Ben shakes his head. “Nope, Fiona isn’t like that, and believe me, this place is small enough that every single hookup is big news.” The mild grimace that temporarily crosses his mouth suggests firsthand experience of that. “I didn’t even realize she was pregnant. She was working at a stable up north for a few months and then came back with Callum, but she must have been pregnant with him before she left. As far as I can gather, it’s an immaculate conception.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” His lips twitch at my cynicism. “I get the impression that you guys are close.”

“We are. We’ve been friends since we were kids. We didn’t hang out so much in our teenage years—she went a bit wayward then, and I’m that wee bit older, so we weren’t quite in the same circles, but after that we got close again, and now she’s one of my best friends. But Callum’s father is her own business, and she hasn’t chosen to say, so . . .” He shrugs, an exercise in coordinated movement: the corners of his mouth curve up exactly in time with his shoulders. “I can see the reporter in you is deeply unsatisfied with that,” he teases.

“Deeply.” In fact, I’m amazed by it. If she hasn’t told anyone, then presumably she hasn’t told Callum, either. I wonder if he’s old enough to ask difficult questions, and if so, how does she respond? My experience of children isn’t vast, but I rather think the sturdy little mite currently roaming through my house is very much capable of demanding answers.

“Fiona seems a little . . . I don’t know how to put it . . .” Even though I’ve been desperate to broach the subject, I don’t quite have the words for it. But Ben is already nodding.

“Yeah, I know, she’s wired a little differently. But she’s a top lass. You just have to get to know her. And make allowances with time.” Make allowances with time? I shake my head blankly. “She has something called dyschronometria,” he explains. “Among other things . . . Anyway, she can’t understand time; she has no concept of how much of it has passed. It makes her memories difficult too—she has no idea how recently or long ago something happened, and she can’t put anything in order.”

Suddenly the watch makes sense. “So that’s why all the beeping.”

“It helps her keep track. She’s actually pretty good at work; there have only been one or two issues as a result of it. Technically I’m her boss—or her boss’s boss, I suppose—but I mostly leave the equestrian stuff to her manager, since he knows what he’s doing.” He shrugs. “Once you know about the dyschronometria, you find a way to work around it.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”