‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It’s all been pre-ordained – written in the stars or something. I know it.’

‘Well, lucky you!’ said Cherry. ‘I’ve half a mind to hitch a ride and come with you both. I’ve always wanted to go round Eilean Dobhran.’

‘We’ll give you a formal invitation to dine with us when we’ve moved in,’ joked Christopher.

‘I’ll hold you to that! We’re doing packed lunches for the fishers anyway, so give us fifteen minutes and it’ll be ready.’

Cherry also volunteered the information that the retired minister was a dear old boy – a bit forgetful about day-today things now and again, though very much still in possession of his marbles and a mine of information about all things local. The niece who looked after him, on the other hand, was a proper acid-drop who saw it as her role in life to prevent him from having visitors. ‘Which is a shame really, because he loves to blether on about the past,’ said Cherry. ‘Local gossip has it that Miss McBain isn’t looking to the next world for her reward for caring for her old relative – he’s said to have quite a bit of money stashed away in this one, which she hopes will come her way by and by. The old chap will be thrilled to talk to you. I hope he’s helpful.’

It wasn’t difficult to find the Old Manse because the village only consisted of a row of cottage, a few crofts and the tiny redundant kirk. It was a typical well-proportioned old manse, harled white – though not very recently – with plain sash windows and a surprisingly elegant fanlight over the front door – a door that was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. Whether the minister had anything tucked away or not it didn’t look as if he was disposed to spend money on his house. Marnie’s sporty little car looked very out of place parked outside it; an old Morris Eight or even a pony and trap would have been more in keeping. They went up the path together and were conscious of a muslin curtain in the front room being flicked back into place. There didn’t seem to be a bell, so Christopher lifted the doorknocker and banged much more loudly than he’d intended. The door opened so quickly it made them both jump.

A little ferret of a woman, all twitching nose and faded blonde hair, stood there.

‘Yes?’ She sounded distinctly unfriendly.

‘We’ve come to see Mr McBain. I’m Marnie Donovan – I telephoned earlier.’ Marnie held out her hand.

‘Well I suppose you’d best come in then.’ The woman sniffed disparagingly, eyed them both for an embarrassingly long time but eventually moved aside to let them enter, ignoring Marnie’s outstretched hand.

‘I hope it’s not an inconvenient time to come . . .?’ said Marnie apologetically.