Marsaili parked around the back, opposite a row of residential caravans brought in to augment already overstretched facilities, and the first fat drops of rain began falling as she and Fin hurried towards the entrance with Tormod between them. As they reached it, the door swung out and a dark-haired man in a black quilted anorak held it open for them. It wasn’t until they were in out of the rain that Fin realized who it was.

“George Gunn!”

Gunn seemed just as surprised to see Fin. He took a moment to collect himself, then nodded politely. “Mr. Macleod.” They shook hands. “I didn’t realize you were on the island, sir.” He glanced acknowledgement in Marsaili’s direction. “Mrs. Macinnes.”

“It’s Macdonald now. I took back my maiden name.”

“And it’s not ‘sir’ any more either, George. Just plain Fin. I handed in my jotters.”

Gunn raised an eyebrow. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Macleod.”

An elderly lady with a faded blue rinse through silvered hair came to take Tormod by the arm and lead him gently away. “Hello, Tormod. Didn’t expect you today. Come away in and we’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Gunn watched them go then turned back to Marsaili. “Actually, Miss Macdonald, it was your father I wanted to talk to.”

Marsaili’s eyes opened in surprise. “What on earth would you want to talk to my dad for? Not that you’ll get any sense out of him.”

Gunn nodded solemnly. “So I understand. I’ve been up at Eòropaidh to see your mother. But since you’re here it would help if you could confirm a few things for me, too.”

Fin put a hand on Gunn’s forearm. “George, what’s all this about?”

Gunn carefully moved his arm away from Fin’s hand. “If I could just ask for your patience, sir . . .” And Fin knew that this was no routine inquiry.

“What kind of things?” Marsaili said.

“Family things.”

“Such as?”

“Do you have any uncles, Miss Macdonald? Or cousins? Any relatives, close or otherwise, outside of your immediate family?”

Marsaili frowned. “I think my mother has some distant relatives somewhere in the south of England.”

“On your father’s side.”

“Oh.” Marsaili’s confusion deepened. “Not that I know of. My dad was an only child. No brothers or sisters.”

“Cousins?”

“I don’t think so. He came from the village of Seilebost, on Harris. But as far as I know he’s the only surviving member of his family. He took us once to see the croft he was brought up on. Derelict now, of course. And Seilebost School where he went as a child. A wonderful little school sitting right out there on the machair with the most incredible views over the sands of Luskentyre. But there was never any talk of relatives.”