‘That gives us ten minutes,’ she said, looking at her watch. She put her hand on her hip. ‘So?’

I took a deep breath. Then I told her everything.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Amber

Audhild Loch

23 December 2009

Lumin puts her hand to her mouth. ‘No! He can’t be dead!’

Amber places her hand on Lumin’s arm, tears flooding her own eyes as she looks out towards the burnt lodge that had claimed Lumin’s father’s life.

‘Your father died saving you,’ Rosa says, leaning forward and clasping Lumin’s hand. ‘He’s a hero.’

‘But he’s not here! He’s dead! How could I have not remembered something so important?’ Lumin jumps up and runs from the room.

Amber goes to chase her but Rosa grabs her wrist. ‘Don’t. She just needs time.’

Amber sits back down, putting her head in her hands as she tries to take it all in. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Thirteen years ago,’ Rosa says. ‘Lumin was four, maybe five. We saw the flames from our house. We were celebrating. We’d had the first bit of good news in years: we’d won a court battle for the land the lodge stood on. And then it nearly burnt to the ground.’

‘How did the fire start?’

‘Candles. Mairi, Dylan’s mother, was a stickler for tradition. Each Christmas, she’d light candles in the windows, sending a signal to travellers that all guests were welcome. That’s how Gwyneth and I met, she was one of those guests. Her car broke down on the way back from a shoot. She’s a wildlife documentary-maker, you see.’

‘Ah,’ Amber says. ‘That explains the notebook we found on Lumin. Did they live in the lodge then, Lumin and her parents? Before she moved to Iceland with her mother?’

‘No,’ Rosa said. ‘That was what was so tragic about it. Dylan had only just discovered he had a daughter and they were spending their first Christmas together. By all accounts, it looks like the three of them were making plans to set up home together. Then tragedy struck.’

‘God, that’s so sad.’

‘Yes, it’s all such a waste.’ Rose peers into the living room at the painting of the young girl. ‘I know too much about wasted lives.’

Amber follows her gaze. ‘Can I ask who she is?’

‘My daughter, Eleanor. She was once best friends with the older McClusky boys, would play in the mountains, build things. I’m sure she would have ended up working for the McCluskys if she hadn’t died.’

‘I’m so sorry. What happened?’

‘The lake. She got trapped under the ice and drowned.’

Amber puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh God. I don’t know what to say.’