“Not at all,” I protested. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. Lily would have wanted to know.”

Flynn senior raised his brows, questioning that theory. “Lily said she was so in love with me, and I hoped and prayed she would be prepared to wait the year until I came back.”

“And what happened then?” asked Flynn, grim-faced.

“Astrid got up to her old tricks again several months after we moved to Africa and it carried on until our return to Scotland.” He blinked hard at the memory. He shot each of us a look in turn. “That was when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore and asked her for a divorce. I knew she wouldn’t change.”

“And was that when you were going to sell Merry Wood?” I asked.

“It wasn’t my decision,” replied Flynn senior. “It was Astrid’s.”

I could hear the anguish in his chest. “It was like a lot of things in her life. She liked it there at the beginning; kept going on about how grand the house was. Everything was exciting for her at first.”

Flynn senior looked resigned. “Then once the novelty started wearing off, Astrid began criticising the house, saying how ugly it was and how boring the area was that we lived in. I think she missed being the centre of attention. She seemed to forget that it was her idea to leave Edinburgh in the first place.”

Flynn senior was reflective. “She wanted shot of the house. She was desperate to get her hands on the money from the proceeds of the sale, but I couldn’t bear the thought of selling Merry Wood.” He gazed at each of us, as though willing us to understand. “It was like I was being torn away from Lily and all the wonderful memories of her.”

He paused and composed himself. “That was when I decided to recruit Seb Banks, my accountant friend, to set up this trust under the name of Chandler.” He hesitated. “Lily told me her favourite actor was Jeff Chandler.”

Ah. That would explain why he chose that name as his alter ego.

There were charged looks swapped when Flynn senior mentioned this. He squirmed in his chair, realising that what he was about to say in front of me would open up a locked box of secrets. He was conflicted and unsure as to whether to say anything else.

“It’s ok, Mr Talbot,” I assured him. “I know. I know about you being Chandler. You have my word that I won’t be revealing anything about that.”

He flicked a panicked look at Flynn, who nodded his reassurance.

I turned my attention back to our conversation. “Go on, Mr Talbot,” I encouraged him. “I swear your secret is safe with me. What happened then?”