‘Writing a piece about your holiday in the Highlands?’ he asked jokingly.

‘Something for The Field on the beauty of this area, carrying on from my piece about the Game Fair,’ Joanne lied, praying he wouldn’t come over for a look.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

‘Good, then what I plan for you this morning will help,’ he told her.

Nonplussed by this, she carefully closed the lid on her laptop.

‘What’s that exactly?’

‘I’m going to take you to my favourite spots on the estate, one in particular.’ Seeing her bemused expression, he added, ‘Not the tree. Somewhere you’ve never been before.’

‘You don’t have to be at the Party House?’

‘The police have left and the guests apparently have plans that don’t require my assistance. For a couple of hours at least.’

He indicated where a shaft of bright sunlight was streaming in through the window. ‘When the sun’s out in Scotland, the Scots act as though it’s the last time they’re ever likely to see it. So, go and get ready while I pack us a picnic.’

She could hear him bustling about in the kitchen as she got dressed and realized that, for the first time since the body’s discovery, he sounded happy. She wondered if they spent time together like this whether she might learn more about him.

Did she even want that to happen?

If he opened up, he would expect her to do so too, and that worried her. After all, she was writing about Blackrig and the disappearance of Ailsa Cummings behind his back. Plus she couldn’t tell him the real reason she’d come here in the first place.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she went through.

‘All ready, then?’

When she nodded, he said, ‘Right, off we go on our adventure.’

‘It’s not going to be a nasty uncomfortable one, I hope?’ she joked back.

‘I have netted hats and repellent, both of which are indispensable when in midgie country,’ he said.

‘So I’m going to be eaten alive?’

‘Luckily, there’s a breeze, so the only creature eating you alive might be me.’

She felt a sort of lightness of heart as they set off. If this could be called a date, it was the first proper one they’d had. He was silent for a while as he negotiated the Land Rover onto a rough track that led them to a tiny cottage and stable with a stone-built larder alongside.

‘The Bothy, where Colin lives, the stable for the garrons and, of course, the larder for the kill. We walk from here.’

They began to climb the steep hill by the pony path that wound its way up to the west of the Party House grounds.