He glances at his watch. “I wouldn’t say no to both, actually. I don’t start work till eight thirty.” He looks a little like last night’s Glenmorangie has taken the shine off him. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well,” I admit. Probably better than I have on any previous nights, if I’m honest. I peer past him, into the sun-strewn front drive. I can only see Ben’s BMW. “Did I hear Ali picking up his car earlier?”

“Yeah, he was opening up at the shop this morning, so he came ahead of me.”

In the kitchen I twist the dial to turn on the radio and focus on the scrambled eggs, one of the few dishes I’m confident about, while he picks up yesterday’s paper, which is still lying on the table. When I place his plate in front of him, he smiles his thanks, then starts eating in a dedicated, thoughtful way without seeming to notice the taste at all. I get through two thirds of my own portion of eggs then realize I’m no longer hungry and put my fork down. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes jerk to my face. “Nothing . . . nothing.” After a moment he puts his own fork down and yields with a gesture as if to say, Okay, fine. “It’s just . . . I guess in the light of day, with no whisky—”

“It all seems a little unbelievable?” He doesn’t quite nod, but I can see that I’m right about what he was thinking. “Yes, believe me, I get that feeling too.” Though not when I’m alone in the Manse. Not when the darkness presses and I lock all the windows and doors and then worry that I’m locking something in rather than keeping something out. “What did you guys do with the fox?”

“Ali’s taking it to the vet later, to see if it was poisoned.”

“That’s good of him.”

“Like I said, he’s a good guy, really.”

I purse my lips equivocally—We’ll see—and he laughs, though I can’t shake the feeling that something more is bothering him. But I can’t follow up on it because his phone suddenly springs to life. I clear the plates with half an ear on Ben’s side of the conversation after I hear my own name. “No, I’m at Ailsa’s . . .” He deliberately rolls his eyes at me, half embarrassed as he says, “No! I slept in my own bed, thank you very much . . . When? Sorry, I’m on all day today . . . I take it Jamie and your dad can’t?”

Fiona? I mouth at Ben. He nods and puts a hand over the mouth end of his phone. It’s a curiously old-fashioned gesture, as if he’s used to using the ancient barbell style of receiver. She needs someone to sit Callum, he murmurs back at me.