a poor return on the capital that he had invested in the property.

“So what brings you down to these parts, Mac-Swell? You’re a long way from your jurisdiction, are you not?”

“Always good to get out and meet the people,” Maxwell replied with a smug smile.

“Does yer boss ken that ye’re doon here?” Billy asked, narrowing his eyes at the man.