She could recall the experience in detail. The almost overpowering scent of the trees as she’d emerged from the vehicle. Greg’s hand firmly taking hers. The realization of how strong he was. How isolated they were. How she didn’t know what this man would be like in his own environment, with no one around to hear what he said or did.

How she’d feared that she’d made a mistake coming here. That Greg might be taking her into the woods to harm her. That no one in London knew where she was, so no one would come looking for her here.

And yet despite all of that, Greg’s hand, encasing hers, had also strengthened her desire for him.

As the spyglass now found and focused on the ancient pine tree in its own little clearing, she relived the moment when she’d realized Greg had listened to her drunken woodland fantasy . . . and had created it here for her. Any fear she’d had about his true nature had left her at that point.

So why was it back gnawing at her now? Was it because he’d gone out in the middle of the night and had avoided telling her? Or why whatever he’d been doing necessitated him having a shower and washing his clothes?

She abandoned that line of thought as she noted that the track they’d taken to the ancient pine eventually emerged from the woods onto a big open grassy area in front of what just might be the infamous Party House.

A silvery grey, like the birch trees that surrounded it on three sides, the house looked like something out of a fairy tale, encircled as it was by walkways and balconies, with what was undoubtedly a real tree emerging from its roof.

It was then she noticed that two more police vehicles, one a van, were heading up the road from Blackrig towards the house.

That’s weird, she thought. Greg hadn’t said the vandalism was serious.

She contemplated trying to call him, then decided against it. Instead, she would head for the track through the woods and take a closer look herself.

Twenty minutes later, making sure to keep out of sight, she chose her vantage point, directing the spyglass on what she saw was a recently erected forensic tent near the strip of sand at the edge of the nearby lochan, with white-suited personnel milling about.

What on earth had happened that required such activity? Surely they couldn’t be here because someone had damaged a hot tub?

She swung the spyglass towards the house to discover two big 4x4 vehicles parked outside, plus what looked like a caterer’s van. On the middle front balcony, a group of men and women were visible, apparently chatting and drinking champagne as they viewed what was going on in the grounds.