Flynn surprised me by breaking into a dry laugh. “Oh yes. He’s still alive all right.”

I took a considered sip of my tea. “From what the letter says, he and your grandmother moved to Africa because of her charity work?”

Now it was Flynn’s turn to take a mouthful of his coffee. “That’s what I was told by my parents.”

I surveyed him and the tense angle of his shoulders.

“He’s not worth it,” ground out Flynn, slamming his cup down on its saucer, drawing a couple of curious glances from another occupied table.

I blinked at him in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

He gave me another level stare.

“So, you’re not close to your grandfather?”

Flynn’s generous mouth twisted up at one corner. “Not exactly. If you mean did he try and win me a goldfish at the fair or play model trains with me, then the answer is no.” Flynn gave me a dry smile. “My family are what you might call buttoned-up. They don’t go in for public displays of affection.”

From the little slivers of information Flynn was revealing, it sounded like he and his grandfather shared the same name but nothing else. They didn’t sound like the Waltons, put it that way.

“He keeps the rest of us at arm’s length,” he added with a bored air.

As if reading the myriad of questions swirling around inside my head, Flynn let out a defeated sigh. “Look, let’s just get this over with, shall we? You want to know more details about my grandfather and I have work to do.”

“You were the one who contacted me, Mr Talbot. You were the one who initiated this meeting. I didn’t force you here.”

He took a steady mouthful of his macchiato, his eyes never leaving my face. It was unnerving. For something to do, I reached for my cup of tea and took a sip. It had gone cold.

I grimaced and set my cup back down.

“My grandfather lives in Cairntilloch,” he announced out of the blue.

“Cairntilloch?” I repeated, not able to disguise the surprise in my voice. “But that’s…”

“Only a matter of miles up the road from here,” supplied Flynn. “Yes, I know.”

Good grief. The man to whom Lily had lost her heart all those years ago was living a dozen miles away from her. He had left her for Africa fifty years ago but was now just a handful of country lanes away.

Had he never tried to see her again when he returned to Scotland?

I wondered how she would react to that revelation.

“Merry Wood is still furnished but unoccupied,” I blurted, as if all the questions I had were breaking apart a dam and spilling out in one big tidal wave.

Now it was Flynn’s turn to look blank. “What do you mean? My grandparents sold it when they returned from Africa.”