He drove home with the window down, enjoying what little movement of air that brought, aware that tonight the folk at Ard Choille would have to do their partying inside rather than on the balcony if they wanted to avoid being eaten alive.

Drawing up in front of Beanach, he made for the larder where he already had hanging the deer carcass from the day of Joanne’s arrival. Taking the salmon from the fridge, he headed to the kitchen.

Joanne had been in here and recently. He could still catch her scent on the air. Her laptop was on the table, lid down. He imagined her sitting there, the look she would wear when deep in concentration.

His desire to see her grew stronger as he trailed her scent through the cottage, eventually discovering her in the shower, her back to him, singing something unrecognizable and, he thought, probably out of tune.

He stood for a moment, admiring the view. Perhaps sensing him there, she turned and smiled.

‘Would you like to join me?’

He didn’t have to be asked twice.

Later, as they got dressed, he apologized.

‘For what?’ she said, looking puzzled.

‘For my anger earlier.’

Even as she forgave him with a kiss, he knew that tomorrow, or the next day, this intimacy they were sharing would likely be shattered. The police investigation would see to that.

As for Joanne, he suspected she too had a secret, although he doubted very much that it could be worse than his own.

Back in the kitchen, he gutted the salmon and slipped it into the range. Shutting the oven door, he turned to find Joanne watching him.

‘Food in twenty minutes or so,’ he promised. ‘Hope you like fresh salmon?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I suggest a whisky before we eat.’ When she nodded her approval, he invited her to choose one from the selection on the sideboard.

‘Talisker, please.’

Settling beside her on the couch, he knew he should try to explain his behaviour in the woods, but before he could begin, she told him she hadn’t come straight back to Beanach as she’d said she planned to do.

He waited, a little uneasy because of the seriousness of her expression.

‘I went to take a look at the carving trail you mentioned.’ She paused. ‘And I met Caroline. Just after you told her about the body.’

The accusation in her voice was obvious. He’d avoided the subject with her, yet called Caroline to discuss it.

She was awaiting his response, her face a mask.

‘Caroline had to be told, before she heard it from anyone else,’ he said, silently cursing the bad timing of their meeting. ‘She was Ailsa’s friend. She took her disappearance very hard,’ he added for emphasis.

‘So you do think that it’s Ailsa?’ she demanded.

‘The detective they’ve sent here gave that impression,’ he found himself saying in order to get back in her good books.