Earlier that same day, Greg had spent time at Ard Choille and its surrounds. Not wanting to field any questions from Colin, he’d told him to take the day off and go see Karla, knowing she would no doubt be able to fill him in on some of what had happened. You didn’t work in the village pub and not learn what was going on in Blackrig.

He’d walked up via the woods with the dogs, hoping the familiar scents and sounds would calm his mind, but all he had been able to think about was the fact that Joanne was leaving and that when he got back to Beanach, he would find it empty.

Ard Choille, when he reached it, had a similar abandoned air. The endless drenching with the water cannon, followed by the torrential rain, had dislodged some of the outer wooden cladding. The windows were smeared with sooty deposits. The heavy oaken door muddied. The stag’s head knocker blackened with soot.

Inside was no better. You can’t drown a house and leave the interior unblemished. The entrance hall was a mass of muddy footprints that climbed the stairs with him to the once-elegant dining room and, at the top, the balcony room, which not so long ago had rung with the sound of laughter, sometimes at his expense.

Broken crystal glasses crunched underfoot as he went out onto the balcony itself. In his mind’s eye, he saw the brightly coloured dresses of the women, the sardonic looks of the men. He stepped to the edge, from where he could see into the distance and to the far side of the green lochan.

The shattered blackened stumps were all that remained of what had been a forest, verdant and full of life. Beyond it, the moor was a scorched wasteland.

There would be no shooting parties enticed here for some time. The estate had no hope of recovery in the short term. So what would happen to it?

He suspected Global Investment Holdings might cut their losses and sell up, but to whom and to be used for what, he had no idea. Lord Main’s dream for Ard Choille, it seemed, lay in ruins once again.

Despondent, he’d left the place to what birds remained in the woods that were still standing and, calling the dogs, set off for the hill, vowing to stay there until he was certain Joanne had gone, probably forever.

He was brought back from these thoughts by what Malcolm was in the process of suggesting, which was that they hold a meeting in the village hall to discuss Ard Choille.

‘Discuss what?’ he’d said, puzzled.

‘The possible buy-out of Blackrig Estate by the community.’

Was that achievable? He’d been thinking only about loss and dark thoughts for so long, he couldn’t imagine anything positive happening any more.

Malcolm, on the other hand, was bright with enthusiasm.