The story about Dan’s little escapade in the loading yard in Oban was recounted to Patrick, with all the exaggeration of a game of Chinese Whispers, long before Dan arrived back at Auchnacerie that evening. Patrick did indeed laugh, but contrary to Ronnie Macaskill’s predictions, he never managed to shift himself from his bed that day, nor for a week after. Dan’s reputation, however, was given a healthy boost by his actions, and the true animosity felt against Maxwell Borthwick in the area was confirmed to Dan every time he went into a shop or a pub or a filling station. Everyone had heard the story, and everyone had heard it differently.

Also, it had helped to create a real bond in his relationship with Ronnie Macaskill, a man renowned for keeping himself to himself and having a total inability to suffer fools. Thereafter, no matter where Dan was, Ronnie would call him on his mobile every morning at ten o’clock to find out what prices Dan had been paying and with which boats he had been dealing. Ronnie relinquished to Dan every shrewd bit of knowledge in his possession about buying prawns.

Dan’s own opinion of the man, however, was slightly dented the following weekend when Ronnie inveigled both him and Josh into representing Seascape in a game of camanachd against a rival company from Elgin.

“Played a bit of sport in your time, have you, Dan?” Ronnie had asked him during one of their morning telephone calls.

“I used to play a bit of football, yes.”

“That would set you up well, then.”

“Set me up for what?”

“I’m short of a few players to play camanachd for the company on Saturday, so I was hoping that maybe you and Josh would be good enough to take part.”

“Cama-what? Ronnie, I can’t even pronounce it, let alone play the game.”

“You’ll know it better as shinty, no doubt.”

“Oh, right. I’ve got you now. That’s a hell of a rough game, isn’t it?”

“No, no, not at all. It’s a wee bit of a mixture between hockey and lacrosse, not unlike the kind of games that you see played at girls’ schools. It should be nothing more than a doddle for you.”

The tinge of sardonic humour in Ronnie’s voice as he imparted this information did nothing to convince Dan of its total truth.

“How long does the game go on for?”

“It would just be two halves of forty-five minutes each.”

“Ninety minutes? Ronnie, I’d have a heart attack! I haven’t taken any exercise for about eighteen months.”

“That’s not a worry. We’re short of a goalkeeper anyway, so you won’t be having to do too much running about.”

“I don’t know about this, Ronnie. I have a feeling that I might just let everybody down.”