The night air is warmer than on previous nights, but it’s still chilly after the warmth of Ben’s car. I can hear Ben opening and shutting the boot of the car as I struggle with the key. I think again that I need to get a security light, and then I follow that with the thought that I won’t be here long enough to take advantage of it. But perhaps Carrie will be here without me. The whole house to herself and no reason to lie and sneak around . . . Once I get the door open, I put on the lights in all the rooms that face the front.

“How’s that?” I call from the doorway, but I have to fling up a hand to shield my eyes. A car is turning into the drive, temporarily dazzling me with its headlights on full beam. It parks at an angle behind Ben’s BMW, engine and headlights still on, but the latter are no longer aimed directly at me. Ali climbs out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by a thumping wave of what sounds like German electronica.

“I thought that was you,” he calls to Ben. Then he adds grudgingly, “Hiya, Ailsa.”

I raise my hand in half-hearted acknowledgment.

“I’m on my way to meet Piotr in the Quaich. I thought I’d see if you want to join us.” He’s aiming this directly at Ben, with no attempt to include me in the invitation, but Ben looks across at me nonetheless.

“I’m good, thanks. I think I’ll have an early night,” I call.

“Your loss,” says Ali cheerfully. “You got a problem with that tire, Ben?”

“Didn’t feel right on the way back.” Ben is peering at the front left tire. He has a light jacket on now, presumably pulled from the boot. He gives the tire a couple of kicks. “Seems okay, though.”

“This car is too much of a thoroughbred for these roads. You want to get yourself a jeep like Jamie’s. Where were the pair of you coming from, anyway?”

“Ballashiels Thai.”

“Romantic dinner for two?” He raises his voice. “What will the esteemed Mr. Powell say about that, Ailsa?”

“He’ll be sorry he missed out. He loves Thai,” I respond with deliberate sweetness.

“Aye, that’s exactly what I’d say if my girlfriend was having dinner with Ben.”

“Stop being a twat, Ali,” Ben says. He leaves off from inspecting the tire and approaches the front door. The yellow light which spills around me shows a rueful grimace on his face. “Sorry about this,” he says quietly. “He’s just being . . . Look, it’s just Ali. You have to get to know him.”

I wrinkle my nose. “If it’s not compulsory, I’ll pass, thanks.”

He doesn’t bother trying to dissuade me. “Thanks for dinner.”