‘What do you want to drink?’ Dylan appears at her elbow. He has an easy smile, with bright white teeth and eyes that have a mischievous sparkle to them. He rubs his hands together and nods at the array of taps on the bar. ‘Mike’s a real ale man. One or two stunning little beers here. The Mountain Goat’s a bit strong, but you might like Hiker’s Heaven. Or Sheep Dip, that’s popular around here.’

‘Sounds like you’re a bit of an expert,’ Tilda says.

‘Oh, I do my best to support local businesses,’ he tells her.

‘Well, I need to eat something before I have a drink or I’ll fall over. I’ve got to try the steak and kidney pudding.’

‘With chips?’ asks the barmaid, tapping the order into the till.

‘Definitely with chips.’ Tilda finds her mouth actually watering at the thought of the food. ‘And half a shandy while I’m waiting, please.’

‘Lightweight,’ Dylan teases, ordering himself a pint of the famous Black Sheep ale.

When she sits on the settle, close to the fire, Dylan slides along to sit beside her, and Lucas takes the chair opposite. Thistle stretches out in front of the hearth, her earlier nervousness appearing to have lessened. The room is wonderfully warm, so that Tilda has to remove her hat, scarf and coat. She can feel a dozen pairs of surreptitious eyes upon her now, her striking hair revealed, her face no longer partially obscured by all her winter clothing, her eyes exposed as she takes off her sunglasses. She senses that Dylan is going out of his way not to stare, not to notice, whereas Lucas is still looking at her as if she were a rare specimen that he might label and exhibit in a museum, given half a chance. She is amused to find that she cares less about them noticing her albinism than she does about the fact that she hasn’t washed her hair for an age.

Better odd-looking than scuzzy. Pure vanity, silly woman.

‘Professor Williams tells me you are a ceramic artist, so you’ve an interest in Celtic art, am I right?’ Lucas asks.

‘Yes, for my own designs. But … well, apart from that, I want to learn more about the history of the place. You know, being new here, I’d like to find out … stuff.’ She is aware how badly she is explaining herself, and knows it is because of what she is not saying.

Ghosts and murders: discuss. Not an easy conversation opener over lunch.

Dylan takes a couple of gulps of his pint and then leans close to Tilda.

‘My uncle is pretty much the expert on local history around here, you know. I’ve never heard anyone ask him a question he couldn’t answer.’