She’d thought at first that he might be with her for her money, the security of a London crash pad when he was in the UK. She had no confidence in her ability to attract a man. Her parents had died one after the other within six months, leaving her the house in Manchester, so she had some savings as well as the flat in London. His tours were pricey, but he wasn’t travelling continuously and sometimes he only had a couple of clients. They provided a way for him to see the world, but would never make his fortune. Then he’d taken her to see his mother and she’d seen that money probably wasn’t an issue. There were paintings on the wall worth more than her parents’ suburban home.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Marcus said, amused, when she asked one day what he saw in her. ‘What will it take me to persuade you that you’re a wonderful woman? I’ve never met anyone so compassionate and wise. You’re just fishing for compliments. There are women you play with, and women you settle down with. I want to be with you for the long term.’

When she’d suggested that he might like to come with her to Shetland she wasn’t sure what his response would be. He’d have to take a couple of weeks off work, and in the summer he sometimes organized lucrative day-trips for American visitors to the UK, but he’d agreed without hesitation. Now, holed up in this house, she longed to have him to herself. She felt cheated because she’d imagined the stay in Shetland would be a romantic time for them. That was why Marcus had brought his own car, so that they could explore on their own, find empty beaches for picnics, ancient historical sites. She’d even had the wild fantasy that he might propose to her. Instead they were locked up in this place on the beach, haunted by the memory of Eleanor, shut in by the weather and the hill where her body had been found. It rose behind the house and its shadow was always with them.

The knock on the door surprised them all. The fog was so dense that it was hard to believe any world existed outside the house. Ian got to his feet and flung open the door. Two police officers. Not the dark detective this time, but the tall, untidy woman and Wilson, the younger man. Without a word Ian stood aside to let them in. Marcus put his feet on the floor and stood up. The officers’ clothes and hair were covered with fine droplets of water, so they looked grey too, as if they’d brought the drizzle in with them.

‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Polly said. ‘Would you like some?’ And she escaped into the kitchen before they could reply.