‘He understands how much it means to me.’ Her face shut down with that closed, obstinate look she could have sometimes. He knew there was no point questioning it. She shuffled the papers into a pile and slipped them into a clear plastic envelope. He thought again she should have had a career of her own, a business to use up all that energy. She looked up at Sandy.

‘When are you planning to get back to Lerwick?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’ve got some leave to take.’

‘So you’ll be here for the evening when we show off the coins. I was thinking Friday would be a good day. It’s fine that you’ll be here. Hattie’s mother is going to come. It’ll be nice for her to see a friendly face. Can I put you down to meet her at the airport?’

‘Does she know what she’s letting herself in for? She’s not even buried her daughter yet.’ Sandy thought these island events could be daunting for anyone. He couldn’t face them without a couple of drams and a few cans in his belly. He remembered Gwen James in her London flat, chain-smoking, guilt-ridden. How would she deal with the curious islanders, the intrusive questions? Then he remembered she was a politician and probably capable of putting on a show.

‘I spoke to her this morning,’ Evelyn said. ‘She said she wanted to see where Hattie died.’

‘Would she rather not do that without an audience?’

‘I explained what we were planning.’ The stubborn tone had returned. ‘It was her decision. She didn’t have to agree.’

But it would suit Evelyn’s purpose, Sandy thought, to have the woman there. An MP, something of a celebrity, to give the Setter project a bit of credibility, almost a touch of glamour. Sometimes he was shocked by how ruthless his mother could be. She would make a fine politician herself.

‘I’ve booked her a room at the Pier House,’ Evelyn went on. ‘I said she could stay here but she didn’t want to put us out.’

At least, Sandy thought, the woman would have her own space to escape to. He wondered if Perez knew what his mother had planned and what he would make of it.

‘Who else have you invited?’ he asked.

‘Everyone who’s been involved with the dig. Paul Berglund, of course.’

‘Will he come?’

‘I’m not sure. He said he might have other commitments.’

I bet he has.

‘But I’ve talked to his head of department at the university and said how important we feel it is for him to be there.’

Sandy found himself grinning. His mother could be as persuasive as a bulldozer. Where had this drive and nerve come from?

‘And what did the university say?’