Sullivan peppered Rory with questions throughout the short journey. Eliza learned that Rory had got the idea for his handmade jigsaws three years earlier, after shopping with his girlfriend, Milly, for a birthday present for her young nephew. She’d wanted something colourful, sturdy. Locally made. Unsuccessful, they stopped for lunch at a pub. On the napkin, he’d sketched exactly what she wanted – colourful animals, one for each letter of the alphabet, all interlinked. He spent the next week finding the materials. Asked around and found a retired carpenter to help him. A fortnight later, he’d presented Milly with a handpainted wooden jigsaw puzzle. She loved it. Her nephew adored it. Within days, Rory was asked to make more – for sale – for their friends and families too. That led to craft markets in Edinburgh, Glasgow and beyond. He’d even sold some of his puzzles in Berlin, he told them, when he was visiting Milly.

‘And is it financially viable, Rory?’ Sullivan asked as they drove into a small industrial estate. ‘You don’t need to divulge figures. I’m just curious about such a labour-intensive enterprise.’

Rory exchanged an amused glance with Eliza. ‘Not yet, Sullivan. But one day, I hope.’

‘All the best with it,’ Sullivan said as he hopped out of the van.

The workshop was at the back of the estate. Eliza’s first impression was the smell – a combination of sawdust, paint and thinners. The unit was divided into different ‘zones’, Rory explained. The cutting area, painting area, drying racks and packing area. After the artwork was painted, each piece was cut into puzzle shapes with the fretsaw. Each puzzle was presented in a calico bag.

Rory told them he sometimes used a computer to do his designs, or if he was trying out colour combinations. But most of his work involved paint and pencils. He found that the most satisfying.

‘Give it a try, Sullivan.’ He handed him an A4 piece of plywood. ‘Draw your favourite animal.’

As Sullivan drew, Rory and Eliza tried to guess it. A monkey? A squirrel? Finally, after Sullivan drew black lines on a long bushy tail, Eliza got it. A ring-tailed lemur.

‘My lifelong ambition is to go to Madagascar and see one in the wild,’ Sullivan said. ‘In the meantime, I visit them in zoos. Edinburgh Zoo has a particularly lovely group. Or a particularly lovely conspiracy of lemurs, I should say, to use the correct and marvellous collective term. Eliza, would you like to visit them with me? Perhaps we could go there tomorrow?’

‘Sullivan, I’m sorry, but I have to go to London for a few days.’

‘When you get back? We could take a picnic and make a day of it?’

It was very hard to say no to Sullivan, she was discovering. Yes, when she got back, she promised.