They talked about Gill Templer to start with, finding common ground. Her questions were canny and probing.

‘Gill can be a bit driven, wouldn’t you say?’

‘She does what she has to.’

‘The pair of you had a fling a while back, didn’t you?’

His eyes widened. ‘She told you that?’

‘No.’ Jean paused, flattened her napkin against her lap. ‘But I guessed it from the way she used to speak about you.’

‘Used to?’

She smiled. ‘It was a long time ago, wasn’t it?’

‘Prehistoric,’ he was forced to agree. ‘What about you?’

‘I hope I’m not prehistoric.’

He smiled. ‘I meant, tell me something about yourself.’

‘I was born in Elgin, parents both teachers. Went to Glasgow University. Dabbled in archaeology. Doctorate from Durham University, then post-doctoral studies abroad – the USA and Canada – looking at nineteenth-century migrants. I got a job as a curator in Vancouver, then came back here when the opportunity arose. The old museum for the best part of twelve years, and now the new one.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s about it.’

‘How do you know Gill?’

‘We were at school together for a couple of years, best mates. Lost touch for a while …’

‘You never married?’

She looked down at her plate. ‘For a while, yes, in Canada. He died young.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Bill drank himself to death, not that his family would ever believe it. I think that’s why I came back to Scotland.’

‘Because he died?’

She shook her head. ‘If I’d stayed, it would have meant participating in the myth they were busy establishing.’

Rebus thought he understood.

‘You’ve got a daughter, haven’t you?’ she said suddenly, keen to change the subject.

‘Samantha. She’s … in her twenties now.’

Jean laughed. ‘You don’t know how old exactly though?’

He tried a smile. ‘It’s not that. I was going to say that she’s disabled. Probably not something you want to know.’

‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment, then looked up at him. ‘But it’s important to you, or it wouldn’t have been the first thing you thought of.’

‘True. Except that she’s getting back on her feet again. Using one of those Zimmer frames old people use.’

‘That’s good,’ she said.

He nodded. He didn’t want to go into the whole story, but she wasn’t going to ask him anyway.

‘How’s the soup?’

‘It’s good.’