When he was reasonably confident that equilibrium had returned, Christopher got cautiously to his feet and went over to the basin. He splashed his face in cold water and it steadied him. He flung open the window, which looked out at the back of the building over the park, and breathed in the peaty, spring-scented air. A nearly full moon was sailing in the sky, casting a criss-cross tangle of shadows from the branches of the great oak trees on to the grass below. A white rhododendron – he must ask Morwenna if she knew what variety it was – looked as if the silvery light was shining, not from the moon, but from its heavy flower-heads to illuminate everything round it. There was not a breath of wind, unusual for Scotland, thought Christopher, and it was so still he could hear the distant rumbling of the burn. Then he heard the sound of an engine and saw the lights of cars coming up the drive. He guessed it would be the rest of the group, back from the Drochatt Arms, and wondered how they had progressed in friendship – or possibly animosity. Soon car doors were being slammed, footsteps crunched on the gravel and there was the sound of a key being turned in the lock of the main door below; there was muffled laughter on the stairs. He thought with surprise that he was pleased to know they were all back.

Even more surprisingly, after he’d had a bath and gone to bed, he had the best night’s sleep he’d had for a very long time

Chapter Eight

Isobel and Giles had not dined with their guests that night and Catherine made their apologies for them.

‘I do hope it wasn’t anything I said about the little boy?’ Bunty had asked, eyes bulging with speculation, leaning eagerly towards Catherine – she had a habit of coming very close to whomever she was speaking to and was obviously longing to ferret about for more information. ‘It may be that I’m over-sensitive – everybody always notices how sensitive I am – but I feel I might have been a weeny bit tactless?’ Catherine had said firmly: ‘No, of course it’s nothing to do with that. The Grants always try to dine with their guests the first night, as they did yesterday, but they often have other commitments as I’m afraid they do tonight.’ Bunty had looked unconvinced and would have liked to pursue the matter further, but pleasant though Catherine was there was something a little daunting about her that Bunty found disconcerting.

The evening session finished at half past nine. The Colonel, who’d arrived at Glendrochatt by car, had been studying the notice board on which various local attractions were advertised and now invited anyone who fancied an outing to come to Blairalder with him for a drink at the Rob Roy bar in the Drochatt Arms.