‘We want to know all about Ailsa Cummings,’ Stratton said. ‘What she was really like and what happened the night she disappeared.’

Greg felt an icy cold grip him, despite the warmth left in his gut by the whisky. Whatever he’d expected to happen tonight, it hadn’t been this.

‘It’s an official police investigation now,’ he tried.

‘Ah, so they do believe the body is Ailsa’s,’ Stratton crowed as the others murmured their interest at this.

Only one person in the room looked as uncomfortable as he felt. The woman called Naomi, who threw him a concerned glance.

When it was obvious Greg intended to stay silent on his request, Stratton came over and, putting his arm round Greg’s shoulders, quietly reminded him of his previous visit to the Party House during lockdown.

‘Which you’ve managed to keep a secret from the locals. With my help,’ he whispered.

When Greg failed to respond to the threat, Stratton turned to the group. ‘We demand you give us the whole story or we might just come along to your local shindig at the Blackrig Arms tomorrow night. The first gathering since the end of the pandemic should be fun, don’t you think?’

Greg gritted his teeth, knowing there was only one way out of this, and that was for him to tell them a story. Or, more importantly, a lie, which he’d discovered recently he was very good at.

‘Sorry, it’s a private party tomorrow night, folks. Anyway, I’m happy to tell you what I remember from five years ago.’

‘Excellent,’ Stratton said with a self-satisfied smile.

As all eyes moved to rest on Greg, eager for the story, Stratton topped up his whisky glass.

‘To wet your whistle.’

Naomi had chosen a seat close to him and Greg was suddenly assailed by her scent and the proximity of her body.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ she whispered, her eyes showing her concern.

He nodded his thanks, pleased that he had at least one supporter among what felt like a baying mob.

He closed his eyes and, on reopening them, focused his gaze on the magnificent stag’s head on the opposite wall. Then he began to tell his tale.

Joanne

‘Lucy?’ Joanne said tentatively.

‘Who else would it be?’ Lucy laughed.

Sitting brooding about the awkward exchange she’d had with Greg earlier, she’d answered her mobile on automatic, hoping it would be Greg, before registering Lucy’s name on the screen.

‘Are you free to talk?’ Lucy said.

‘Yes. Greg’s out, checking on his guests.’

At least that’s where he’d said he was going. Then again, maybe he was meeting Caroline to bring her up to date like he’d done earlier in the day.

‘So all’s well at your Highland retreat?’ Lucy said cautiously, seemingly sensing her mood.