She had handed him the paper. ‘Go on a quest, darling,’ she said. ‘You may not find what you expect . . . but you never know what else you may discover.’ She had added lightly, ‘It might even prove to be a treasure hunt!’ And she picked up the earthy wooden trug, which had somehow made its way into the drawing room – something that drove his meticulous father crazy – gathered up her ancient leather gloves and clippers, called up the dogs and headed off to her beloved garden before he could start raising objections to the idea. He had looked after her fondly and thought she bore a strong resemblance to a modern-day version of the White Queen in Through the Looking-glass – pearls, spectacles and dog-whistles tangled round her neck; hairpins cascading out of the knot of white hair, which was balanced as precariously on top of her head as a pile of ivory spillikins; the zip of her old skirt skewed round, off centre.

Where else had he heard that phrase recently, he wondered? Then he remembered. The first evening, Marnie Donovan had said she had come to Scotland on a treasure hunt. So that makes two of us, he thought, and he got up from the log, suddenly realising that he felt extremely hungry, and went down the hill to the house.

He had expected to be the first down to breakfast, but when he went into the dining room he found Marnie was there before him.

‘Do you mind if I come and join you?’ he asked, thinking she might have come early in order to avoid other people and might not welcome company. He wasn’t particularly keen for her company himself, but thought it would have looked distinctly unfriendly to sit at a different table.

‘No of course not,’ she said politely, the glowering countenance of the first day gone, but not looking particularly welcoming either.

‘So how was the Rob Roy bar?’ he asked, sitting down beside her after he’d helped himself to porridge from the hot plate and noted the inviting-looking options of scrambled egg and bacon, mushrooms and fried bread that were also on offer. ‘Did you have a scintillating evening with Stanley and Bunty and co.? What was the local night spot like?’

‘Very much for the tourists – all clannish upholstery and rather mothy stags’ heads.’ Marnie giggled, suddenly, surprising him. He hadn’t thought she had much sense of humour. ‘Bunty was the only one of us suitably dressed for the evening – she looked like Rob Roy in drag. I think even the regulars were rather stunned by the sight of her in her new tartan outfit but oh brother! She certainly matched the decor! It was quite fun to start with – but I think there’s trouble brewing in our little gang.’