A voice inside my head advised me to keep that bit of information to myself for now. I would hopefully have far more luck if I told her face to face. Gauge her reaction.

“I understand you’re travelling to Scotland for a few days on Friday?” I pushed on.

She sounded thrown by my knowledge. “I am. How do you know that?”

I didn’t answer her. “Would I be able to meet up with you for a chat please, Mrs Talbot?”

There was the clinking of a glass. “Is that really necessary? I have a busy schedule.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important, Mrs Talbot,” I impressed. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.” An idea careered into my head. “You would make a wonderful interview subject for a future issue.”

She considered this for a moment. “I would? What, in Goddess magazine?”

“Of course. Ex-pat Scot goes to Spain and starts over. It would be wonderful publicity for your new tapas bar.”

She hesitated down the line. “How do you know about my tapas bar?”

I scrambled around in my head for what sounded like a plausible explanation. “I hope you don’t mind, Mrs Talbot, but I googled you. A prominent Scot like yourself… well, I had to do some research.”

The sycophancy seemed to work. She didn’t take long to consider that particular carrot being dangled. “Oh, that’s sweet of you to say that. All right, but I can’t spare too long, I’m afraid.”

I heard a tip-tap of her nail on a screen. There were more Spanish exchanges down the line.

“How about we meet at my hotel on Saturday morning, say 11am? I will be staying at The Fontaine.”

I confirmed that was fine.

She broke into a burst of rapid Spanish, before turning her attention back to me. “Now, I’m sorry but I must go. I have an appointment for a hot stone massage.”

I was still recalling Astrid Talbot’s insistence that Merry Wood had been sold years ago as I rang Flynn to tell him.

When I relayed this information to him, he made a dismissive noise. “My grandfather must have fooled her into thinking he sold the house as well. Christ, he’s lied to everyone! And what did she say about Lily?”

“I didn’t mention her,” I admitted. “I just couldn’t. Revealing that to someone a thousand miles away in a phone call… it didn’t seem right somehow.”

“Good grief,” teased Flynn. “A journalist with a conscience. You should be knighted.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though he couldn’t see me. “We aren’t all heartless bastards, you know. I keep telling you that.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I’m beginning to discover that at least one journalist in particular is full of surprises.” His voice had become a little softer.