‘We went into some estate agents while we were in Lerwick today.’ It sounded a bit like a confession, and Caroline looked over to Lowrie. Perhaps they’d decided to keep this news secret and she was hoping to get some tacit permission. But Lowrie was talking to Ian now and didn’t see her. Her voice was suddenly shrill with excitement. ‘There’s a house in Vidlin that looks absolutely perfect. Sheltered, and plenty of garden for horticulture; the possibility of buying a field next door. And compared to London, prices are cheap! We went to look at it on the way home this afternoon. Grusche, it’s gorgeous. I loved it.’

How can you be so happy? Polly thought. Eleanor’s dead.

‘So you’ll put in a bid then?’ Grusche looked at Polly to explain. ‘In Scotland that’s mostly how house-sales work. Sealed bids.’

‘No. Actually,’ Caroline took a deep breath, ‘they were happy to take an offer. And they accepted it. It’s been on the market for a while, so as long as we can sell our place reasonably quickly – and there’s a colleague of Lowrie’s who’s been coveting the house since we first moved in – we should be here by Christmas.’ She gave a little laugh, then put her hand over her mouth as if she realized at last that the excitement was inappropriate.

What is it that Caroline’s so eager to escape? Her work? London? Me? Polly felt the resentment burn and grow.

‘Oh, Caroline!’ Grusche gave a mock-pout. ‘You dreadful woman. What will I do now when I want to visit London for a fix of culture? Where will I stay?’

‘With me, of course,’ Polly said. ‘When Marcus is away on his travels I have the flat all to myself and it would be lovely to see you.’

Grusche clapped her hands. ‘So there we are. All settled.’ She called across the table to her husband. ‘Listen, George. Have you heard? Some good news at last, after these terrible days.’

Polly looked at Ian, expecting him to share her anger, but he looked up from his glass and seemed not to care that Eleanor had been forgotten in the conversation about the newly-weds’ move north.