“Ach, away tae fuck.” There’s no aggression in the words; Jamie doesn’t seem in the least bit riled. He hikes his chair in closer to the table and then looks across at me, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. We have secrets, you and I, he seems to be saying. I look at my wineglass instead. It appears to be empty again. “So, Ailsa, what brings you to the Highlands? Are you just here for a short while or will you be staying?”

“It’s temporary.” On my left, I feel Ben turning away from the waitress and tuning in to our conversation. “I, um, inherited the Manse when my mum died recently”—I lift a few fingers slightly to acknowledge the murmurs of sympathy—“so I’m just trying to sort that out.”

“With a view to what? Keeping, selling or renting?” Jamie asks.

“I’d like to sell. But there are a few legal hurdles . . .” I trail off and shrug.

“I’d love to talk to you about buying it sometime,” Ben says seriously. Longer exposure to his laid-back drawl has given me no better understanding of his ever-changing accent. “I’ve always loved that place. I figure it could be run as a hunting lodge, under the same franchise as the hotel.”

“Really? I may well take you up on that.” Could it be this easy? Get the Presumption of Death certificate, sell to Ben? And then what—skip off back to London, leaving Carrie? “You know, my folks wanted to run it as a bed-and-breakfast when they bought it.”

“When was that?”

“Just before I was born. My dad had a little bit of money from a relative that died and they blew it all on the Manse. It ought to have been a good investment but my mum was renting it out over the last twenty-odd years, and it never made much.”

“It’s never rented well,” says Jamie. “I used to work at the estate agency that manages it, you ken. A place like that ought to have been picking up long lets, not just the odd week here and there.”

Ali speaks up. “Maybe it’s because of its history.”

My eyes jump to his face involuntarily: does he mean my story? I know he’s seen my reaction. There’s a sly satisfaction to be read in his gleaming eyes, in the smirk of his mouth. “Really? What do you mean?” I ask with studied calm. There’s an odd high-pitched beep that comes from the other side of Ben. I see Fiona glancing at her watch.