MEANWHILE, THE DINING room looked as beautiful as ever, the big wooden fire crackling merrily away, its light gleaming off the tinsel. “Scots Nativity” was playing gently, and the scented air gave everyone a thrill. It didn’t matter how old you were: Christmas was coming! And that was always the most exciting feeling. Agot stomped over, irritated that the tree hadn’t come yet, but when she realized the highly polished wood was very slippery, she took off her shoes and was soon skidding round the room in her stripy tights. Flora thought, Health and safety, and filed it away to mention to Fintan later.

Colton had bought a number of old barrels from a distillery that was closing down, and the wood on the fire had the deep aroma of peat and whisky. It was, as Flora always thought, the most comfortable place you could be, with soft chairs and the anticipation of a good meal ahead. Gala had greeted them happily and brought them drinks, and everyone was stretching out good-naturedly. Agot stopped skating and got happily buried in her sketch pad with her felt-tip pens, as usual drawing everyone in her life including Dead Uncle Colton but missing out Douglas, which was, Flora supposed, something of an improvement from when she’d presented them with a mass family portrait with everyone in it including Douglas, but with a huge black scribble across Douglas’s face.

Pam, Charlie, and, irritatingly, Malcy, Pam’s large father, who’d done very well for himself and liked everyone to know it—and hadn’t been scheduled to come—had arrived bang on time, which made Flora anxious. She glanced at Fintan, who patently didn’t care. The problem was the Dochertys were big spenders on this island: golf club dinners, big parties, and weddings. They needed to impress these people. She wished Fintan would at least try.

There was no menu, first off, which Flora looked worried about and Innes frowned at. Fintan was drinking and not paying attention, which was almost as worrying to Flora as the lack of menu was. Well, perhaps this was the modern way and it would be something unexpected and magnificent. She ordered some wine off Gala, and they tried to chat even though there wasn’t even a piece of bread on the table.

“I’m hungry,” came a warning voice from underneath the table, but you couldn’t say it wasn’t a shared emotion.

INSIDE THE KITCHEN, Gaspard was still holding up a knife as if it were a weapon.

For the first time in his life, Konstantin was on his hands and knees, picking something up. He didn’t know what to do with it and was grateful when Tam came and took it from him and put it away in a cupboard.

“Chop!” said Gaspard.

And finally, the cold wind still blowing outside, Konstantin decided that for once discretion was the better part of valor and picked up an onion and a knife without the slightest enthusiasm. He stared at it.

Gaspard had already moved on and was shouting about stock. Kerry and Tam were keeping their heads down, waiting for it to pass. Konstantin tried stabbing the onion and let out a heavy sigh. Isla was just next to him.