Junipers itself was full of people: family members and friends were gathering there. Some, having travelled far, had stayed the previous night, and were now wandering the many corridors in search of something resembling breakfast. Mrs Dolan the cook had decided that hot food would not be seemly on such a day, so her usual vapour trail of sausage, bacon and eggs or pungent kedgeree could not be followed. In the dining room sat an array of cereal packets and preserves, the latter home-made but not including Mrs Dolan’s blackcurrant and apple, which had been Flip’s favourite since childhood. She’d left that particular jar back in the pantry. Last time anyone had eaten some, it had been Flip herself on one of her infrequent visits.

Mrs Dolan was telling her daughter Catriona as much, as Catriona comforted her and handed over another paper handkerchief. One of the guests, sent to inquire whether coffee and cold milk might be available, put his head round the kitchen door, but withdrew again, embarrassed to be witnessing the indomitable Mrs Dolan brought low like this.

In the library, John Balfour was telling his wife that he didn’t want ‘any bloody police thickos’ at the cemetery.

‘But, John, they’ve all worked so hard,’ his wife was saying, ‘and they’ve asked to be there. Surely they’ve as much right as …’ Her voice died away.

‘As who?’ His voice had grown less angry, but suddenly colder.

‘Well,’ his wife said, ‘all these people we don’t know …’

‘You mean people I know? You’ve met them at parties, functions. Jackie, for Christ’s sake, they want to pay their respects.’

His wife nodded and stayed quiet. After the funeral, there would be a buffet lunch back at Junipers, not just for close family but for all her husband’s associates and acquaintances, nearly seventy of them. Jacqueline had wanted a much smaller affair, something that could be accommodated in the dining room. As it was, they’d had to order a marquee, which had been installed on the back lawn. An Edinburgh firm – run by another of her husband’s clients, no doubt – was doing the catering. The lady owner was busy out there now, supervising the unloading of tables, cloths, crockery and cutlery from what seemed a never-ending series of small vans. Jacqueline’s small victory so far had been to widen the circle of invitees to include Flip’s own friends, though this had not been without its awkward moments. David Costello, for example, would have to be invited, along with his parents, though she’d never liked David and felt he held the family in mild distaste. She was hoping they would either fail to turn up, or would not linger.