The last of Connie’s passengers were on their way by lunchtime and her case was with Reception. She felt dehydrated and lightheaded, almost wobbly on her feet after the previous night with virtually no sleep. She longed to lie flat somewhere and close her eyes. But the room was no longer hers, and Jared – who had kept himself out of the way during breakfast – was now sitting in an armchair beside the large picture window in the foyer, quietly waiting for her.

He stood as she approached, a mischievous smile on his face. But Connie’s mind was in turmoil. I have to tell him. Her hand was clutched around her mobile, on which a lovely text from Devan had just arrived: Can’t wait to see you, Con. Have a good journey home. Love you xxx it said, making her tired body twitch with self-reproach.

She sank down into the armchair opposite, pushing thoughts of her husband from her mind.

‘Walk?’ Jared asked. ‘It’s such a beautiful day.’

‘Not sure I can put one foot in front of the other,’ she said.

He grinned. ‘OK, well, there’s a nice bench about a hundred yards to the right, overlooking the river. Could you make it that far?’

‘I might.’ She found herself smiling back, almost enjoying her feebleness. As usual, her time with Jared felt separate, unreal. It was just the two of them. The outside world – including Devan – did not exist. But she knew what she had to do, and the bench, away from the inquisitive eyes and ears of the hotel staff, would be a better place.

Getting up, Jared said, ‘Coffee on its way.’

He strode off, coming back with lattes in takeaway cups and warm sausage rolls, the grease already staining their brown-paper bag in patches. She had no idea how long he’d been gone: she’d just sat on in the cosy, squishy, forgiving armchair in a dream-like stupor.

Bright sunshine flashed off the river, making Connie wince and squint. But the warmth of the sun on her back and a few sips of coffee were reviving her. The river looked more benign today, clean and clear and grey-green as it flowed swiftly past to the Moray Firth, the red sandstone of the stately nineteenth-century castle on the hill glowing pale gold in the afternoon sun. It was very peaceful as they sat on the wooden bench and ate their sausage rolls in silence.

‘We’re like Mr and Mrs Dracula,’ Jared said, dusting off the flakes of pastry from his jacket and briskly rubbing his hands together to dislodge any remaining crumbs. ‘We normally come out at night. This sunshine could finish us off.’

Connie smiled, but she knew this was the moment. Turning to him and taking a deep breath, she said, ‘I can’t see you any more, Jared.’ The words plopped flat between them like stones in a pond, dull – and ultimately unconvincing.