The decision to move, like many such decisions of great personal importance, was made quickly. Within ten minutes of Matthew’s mentioning the unsuitability of India Street for triplets – or of top flats in India Street for that purpose – he and Elspeth found themselves firmly committed to what in Scotland is called a flit. Scots words are usually very descriptive and apt for their purpose – dreich describes moist, foggy days perfectly; to be trauchled is to be exactly as the verb suggests; and fantoosh is virtually onomatopoeic in its capture of flashiness – but flit is surely misleading. Few people flit in the carefree way that the word implies; most flits are traumatic, trauchling experiences that test the psychological and material resources of the flitters. So even if the decision to flit was quickly and painlessly taken by Matthew and Elspeth, the actual flit would surely be much more demanding.

The proximity of Moray Place, though, made the first stages of the process simplicity itself. On the very day on which Matthew raised the subject, he and Elspeth made an appointment with McKay Norwell, the selling solicitors, to view the flat in question. ‘It’s a very attractive flat,’ the solicitor said over the telephone. ‘We have several notes of interest.’

Matthew’s heart sank at this news. The system of blind-bidding for property in Scotland was attractive to a seller, who might hope that what was effectively a process of auction would drive the price up, but was a nightmare for the purchaser, who would never know how much to bid. It all depended on how badly somebody wanted the property: a flat in a popular part of town might have ten people chasing after it – possibly even more – and those with the deepest pockets would have the best chance of getting it. Matthew had heard of a flat that had been on the market for offers over four hundred thousand pounds going for five hundred thousand. And then there were the heart-breaking stories of people who had missed a house they yearned to possess by ten pounds. Of course there was always somebody who was happy with the outcome, and the couple who bid ten pounds more might have loved it ten pounds more, but there were usually those who were bitterly disappointed.

‘We mustn’t raise our hopes,’ Matthew warned, as he and Elspeth made their way to the appointment to view. ‘There’ll be other people looking at it. We may not get it, you know.’

‘Of course,’ said Elspeth.

‘And we may not want it anyway,’ said Matthew. ‘It may be awful.’

Again Elspeth said, ‘Of course.’ But she was already mentally moving into the flat, wondering whether the curtains from India Street would fit the windows at Moray Place.

They arrived outside the building. The front door, painted black and with a brass numeral attached above the letterbox, gave directly on to the pavement.