Greg had given her a quick tour the day before, so ‘she wouldn’t get lost’, he’d said with a smile. ‘It’s a Highland cottage, so I don’t think that will happen.’

There were two attic bedrooms, one his, the other he said he used as a study and for estate work.

She decided to take a proper look round the bedroom. Greg had said his late father had worked for the former laird, so this had been his family home. By the age and style of the furniture, it looked as though nothing had been changed since that time.

She glanced in the wardrobe at the neatly stored clothes, mostly work related, or casual. His kilt and accessories were hanging there, of course, but no dress suits. So it appeared Greg wasn’t into dressing up in anything other than his kilt on special occasions.

She felt a bit odd about checking out the contents of the oak tallboy but, bracing herself, did so. What she was worried about finding, she wasn’t sure, but the drawers contained just the usual socks, underwear and T-shirts.

In fact, it was all perfectly normal. Greg appeared clean, reasonably tidy, and didn’t have anything lying about which might indicate he was weird or a threat to her in any way.

The final place she checked was his bedside cabinet, where she found a small cloth pouch which held a gold ring that looked like a man’s marriage band.

Had Greg been married at one time? If so, he hadn’t mentioned it. She couldn’t blame him for that, since she hadn’t mentioned anything about any of her former relationships either.

So there was the first mystery which she couldn’t solve without revealing that she’d been rummaging through his things.

In that moment she thought of what Greg might discover were he to search her place. The thought troubled her so much, she chose not to enter his study, but took herself downstairs and outside.

What was she worried about? She had no reason to suspect Greg of having any other motive for inviting her here than what was plain to see.

She, on the other hand, did have an ulterior motive for accepting his invitation. She was the one with the secrets. Starting with her reaction to Greg’s story of the virus deaths in Blackrig, which she’d already been aware of, although, in fairness, her shock at his emotional retelling of the tale had been genuine enough.

She’d known about them because she’d read about it online, when checking out Blackrig, but the piece had entirely missed out the role the Party House had played in those deaths.

She’d been truthful when she’d told Greg she could write here. What she hadn’t told him was what she planned to write about.

Greg