‘I’m sure there are plenty of beds for all of us,’ I said quickly, and this time I was the one to look to Isla for confirmation. I didn’t want to mention that we’d had to sleep rough.

‘Of course there are,’ she said. ‘Shall I give you the grand tour?’

The bothy was small but efficiently organized. A door at the rear of the kitchen led to a scullery with a washing machine and loo. Three bedrooms provided ample sleeping space with freshly made-up beds, and a bathroom with a shower cubicle.

We followed Isla to the living room at the front of the house, overlooking the garden.

‘Now, you’ll have noticed it’s a bit chilly on the island. So you’re not to worry if you need to turn the heater on.’ She nodded at the wood burning stove. ‘You’ll find a shed at the side of the bothy stocked with wood. And I’ve put plenty of blankets in the cupboards for you to coorie down in the evenings. Which reminds me. Sometimes the electricity goes off. Nothing to worry about. You know how to manage an oil lantern?’

I followed her gaze to an old-fashioned oil lamp in the windowsill, which I’d assumed was for decoration. I caught Isla rolling her eyes as it became clear that no, I didn’t know how to manage an oil lantern.

‘I’ll be sure to leave instructions,’ she said with a tight smile.

‘Does Mr Roberts live here?’ Saffy asked.

‘This is one of his properties,’ Isla said. ‘But no, he doesnae live here. His main residence is north of here, twenty minutes or so by car.’

‘Will you tell him I’ve arrived?’ I asked.

‘Well, I’d love to,’ Isla said brusquely, ‘but he’s at sea just now.’

‘At sea?’

‘Aye, for all he has a half-dozen houses dotted about the place he prefers to be out on his boat.’

‘I have a boat,’ Clover offered.

Isla lifted an eyebrow. ‘Do ye, now?’

‘It’s green with a purple chimney and I play with it in the bath.’

‘Well, Mr Roberts’ boat is a wee bit bigger than that, I’d wager,’ Isla said, chuckling. ‘He tends to sail to Shetland at this time of year.’

‘He’s a pirate, then?’ Clover said, astonished.

Isla bent down to Clover’s eye level. ‘No. But I reckon he’d be a good ’un.’

‘Do you come from Shetland?’ Clover asked, running her fingertips along the stubbly woodchip wallpaper. Woodchip was her favourite texture.

‘No,’ Isla said. ‘I come from Lòn Haven. Where d’you come from?’

‘My mummy’s vagina,’ Clover said.

I watched Isla’s face drop. ‘Girls, go have a look at your bedrooms,’ I said, ushering Clover quickly away. ‘Do you know when I’m to discuss the commission with Mr Roberts?’