On the left, from behind a long reception counter, a young blond woman in a gray skirt suit with a tartan scarf tied beautifully at her neck offers a smile. It’s an elegant combination, smart and businesslike without overdoing the nod to Scottish tradition. “Welcome to Kingrossie Hotel. Are you checking in?”

“Actually no. I’ve just moved into the area, and I’m considering joining the leisure club.” I’m very conscious of the quiet of the lobby; I feel like I’m talking in church.

The receptionist—Elena, her name tag tells me—has already picked up a phone. “Certainly. I can call the club reception and see if someone is available to give you a tour.” A young man in a white shirt and gray trousers with surprisingly unruly caramel hair has appeared at the concierge end of the counter. He gives me a friendly smile then busies himself at the computer.

“What name, please?” asks Elena, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand.

“Ailsa Calder.”

I’m disconcerted to find the young man has straightened up and is staring at me so intently that I feel myself recoil from the force of his gaze. As Elena makes the arrangements, he quickly collects himself and returns to the computer, leaving me wondering what on earth could have drawn such an extreme reaction from him. The only thing I said of any note was my name.

My name. Calder. Of course: after living so long with the disappearance of my father as a deeply private event, it’s a shock to think that it might be a matter of common gossip here—a local tale that has no doubt grown with the telling. I have to resist the urge to bolt for the car. The receptionist appears to be on hold on the phone, so I flick unseeing through a rotating display of postcards that’s on the counter, ignoring the concierge so definitively that I’m convinced he must know it’s deliberate. Though surely I am being paranoid. Even if the name Martin Calder might ring a bell for a certain generation of locals, there’s no reason that his daughter’s name—my name—should have that effect, and Calder is a fairly common Scottish surname. But I didn’t imagine the concierge’s reaction. I finally sneak a glance toward him, but he’s no longer at the desk.