‘Where exactly are you staying in the village?’

Kath’s house, the Rowans, had immediately sprung to mind, knowing she could ask Kath to back her up with the story of the odious Mr Stratton, who she was trying to avoid.

‘Well, we’re having a dinner party here tonight if you’d like to join us. We brought our own chef, so I can promise you it’ll be delicious.’

She’d managed to stay non-committal on that and had eventually got away.

Reliving it all now, she went to the whisky bottle and helped herself to a large one. Greg would surely be home soon to shower and change before the ceilidh. She contemplated telling him what had just happened. Revealing that she knew the horrible man at the Party House, although she hadn’t mentioned it before now.

I don’t really know him. We’ve just met socially, she would say.

And what of her alias? Should she tell Greg about her alter ego, Maya Villan?

Showering often helped her to see things clearly when she was working on an article or when she had to make a decision. If Greg was to come back when she was in the shower, he might join her. That would make a confession easier.

Once under the spray, however, other thoughts came to mind. She found herself reliving her visit to the cemetery and that white picket fence encasing those gravestones. Contemplating how the selfishness of the rich had brought death to those children. If they’d killed them in any other way, they would have been charged with murder. During the AIDS epidemic, people were charged for knowingly infecting someone.

Those who’d come here when everywhere was in lockdown knew the restrictions. Were aware that the new variant attacked infants and children and that it was rife in London.

And yet still they’d come. And got away with it.

Even as she considered how she might frame her story of Blackrig, she acknowledged that Aidan Stratton was a powerful man, with a great deal of influence among the landed gentry and even those in government.

If he took umbrage at what she wrote, he could damage her career. She thought about Greg. If Stratton discovered she’d been staying here while researching and writing it, Greg’s job might also be on the line.

An hour later, she was beginning to wish Greg would appear so that she could just tell him about Aidan. She would, of course, have to admit that she’d gone to the Party House to see the grave.

Maybe she shouldn’t have done that, but she’d been curious. She would admit that. What else she might say, she wasn’t sure. It would, she realized, be dependent on Greg’s reaction.

Wanting him home now, she called his mobile, hoping he would be in an area with a signal. When he answered, she found her heart thumping again.