Caroline contemplated this. ‘He was freaked by the Party House folk trying to barge into the ceilidh last night. I don’t want him to do anything stupid,’ she said, looking to Greg as though he might help her with that.

He eventually succumbed to the pleading look.

‘I could try and talk to him if you like, although Finn thinks I do the estate’s bidding, which in a way I do.’ He looked frustrated by that.

Caroline shook her head. ‘It’s okay. I’ll speak to him myself when he cools down. I’d better get home in case he comes back.’ She looked to Joanne. ‘Thanks for the tea. It was nice talking to you.’

Joanne watched from the window as Greg walked Caroline to her car.

They spoke briefly, their faces close. At the final moment, Caroline reached up to kiss his cheek before getting into the car. Not able to see Greg’s face, Joanne didn’t know whether he was pleased by that or not.

She learned soon enough. His expression was thunderous when he came back in.

‘She shouldn’t have come here. She did it to make you feel uncomfortable. It was nothing to do with Finn.’

Joanne waited, knowing by his expression, that there was more to come.

‘So,’ he said, looking directly at her, ‘why the hell didn’t you tell me that your real name was Maya Villan?’

Joanne, as angry now as he obviously was, responded with her own question.

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me that Caroline was pregnant with your baby when Ailsa Cummings went missing?’

Greg

So Caroline had told her about the baby. Something she’d promised not to do. He felt the pain again, the suffocating knowledge that the miscarriage had been his fault. If Caroline hadn’t found out about Ailsa, it might never have happened. None of it would have happened.

He stared at Joanne, asking himself why he’d invited her to Blackrig. It was never going to work between them, even before Ailsa’s body was discovered. And yet, looking at her standing there, eyes flashing at him, he wanted her more than ever. That’s why Caroline had told her about the baby, because even now she could read him well enough to know the strength of his feelings for this woman, whatever her name was. And she wanted that to end. She wanted Joanne to leave. She wanted him all to herself. He would, he realized, never be free of Caroline. Just as he would never be free of Ailsa.

In an effort to collect himself, he turned away from her and went to pour himself a whisky.

Joanne’s angry voice interrupted his tortured thoughts. ‘Why not offer me a drink? Is it because I’m no longer welcome here?’