“Ah, thanks, hen.” He stirs a sugar into the coffee that the waitress has just delivered and then continues. “Mostly your mum wasnae very happy here. You’ll ken they met at Saint Martin’s, all very arty-farty, antiestablishment, what have you.” The set of his mouth tells me exactly what he thinks of the artistic community. “Then Karen gets pregnant with you. They get married and end up in rural Scotland with your dad going to work every day in a suit and tie.” His mouth twists sardonically in his leathery face. “I doubt it was exactly what your mum thought she was signing up to.”

“What did my father think?”

“Oh, he loved it here. Loved his job; he was doing well there. Mr. Jamieson had a lot of time for him—”

“Jamieson?” Where have I heard that name before?

“Aye, his boss at the jewelers. Jamieson & Sons.” I nod and he goes on. “Aye, well, he loved the land, loved having you, loved the house—that was another bone of contention, mind. Your dad was fascinated by it. He was even researching the history and the like, but your mum couldnae stand the Manse. Not at first, like, but over time she grew to hate it. She wasnae one to keep her thoughts to herself, your ma. We all heard about it.” I grimace faintly and his lips twitch in another humorless smile. “It was getting to be more of a wedge between them as time went on. If it had been your mum who disappeared, I’d have said you’d find her alive and thriving in some hippie commune in South America or somewhere. Your dad, though.” He pauses and takes a bite of his caramel-and-chocolate-topped shortbread. I watch him whilst he chews. “Aye, well, your dad . . . It just didnae stack up. I couldnae believe he would leave.” He shakes his head and takes another bite, and for a moment his businesslike facade slips, revealing something altogether more bleak. It takes him an unusually long time to get through his mouthful. “And your dad was a smart man,” he continues suddenly, as if he hadn’t paused. “He regularly carried two or three times the value of the jewels that disappeared with him. If he was planning to do a runner, surely he would wait for a bumper occasion?”

I nod as if I’m letting that sink in, though of course I’ve envisaged that scenario, and more, many times. “You said my father wasn’t having an affair. What about my mother?”