They spent a fascinating hour exploring the tower. The view from the battlements was breathtaking, worth every moment of the steep climb up another spiral staircase. They found the sinister oubliette and the various chutes for pouring boiling oil that had so captured the imagination of a small Marnie – one of them in what Marnie said was the nursery bathroom. Christopher marvelled that she had remembered so much detail of what she’d been told so long ago.

‘This view has got everything – fields and woods, the loch . . . the hills . . . and you can see the river from here too,’ he said, when they’d climbed through a trapdoor and were looking down on the surrounding countryside from a dizzying height. ‘What a fantastic place for a child to grow up . . . can you imagine the fun? No wonder your Contessa had such vivid memories, though judging by the way my sisters fuss over their respective broods I doubt if her mother ever had an easy moment! I quite see why those attic windows have bars on them. You’re right – those rooms must have been the nurseries.’

‘What a difference light makes,’ said Marnie. ‘Now that the shutters are open the feeling of gloom has quite gone.’ Walking round the battlements they got a bird’s eye view of the gardens. To the south, there had obviously once been a parterre, and straggly bits of box hedge remained here and there, while the pattern of formal beds could be seen from above, imprinted in ghostly outline on the grass that had seeded itself everywhere.

‘My old mum would go wild with ideas if she could see this,’ said Christopher. ‘The garden is crying out for rescue.’

‘Could we try and get her here? Do you think she might help me too?’

‘What a lovely idea. Let’s suggest it to her on Sunday. I think she’d jump at it. You could ask Morwenna too.’

They fetched the picnic from the car and found a sheltered spot by the edge of the loch. Christopher scooped a hollow grave out of the shingle and covered the body of the owl with stones.