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what promised to be a fascinating and, at times, emotional story.
    I went back to my room, hurl ed myself on to the bed and wallowed in my sense of triumph. For all of three minutes. Then the professional writer dragged me off the bed and propelled me over to my laptop. I needed to make notes. Sholto had already been quite frank – about his love life, Torquil’s and Liz, the long-suffering first wife. And what about Alec? It sounded as if more than ordinary grief lay behind the fragility Sholto had referred to.
    I switched on my laptop and gazed contentedly out the window at the view. This was to be mine for weeks. My room. My view. My family, almost. I could have hugged myself.
    The sun was lower now. The castle threw an immense shadow over the river so the water looked much darker. I looked up at the stone bridge and saw a figure standing in the middle, staring down into the river as it foamed over the rocks. His head was bowed and at this distance, I couldn’t be sure who it was.
    He had something in his hand, something red. He held it up to his face, then raised his arm and tossed it into the river, throwing it a long way upstream. He placed his hands on the bridge and watched as the object returned to him. As it tumbled over the rocks towards him, he leaned over and watched it disappear under the bridge. Long after it must have vanished from sight, he still stood staring down into the water. Eventually he turned and began to walk away from the river, slowly, head down, his shoulders slightly hunched.
    I’d known as soon as he’d raised an arm to throw that it was Alec, but it wasn’t until I turned away from the window and saw the jug of roses on my writing desk that I realised what he’d thrown into the river.
    Puz zled by the gesture, I sat down at my laptop, my attention scattered. I opened a new document, called it The MacNabs and tapped out some notes, recording my thoughts randomly.
     
    History of MacNab clan – legends/ghosts etc?
    “Let fear be far from all.” O rigin?
    Who shot the stag in the hall?
    Who painted the portrait of Meredith? When?
    Sholto’s affairs – Liz knew. Did M?
    M’s singing career? Rôles? Photos? Old programmes?
    Paintings in attic?
    How long has Mrs G been here?
    Eton & Gordonstoun. Was Sholto happy at school? Were Alec & Fergus? Bullying?
    What does F ergus do?
    Alec – mental health history.
    Why did Coral MacN kill herself?
    Visit Alec’s a rmoury.
    Condition of Cauldstane – building & estate.
    How does Alec feel about inheriting?
    How do the others feel about Alec as the next laird?
    Debts. How bad? Financial plans for future of Cauldstane?
    Is Sholto under pressure to sell up and leave Cauldstane to its ghosts?
     
    There was a knock at the door and Mrs Guthrie appeared with a tea tray. ‘You’ll be wanting your tea, Miss Ryan. After your ordeal,’ she added, rolling her eyes.
    I swivel led round in my chair. ‘Please call me Jenny. You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me over the next few weeks.’
    Her eyes widened as she set down the tray. ‘Mr MacNab’s given you the job, then?’
    ‘ Yes. He seemed quite happy about it too. Excited, in fact.’
    ‘Well, that’s grand! I’m glad it’s all settled. We’ll make sure you feel right at home here.’
    ‘I do already. Everyone’s been very kind.’ Eyeing the plate of shortbread, I added, ‘But I can see I’m going to put on pounds. How’s a girl supposed to resist?’
    ‘Och, you’ll work it off walking round the estate and running up and down our stairs. Living in a castle keeps you fit. That’s what Mr MacNa b always says. A childhood spent at Cauldstane was the best all-round, all-weather physical training he could have had, he says, and Eton was the best preparation for Arctic conditions and short rations. Though I think he’s a wee bit inclined to exaggerate, for the sake of a good story. You’ll perhaps need to bear that in mind.’
    ‘ I will. I’m greatly looking forward to