Fran was going to say that Jimmy didn’t get on with her so well, but stopped herself. It wasn’t the sort of subject Jimmy would want to discuss with his father.

James turned to her and his voice was unusually gentle. He could have been speaking to a baby. ‘Jimmy wants you to come out with us on the boat in the morning. He thinks you’ll be safer at home.’

‘No!’ How much harder would the waiting be, if she were at home in Ravenswick. Even with Cassie to keep her company, she couldn’t bear it. ‘Absolutely not.’

He shrugged, as if that was the answer he’d been expecting, as if he’d told his son already that she wouldn’t be persuaded.

‘Have you any idea when he’ll be back here?’ Mary asked.

‘He said not to wait up for him. He could be out all night.’

Fran felt desolate. Was this how her life would be? Jimmy would have his work. She’d be at home worrying. Perhaps she couldn’t deal with that. Perhaps they’d be better moving on to Fair Isle. If he were working on the croft and the Shepherd he wouldn’t be poking around in the private lives of killers. She wouldn’t spend her time thinking he was in danger.

She was still awake when Perez came in. It must have been after three in the morning; she’d glanced occasionally at the alarm clock by the bed. Now the wind had stopped she heard a vehicle approaching, a couple of whispered words, and then the sound of the engine disappearing north again. Sandy Wilson would have driven him home. Perez must be exhausted. She hadn’t appreciated before his ability to do without rest. The relief of his return made her relax and she thought now sleep would be possible.

He came to bed immediately. No whisky for him, no tea. She switched on the bedside light when she heard him come in. He blinked. She thought he was disappointed she was still awake and tried not to feel hurt. He was too tired to talk. So, no questions. No recriminations about him wanting to send her away. She lay in silence and watched him take off his clothes, opened her arms when he climbed into bed beside her.

His whole body was cold. He couldn’t have driven straight from the North Light; he wouldn’t be that chilled. She rubbed his arms to bring the life back into them and twisted her legs around his. She felt herself drifting into sleep, but could sense him lying beside her, rigid and quite awake. It was as if he’d suffered a personal grief; it didn’t feel as if he were a professional investigating the death of a stranger.