He’d risen from the table and gone into the hall to take the call.

Stratton’s voice was cheerful, but demanding none the less. Greg was to come up to Ard Choille, and he would brook no refusal. His party wanted to see their head keeper, especially since he’d deserted them for most of the day, leaving them with an ‘apprentice’.

‘Colin’s a stalking ghillie,’ Greg corrected him.

The sound that greeted this made it plain that Stratton hadn’t been impressed.

Greg sought a way out. ‘I’ve had alcohol with my meal.’

‘Then walk here, man. It’s not far. We’ll see you in twenty minutes.’

Joanne looked up questioningly when he came back in.

‘Work, I’m afraid. I’m wanted at Ard Choille. The boss insists.’

‘To do what?’ She looked annoyed.

‘Probably wants to tell me about his kill today, and complain that I wasn’t there.’ As soon as he said this, he realized she probably thought he had been, so added, ‘The police wanted me to stay on hand until they vacate the site.’ He was almost beginning to believe that fairy story himself.

‘I saw the hunting party from Forrigan,’ she said, surprising him.

Why the hell had she been at Forrigan? He felt his anger rise again, but tried to keep his tone light. ‘I thought you said you were in the woods?’

‘Kath Webster asked me in for a cup of tea when I was walking back through the village. Kath, Malcolm’s mother,’ she added.

‘I know who Kath is,’ he said, aware of the coldness of his voice.

By her expression, she’d noted it too, but she continued anyway. ‘She’d heard the news that it might be Ailsa. She told me Ailsa lived near Beanach, at Forrigan.’ She paused there for a moment, then added, ‘So I went for a look.’

He realized his distaste for this must be obvious as he strove to maintain what little hold he had on his anger.

‘I’d better head for Ard Choille,’ he said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Not sure how long I’ll be. Stratton will be the one to decide that. Don’t wait up for me, anyway.’

He briefly considered a goodbye kiss, then decided against it, knowing how false it would appear at that moment.

His shout of ‘bye’ as he left was met with silence.

Having reached the road, he turned up the track for Ard Choille, his mind in turmoil, moving between thoughts that Joanne was spying on him, to a simple acknowledgement that she was a writer and therefore always interested in a story.

And what was happening in Blackrig at this moment was definitely that, which meant Joanne wouldn’t be the only outsider keen to get the lowdown on the body found buried in the grounds of a posh house on a remote Highland estate.