A no-brainer of a question, since being in Scotland, the sacred homeland of his favourite tipple, it would have been heresy for him to walk in here and order a pint of ale. Ben ran his eye along the row of single malt whiskies behind the bar. It was a decent collection. Some of the names were pretty obscure, though as something of a connoisseur he’d tried them all in his time. In his book there was no such thing as a bad single malt. He made his selection and asked for a double measure. The barmaid served it with another smile. Which the guy who’d been trying to chat her up apparently didn’t like very much, giving Ben sullen eyes as Ben thanked her and paid for his drink. Ben ignored him. She did the same, and after a few moments the guy gave up with a disgusted frown and stalked away to sit with his friends.

She rested her elbows on the bar and leaned forward, tacitly inviting Ben to look down her top which, naturally, he was far too restrained and gentlemanly to do. ‘You’re no from around here,’ she said. Such powers of observation. But that was an invitation Ben did rise to, because it gave him the opportunity to mention the purpose of his visit to Kinlochardaich.

‘No, I’m just passing through,’ he said, and she looked a little disappointed. He added, ‘Came to see a friend.’

‘Oh, aye? I know everyone in Kinlochardaich.’ She winked. ‘Lady friend, is it?’

‘Nothing that exciting,’ he replied.

Just then one of the group from the round table got up and came over to the bar, thumped his empty pint glass down on a beermat and said gruffly, ‘Same again, Holly love.’ He was a heavyset man of around Ben’s age or a couple of years younger, but four inches taller, which put him at about six-three. His hair was black and curly, his nose broken and crooked, and he had the neck and shoulders of a powerlifter. His sleeves were rolled up, showing muscled forearms inked from the wrist to the elbow with flame tattoos. Ben sat and sipped his scotch in silence while Holly refilled the big guy’s glass. The man spilled some cash on the counter, gave Ben the briefest glance which Ben noticed but didn’t acknow-ledge, then stumped back to the table with his beer. The pub floorboards creaked under his weight.