“The M.P.? No, I’ve never actually met him, though I knew he was your brother, of course.”

“Lucky you,” Helen muttered. “Harry’s about as much use as a chocolate chip-pan.”

“All right, Helen. I know you can’t stand Harry. But he’s not as bad as you make out. Harry’s the Labour member for Kinradie, in the Mearns. It’s a long way from being a safe seat—it’s mainly a farming constituency, and it was one of the few remaining Tory seats till 1983 when Harry won it the first time. So he has to maintain a respectable stance as far as the electorate is concerned. And his constituency party has a nasty right-wing rump that doesn’t like a lot of his ideas, so they’re always looking for an excuse to deselect him. He’s done all the right things—bought a smallholding, married a nice girl who runs the farm while he’s away. The only thing he’s not managed to achieve in terms of respectability is to have kids.

“There’s a good reason for that—Harry’s actually gay. His wife knew what she was getting into when she married him, and they’re good friends. I think Angela channels all her sexual energies into growing the perfect loganberry. But Harry’s always been sexually active even though he’s deep in the closet. He was a teacher before he got into politics, so he’s always had the habit of being really careful about it.” Rosalind stopped abruptly, clearly not certain how to continue.

Helen jumped into the breach. “What Rosalind isn’t telling you is that Harry has a penchant for young boys. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not some kind of pedophile. He just prefers them in their teens. And, as we all know, that’s still illegal in this benighted country. So Harry is no stranger to the meat racks round Blythswood Square. He likes the illicit thrill of the rent boys.”

“God, Helen,” Rosalind protested, “you make him sound like some kind of sleazeball pervert. He’s not like that. He’s had a steadyish relationship on and off for years with Tom McNally.”

“One of his former pupils,” Helen interjected.

“Yes, one of his former pupils. But Harry never laid a finger on him while he was still at school. It was only after he’d gone to university that they started sleeping together,” Rosalind said defensively.

“I still don’t see what this has got to do with me. Or the burglary,” Lindsay said, trying to break up the conversation between the other two women before it became a row.

“Sorry, I’m not explaining things very clearly,” Rosalind apologized. “It must be the shock of all this. Harry spends quite a lot of time in Glasgow, seeing Tom and . . . other boys. When he’s here, he uses my flat. I’m quite often away because of work.”