All the strangers in Voxter and the break in his routine had made George jittery. The fuss of the hamefarin’ had been disruptive enough, but he’d been prepared for that. It was the death of the woman with the dark hair and the flashing eyes that had disturbed him. If he’d stayed in the house he’d likely have taken more drams than were good for him and that would have got him into bother, so he’d mumbled an excuse and come here, driving very carefully up the track because he suspected he might still be a little drunk from the night before. He’d been told that Mary Lomax had gone south and so there’d be no police officer to stop him, but he didn’t want an accident. That would only provide another reason for his wife to be angry with him. He loved Grusche and he didn’t want to hurt her.

Then Sandy Wilson, the young detective from Whalsay, arrived in the bar and George had felt uncomfortable all over again. He got up to leave when he heard the man say that his team were looking for accommodation in Springfield. Suddenly there were too many associations with the past, with this building, and George wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. Driving slowly back to Voxter, he wished again that the lighthouses had never been automated, that he was back with his old life of whitewashing the tower and polishing the lenses, of taking his shifts with his pals. Of returning each month to his exotic foreign wife and his growing son. Back then his world was much simpler.

Chapter Ten

Willow was surprised by the opulence of their temporary accommodation. Sandy had found rooms for them in a hotel just south of Meoness. The house was Georgian, large and very grand, beautifully restored with period furniture and paintings. Peerie Lizzie had grown up here, not far from the cliff where Eleanor’s body was found, and she’d drowned in the voe, the inlet that cut into the land from the sea. The legend was that she’d been caught out by the tide in a thick fog. Now it was the darkest part of the night, the stars were out and the water reflected a sliver of moon. The house stood on a slight rise and had a view of water and, in the distance, the standing stone, breaking the line of the horizon. Lizzie’s father had been an English laird and now it was mostly English tourists who pretended to be masters of their island universe, or at least this house and its surrounding garden. Locals came here too, but to the public bar that had been built in the old stables at the back of the house, and on special occasions to eat in the dining room.

Sandy was apologetic. ‘It’s a bit pricey, but everywhere else was full. I got them to give us a discount.’

Willow could see that he was uncomfortable in this house, overwhelmed by its grandeur. ‘Hey, it’s fab. Really convenient and enough space for us to set up a base if we need to. Good choice!’