In another room, there were floor-length tapestries, scenes of hunting and ceilidhs, picnics and battles. One, of a Scottish queen with her only child, reminded Salma of Norma and David. The reddish tinge in their hair, the pale, heavy-lidded face of the woman. The way she was holding her son, his feet balanced on a table – in a black and white photo at home, there was a photo of Norma, her hair in a beehive, balancing David in the same way but on top of an armchair. It surprised Salma that she could make such a connection, and it struck her now that through her children she was part of the history of this country. No matter what happened, even if she did leave, and now she had every intention of leaving, this connection would always be there, stretching back generations through glens and cottages, through woodlands and coastlines. No matter what happened, her lineage would remain, bits of her DNA. She might be forgotten but her mark would have been made. In the far future, a great-granddaughter would wonder about her black hair or how easily she tanned or where her full lips came from.

Salma walked from one room to the next. Her heartbeat was settling, her sweat cooling, but she was still on high alert, waiting to turn a corner and find him. Any minute now, they would be together at last. In a further room, there were the stuffed animals that presumably the family had hunted. There were guns on display. A trophy and then suddenly a tribal mask from another continent. Here were the acquisitions, what had been bought from far away or won, what had been looted or stolen. To her surprise, she found herself standing over an Ancient Egyptian coffin. A man whose skin was gold, with a large, heavy black wig, a white shroud. But of course, it was not a shroud, it was a casket with four gold bands drawn around the lid and the base. The collar around his neck was green, black and red. The combination and tone of the colours were perfect for Salma to wear. It would not look out of place if she had a dress in these beautiful hues. She lifted the lid of the coffin. It was empty, of course. Did she really expect a mummy? Here was where death had served time, year after year. Now all that was left was a light layer of dust, a musty smell. She put the lid down and stared at the black eyes heavily lined with kohl, the magnificent eyebrows.