The routine which normally followed was a shout as he and the others entered, then the scuffling as they removed their smoke-stained outer garments, before Greg himself appeared in the kitchen.

Puzzled when this didn’t happen, she went to find out why.

The car had arrived but apparently no one had got out, or if they had, they were nowhere to be seen. Perplexed, Joanne looked about, then shouted Greg’s name.

It was at that point she heard a sound coming from the shed where Greg kept his hunting and fishing equipment.

‘Greg?’ she tried again.

When no answer arrived, she went for a look.

The figure inside, dressed in stalking gear, staring at the selection of rifles, kept his back towards her.

‘Can I help you?’ she said, thinking this must have something to do with Ard Choille.

‘I hope so,’ a voice said, before turning.

She had never seen him dressed in anything other than his city outfit. Smart suit, shirt and tie. Either that or dressed for court in gown and wig.

You look like a different person, she thought stupidly.

He smiled. ‘Joanne. Aidan informed me that I might find you in Blackrig, but he wasn’t sure where. Luckily, the woman in the local shop, Caroline, was very keen to tell me exactly where you were.’

So Caroline had sent him here. Her final attempt to get rid of me, she thought.

‘What do you want?’

He gave her that wry smile of his, suggesting a friendly joke between them, rather than him sizing her up before deciding on his mode of attack, either mental or physical.

She felt herself rooted to the spot, knowing that a move, any move, could well escalate whatever he had planned.

‘Time to come home,’ he said in a pleasant voice.

In her head she heard ‘little girl’ at the end – if not vocalized, then definitely in thought.

‘This is my home now,’ she heard herself say.

The smile, so carefully constructed, was wiped from his face by her words. She watched him marshal himself, still considering which way he might play this out.

‘Greg will be here soon. I thought it was him arriving,’ she said.

‘Ah, the gamekeeper. Aidan told me all about him. How he raped and murdered some poor seventeen-year-old girl and buried her on Ard Choille land.’

She clenched her teeth to stop herself from responding.

‘Just the sort I defend all the time. I’ll leave my card, in case he should need it.’ His eyes brightened at his own little joke. ‘Shacked up with a gamekeeper.’ He sighed. ‘So how good is Mellors in the sack?’

She knew every word was being carefully chosen to try to anger her. He liked the scent of anger, but he loved the smell of fear even more. For him, it was an aphrodisiac. He relished these moments between the fear beginning and the sex that would undoubtedly follow.