‘I won’t tell anybody! Put that thing down! Jesus, is that from the Napoleonic War?’ He hoped humour might calm the man. He glanced upstairs. The other man was now fully dressed and descending the stairs. Graeme knew this wasn’t a good situation to find himself in. He had two opponents, and one of them had a gun. He had no idea what they were up to and why they didn’t want to be found.

‘I have no interest in who you choose to take to bed, Sebastian. I’m not about to out you.’

Sebastian laughed. ‘This isn’t about being outed, you imbecile.’

‘I don’t really want to know what it’s about. Seriously, though, that thing looks like it could backfire: I’ve seen it happen before. Is that your grandfather’s hunting gun?’

Sebastian looked at the weapon and Graeme knew that he was mulling over the consequences of the thing going off in his hand.

‘You pay my wages,’ he said. ‘Why would I betray you? I don’t know what this is all about, but I have no intention of mentioning anything to anybody. You have my word.’

‘Don’t believe him.’ The other man spoke. He looked like a man in control, and much more handy than Sebastian. If they were having an affair, that wasn’t the full extent of their relationship; he looked more like a bodyguard. He and Graeme eyed each other.

‘Look, why don’t I simply vanish and forget I saw you? You’re on your own property; it’s none of my business. Actually, that detective in charge of the inquiry into what happened here has been asking around after you. Is it her you’re avoiding?’

Graeme was stalling for time, but he had no idea if it was working. He could see that the man behind Sebastian wasn’t armed. Sebastian looked as though he’d never fired a shot in his life, and it was virtually impossible to hit a moving target even if you were well trained.

‘When are you going to start locking your doors?’ He tried humour again, and prayed that the orangery’s outer door was unlocked. Sebastian looked down at the rifle, then turned and said something to his lover.

Graeme took his chance and made a grab for the orangery door; it was unlocked. He raced through it, the force of his exit making it crash back on its hinges. He heard glass shatter; he also heard a very loud gunshot and thought he’d been hit. His legs felt like jelly, and he dived over a bush and onto the gravel beyond it, smashing his chin and scraping his hands. But he wasn’t thinking about anything except getting away, and he didn’t look back.