Baxter nudged his way through the jostling crowds towards the gangway. There was a seaman coming ashore, his head bent against the wind that continued to lash the waves into foam. He looked up at the expectant crowd, holding onto his cap, and shouted, ‘Gone, the train’s gone, down into the water.’

‘Nonsense. How could you see in the dark?’ called an anxious woman.

‘We were lowered into the lifeboat, got as near as we could, looked all around. There’s no sign of life. No one survived.’

‘But could they not be hanging onto the piers?’

The seamen shook his head and walked away.

‘No survivors,’ he repeated, as the captain appeared at the top of the gangway and the provost and harbourmaster rushed forward to meet him.

Baxter cupped his hand round his ear to hear better as words were exchanged and heads shaken.

‘No survivors.’ The provost shouted it loud, his voice breaking with emotion: he was very sorry for their loss, but there were no survivors.

Wails were heard from the crowds, paroxysms of grief as those awaiting loved ones heard the news they had all expected but somehow hoped could not be true.

Baxter tied his scarf tightly around his neck and headed off home. How could he tell his mistress that her husband was at the bottom of the river?

CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6

2015

‘Even though Glenisla is miles from anywhere, it is well worth a visit to taste talented chef Pete Gibson’s food. His is a gift that few of his peers possess. His lightness of touch results in sauces that are the very essence of the flavour but without the heavy richness too often used by classically French-trained chefs. Self-taught, he takes quality Scottish ingredients and converts them skilfully into masterpieces that last in your memory long after your meal is over.

Starters, such as crab bonbons with saffron aioli or venison and rabbit terrine with sweetcorn ice cream, have true, defined flavours yet leave you wanting more. And for mains, his seaweed-crusted lamb loin and hand-dived scallops with cauliflower korma will leave you simply gasping for breath, so exquisite is each mouthful.

But you must leave room for dessert. Just one taste of Aussie Pete’s rhubarb and elderflower syllabub with ginger macadamia shortbread will…’

Fiona flung the paper across the table. For God’s sake, was he sleeping with the woman? She remembered the day the journalist arrived at the hotel, allegedly incognito. The tape recorder sitting on the table gave it away; that and the fact that she dined alone. Fiona had taken one look at her inappropriate attire for a country hotel – high stilettos and décolleté neckline – and knew who she was.