‘Looks like a nice beach over here,’ Liam says, pointing out a long stretch of sand marked on the northern side. Now that sounds much more enticing. Hopefully Liam will forget his idea of hunting for old graves and want to go there instead.

‘Maybe we can go there for a picnic one day?’ I suggest.

He nods in agreement and keeps studying the map. I know he’s committing it to memory. He’s lucky. He has a photographic memory; he can remember names, faces, things he’s read or seen in minute detail. He can even recall whole conversations word for word, ones that we’ve had months before that I have no recollection of. It makes him a formidable detective and interrogator. Whilst he’s engrossed, I pick up another book from the coffee table; this one leather bound. ‘GUEST BOOK’ is embossed on the cover in gold leaf. I flick through the pages, all of them blank, and then stop, surprised.

‘He was wrong,’ I say.

Liam looks up from the map.

‘The boatman,’ I explain, showing Liam the guest book. ‘He said we were the first guests.’ On the first page someone has written an entry in spidery, blue handwriting. ‘But this is dated from last Christmas Eve.’

‘That’s strange,’ Liam says, taking the book from me and looking at the date. ‘Maybe they were the last visitors here, before the island was bought and the cottage was converted.’

Liam reads the entry out loud: ‘Stay was cut short unfortunately, but it was wonderful until then. Tried looking for the burial site but couldn’t find it. I look forward to visiting in the future. A warning to guests: stay away from the cliffs. A fall could be fatal.’

Liam closes the book and puts it back on the coffee table. ‘Fancy an explore?’ he asks, jumping to his feet.

‘Are we going looking for the barrow?’ I ask with a wry smile.

He shakes his head. ‘We’ll do that tomorrow when we’ve got more time. Let’s go and check out the castle. That’ll be a bit easier to find, I suspect!’

Chapter Four

We leave by the back door and Liam locks it, despite the fact we’re alone on the island and it’s not as if anyone is going to break in and rob us. ‘Force of habit,’ he laughs, pocketing the key.

There’s a stack of chopped wood piled almost five feet high against the side of the house, covered in a tarp. ‘Enough wood to see us through a whole winter,’ Liam comments, nodding in its direction. ‘And the summer too. Christ, it’s nippy. I’ll put a fire on when we get back.’ He grimaces a little, pulling his coat around him to keep out the chill, then takes my hand as we head into the forest. I’m equally grateful for my scarf and the warm coat I brought with me.