Dressed again and warm outside and in, she watched as he deftly served up the food, realizing this was the most relaxed she’d felt in a very long time.

‘Okay now?’ he checked.

‘Better than okay,’ she admitted.

‘Then my job here is complete.’

Gazing out across the lochan, she saw that Greg had been right when he’d told her the Party House and grounds weren’t visible from here. Maybe that was why he was so relaxed.

She mentioned the green man and woman in the woods and how this place reminded her of the green of that little glade.

‘Are the carvings linked to fairy tales like the green lochan?’

His face clouded over momentarily before he said, in a light-hearted manner, ‘Locals call it the fairy glen, although I don’t think anyone’s reported seeing fairies there. But it is the oldest part of the woods. The Scots Pines there are ancient and, tucked in the hollow, it has a magical feel. A bit like here.’

In the small silence that followed, he suddenly asked her why she’d really come to Blackrig.

He’d never posed such a direct question before, and she wondered if he suspected something.

She feigned a hurt surprise. ‘You invited me,’ she reminded him. ‘Don’t you remember?’

‘I do.’ He smiled. ‘But I never thought for a moment you would take me up on it.’

‘And why’s that?’ she said quietly.

‘I just thought the time we spent together in London couldn’t be repeated.’ His penetrating look both unnerved and excited her. ‘Turns out I was wrong.’ Rolling over, he pinned her below him. ‘Tell me if you want me to stop,’ he said, staring into her face. ‘Always tell me.’

Afterwards, they lay on the sand, gazing up at the sky.

‘When will you leave?’ he asked.

‘Do you want me to?’

‘The investigation is only just beginning.’ He sounded haunted. ‘Things will get very bad here.’

She put her hand on his. ‘I’d like to stay a little longer, if you’re okay with that?’

‘If you’re sure you can cope with the police presence.’ He looked as though he might say more, then didn’t.

She had every intention of staying, of course. More than one editor she’d tentatively approached had been interested in the inside story of the murder at Blackrig.

The radio in the Land Rover sounded and, cursing, he went to answer.

She tried to hear what was being said, but he had turned away from her. When he’d finished, he told her to dress, that he had to get back.

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘There’s somewhere I need to be. I’ll take you back to Beanach,’ he said, his face like thunder as he quickly loaded their things into the vehicle.