‘Yes.’ I glance at him. ‘I just wanted to check Robert’s birth and death certificates.’

‘Ah.’ Euan nods. ‘After Charlie spilled the beans about Andrew, eh?’

I think of that photograph. The tall out-of-focus figure at its water-damaged edge that I’d thought might be Euan.

‘I think … I mean I’m sure Charlie just wanted—’

Euan smiles, pats my hand. ‘It’s all to the good. These things always come out in the end. Best that those who know are the ones to say.’

I take a scalding sip of coffee. ‘Did you like Robert?’

After a short pause, Euan sighs. He stares hard at the china dish of expensive-looking biscuits between us. ‘A better question would be did Robert like me? And the answer was not a bit. Was I fortunate to be born a Cill Maraigh Morrison? Of course I was. But birth rights and privilege are never equal; all any of us can do is better than we have done. Which, someone like Robert would say, is very easy for a fortunate man to say. He loved the islands, the land, and we Hebrideans have long had fierce attachments to both, no matter who owns them.’ He smiles grimly. ‘The man with the house and the steading of his own, and the land closer to his heart than the flesh of his body.

‘Robert wanted to own the blackhouse and the Ardcraig farmland. Or at least, he claimed he did. Over and over. Every community meeting. He had no means to buy them. None at all. But the chip on Robert’s shoulder was, I think, as vital to him as his blood or heartbeat. I don’t blame him for it. But he blamed me, all right.’ He shrugs, and something that he’s trying very hard to hide, or perhaps not to feel, darkens his eyes, undermines his smile. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to him. He was still a young man. He had a young family. But some people, they just never live. They somehow can’t live. And that was Robert. There’s really no more to know about him than that.’

I glance at him and clear my throat. ‘Do you remember anything about the documentary filmmaker who came here with me and Mum?’

Euan looks momentarily surprised by the question. ‘Gordon Something, I think he was called. Or Something Gordon. Glaswegian. Slick. Asked questions like accusations, like he thought he was a hair’s breadth away from catching you in a lie.’ He shakes his head. ‘Got just about everyone’s backs up in a day.’

I jump when I suddenly hear what sounds like a gunshot. And then another. Euan reaches over the table and pats my hand again just as Will comes back into the room with Cora in tow.

‘Mum was awake,’ Will says before nodding towards the big window. ‘Doubt she would have slept through that lot anyway.’

‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ Euan says to me when another loud crack sounds, closer this time. ‘It’s just a hunting party out on the estate. Godawful bunch from Edinburgh, wouldn’t know their own arse from a pheasant’s, but we don’t tend to get many bookings this time of year.’ He frowns. ‘Our days of being picky are long gone.’