The wonderful weather which had helped to make the first week at Glendrochatt so delightful deserted them and Monday dawned dull and chilly, with outbursts of drizzle – not a good day for scenic routes, said Giles cheerfully as he organised everyone on to the minibus, so isn’t it lucky we’ve chosen to go to Edinburgh today? What could be more enjoyable, he asked, than a visit to an art gallery on such a grey day, to see the Reverend Robert Walker, as depicted by Sir Henry Raeburn, elegantly skating on the loch – an isolated figure in his clerical black and neat little bladed shoes, but with something saucy about the angle of his hat that made you wonder what unacknowledged passions might lurk beneath his trim exterior; what better chance to study Titian’s Diana and Actaeon or walk round Canova’s Three Graces as they indulged in a schoolgirly group hug?

While he discoursed so enthusiastically on the delights of Edinburgh, Giles’s mind was also running on schemes about Rory. The more he saw of his newly discovered son, the more he loved him, and the more he loved him the more he wanted to keep him and bring him up in his own old childhood home. What he most emphatically did not want was to have direct dealings with his predatory sister-in-law. He was enormously touched by his wife’s generosity towards the child. How could he convince her that she had no need to feel jealous of her sister? He knew he would never be personally tempted by Lorna again, but he also knew how scheming, ruthless and devious she could be. If she were to agree to let them see more of Rory, would that open the way for her to cause more trouble in their lives? He didn’t know, but it brought him out in a cold sweat to think of it.

Though Giles gave no outward indication of the inner turmoil he felt about Rory’s departure or his anxiety over Isobel’s unhappiness, Louisa, who knew how bothered he was, admired the way he managed to give the impression that a trip with his guests to ‘the Windy City’ on a wet day was what he wanted to do above anything else. Perhaps she should make an effort to mend her fences with Marnie, whose offhand ‘Good morning’ nod and folded-in expression spoke of wounded feelings? Hmm, thought Louisa to herself, her dark mood persisting like fog. I’ll see.