‘Quid pro quo?’

‘Exactly.’ She smiles, and I see the steely purpose behind her friendly patience and politeness. The impressive determination. I think of the meeting at Isla’s house later this afternoon, and some of my nervousness retreats. Quid pro quo. What’s stopping me from trying to do exactly the same? Make them think they want what I want. How hard can that be? It is, after all, what people have been successfully doing to me all of my life.

CHAPTER 10

Isla Campbell’s cottage stands alone on grazing land, a ten-minute walk past Blairmore. Miko was right about the weather; I have to battle against driving rain and wind until the road bends southeast. The afternoon becomes so gloomy, I realise I’ve reached the cottage only when I see its two front windows lit up gold beside the road.

When I knock on the door, it’s not Isla who answers, but Jaz. We look at each other for a long awkward moment, while I try not to think about his cool hello yesterday; his snub this morning.

He glances behind himself before turning back to me. ‘This is a one-time deal. No one wants to be talking about this again.’ The reproachful look in his eyes reminds me so much of Ravi that I have to bite my tongue until the urge to defend myself has passed.

‘I didn’t realise that you’d been here. Back then.’ I clear my throat. ‘I’m sorry. I would have told you, when you picked me up in Stornoway. If I’d known.’

And even though I’m pretty sure he sees that for the complete lie it is, he nods and steps back, opens the door wider to let me in.

‘Hi, Maggie,’ Charlie says, from the gloom of the hallway. It’s small and narrow; at its end are steep carpeted stairs. ‘Everyone’s in the front room.’

My nerves return with a vengeance as I follow him and Jaz into a living room lit by a dim overhead light and table lamps with fringed fabric shades. Isla is sitting in a high-backed upright chair next to the fire. Jimmy, the tall and forbidding prawn fisherman, is slouched in the only armchair. Bruce MacKenzie sits at one end of an understuffed sofa, and Gillian in its middle.

Charlie takes my sodden mac, and I perch awkwardly on the other end of the sofa.

‘You wouldn’t have thought the sun was splitting the skies yesterday,’ I say, far too brightly. The peat fire crackles and smokes.

‘This is Jimmy Struthers,’ Charlie says. ‘And Isla Campbell.’

Jimmy gives me another impressive glower from under his heavy black brows.

‘Thank you for inviting me,’ I say to Isla instead.

She turns from the fire. ‘I’m furthest from the village.’ Her gaze is direct and unblinking. Today, her silver hair is coiled into an oversized bun. ‘We didn’t want the MacDonalds upset. They won’t talk to you. They always thought Robert had something to do with Lorne’s death.’

‘Did he?’ I ask before I can stop myself. Remember Miko’s quid pro quo.