Then she moved the subject on to more familiar territory. “Now, onto far more important matters, caro. What are you planning to eat for your dinner, because I have some leftover Italian sausage polpettina and macaroni bake?”

That evening, I entered Bernard Cruickshank’s name into the search engine on my laptop.

A briefly worded obituary emerged from the archives of The Silver Ness News. It was dated September 16th 2006.

It read:

Bernard Martin Cruickshank. Born January 5th 1947. Died September 16th 2006, aged 59 years. Husband of Lily Cruickshank (nee Bruce).

I sat back and blinked. I had read more passionate and detailed obituaries about a pet passing away.

No beloved or much-missed husband sentiments at all. Then my thoughts travelled to Lily dismissing my sympathy on hearing she had lost Bernard.

I considered what Mum had said earlier about Bernard not being a well-liked figure in the community, too. Perhaps Lily had been relieved at his passing.

An unhappy marriage and a business that didn’t survive. That could explain a lot.

Chapter Nine

The next week vanished in a haze of work, visiting Lily’s farmhouse again (I’m certain she was at home, but failed to answer the door) and preparing for my interview with Goddess, which was screaming up to greet me at an alarming rate.

As soon as I had received that email, informing me that I had secured an interview, I booked the day off as annual leave. I knew I would be too preoccupied before and after it to go to work.

I arranged a taxi to take me so I wouldn’t have to concern myself with traffic, flat tyres, or another accident which could befall me. I knew such scenarios would be unlikely, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I was led into the interview room by a buff-cheeked blonde with iron-straight blonde hair and a wide smile.

From what I could see of the other members of staff, stationed at their starched white desks, they too were all groomed and glossy. Shiny skin, dazzling smiles, and gleaming locks were the order of the day and that was just the guys.

I stood out amongst them, with my Mediterranean explosion of hair, curvy bottom, and ample chest.

The room was decked out with huge vases of white and green flower arrangements more in keeping with a glossy wedding and a set of uncomfortable-looking glass furniture.

Barbara McKinnon and Oli Noakes were already seated in front of me at a long table. She was sporting a severe conker-coloured bob and he a buzz cut and a look of faint boredom.

The seat between them was vacant. It was like the opening scene of The Apprentice, before Lord Sugar emerges from behind the frosted doors.