'She doesn't know what's she's talking about,' Will said.

They walked in a silence for a little distance, past a couple of lovers who were leaning against the harbour wall, whispering and kissing.

'Are you going to tell me what happened in the house?' Frannie finally said.

'Isn't it pretty obvious? I tried to kill him.'

'But you didn't do it?'

'As I said, I tried. Then he grabbed hold of the knife, and ... and I got a little glimpse of what I think he was before he became Jacob Steep.'

'And what's that?'

'It's what Simeon painted. The thing that built the Domus Mundi for Rukenau. A Nilotic.'

'Do you think Rosa's one as well?'

'Who knows? I'm just trying to put the pieces together. What do we know? Well, we know Rukenau was some kind of mystic. And I'm assuming he found these creatures-'

-on the Nile?'

'That's all the word means, as far as I know. It doesn't have any mystical significance.'

'Then what? You think they literally built a house?'

'Don't you?'

'Not necessarily,' Frannie said. 'A church can be stones and a spire, but it can also be the middle of a field, or the bank of a river. Any place people gather to worship God.'

It was plain she'd given the matter considerable thought, and Will liked her observations. 'So the Domus Mundi could be...' he struggled for the words to catch the idea '... a place where the world gathers?'

'It doesn't make much sense when you put it like that.'

'If nothing else,' Will said, 'it reminds me not to be so damn literal. What's all this about? It's not about walls and roofs. It's about ...' Again, he struggled for the words. But this time he had them; from Bethlynn, of all people. 'Working change and inducing visions.'

'And you think that's what Steep's trying to do?'

'In his screwed up way, yes, I think it is.'

'Do you feel sorry for him?'

'Is that what Rosa told you?'

'No, I'm just trying to understand what's gone on between you.'

'He murdered Sherwood. That makes him my enemy. But if I had a knife in my hand now, and he was standing in front of me, I couldn't kill him. Not any more.'

'That's pretty much what I thought you'd say,' Frannie said. She had come to a halt and now pointed across the road. 'I spy a fish and chip shop.'

'Before we get to the fish and chips, I want us to finish this conversation. It's important you feel you can trust me.'

'I do. I think. I suppose I'd prefer that you were ready to kill him on sight after what he did. But that wouldn't be very Christian of me. The thing is, we're just ordinary people-'

'No, we're not.'

'I am.'

'You wouldn't be here-'

'I am,' she insisted. 'Really, Will. I'm an ordinary person. When I think about what I'm doing here it puts the fear of God into me. I'm not ready for this; not even a little. I go to church every Sunday; and I listen to the sermon; and do my best to be a good Christian woman for the next seven days. That's the limit of my religious experience.'

'But that's what this is,' Will said. 'You know that, don't you?'

She looked past him. 'Yes. I know that's what this is,' she said. 'I just don't know if I'm ready for that.'

'If we were ready it wouldn't be happening to us,' Will said. 'I think

we have to be afraid. At least a little. We have to feel as if we're out of our depth.'

'Oh Lord,' she said, expelling the words on a sigh. 'Well, we are that.'

'I was hungry when we started this conversation,' Will said. 'Now I'm ravenous.'

'So we can eat?'

'We can eat.'

There were delicious decisions to be made in the fish and chip shop. Fresh haddock or fresh skate? A glutton's portion of chips, or one size larger? Bread and butter with that? And salt and vinegar? And, perhaps the most significant choice of them all: whether to eat it on the premises (there was a row of plastic-topped tables along one wall, beneath a mirror decorated with painted fish) or to have it wrapped in yesterday's Scottish Times and devour it al fresco, sitting on the harbour wall? They decided on the former, for practicality's sake. It would be easier to study the brochures Will had been given if they were sitting at a table. But the brochures were neglected for the next fifteen minutes while they ate. It wasn't until Will had subdued the ache in his belly that he started to flip through the Guide to the Islands. It wasn't very illuminating: just a predictably fulsome description of the glories of the Western Isles: their unspoiled beaches, their peerless fishing, their breathtaking scenery. There were thumbnail sketches of each of the islands, accompanied in several cases by a photograph. Skye was 'the island famed in song and legend'; Bute boasted 'the most spectacular Victorian mansion house in Britain'; Tiree, 'whose name means the granary of the islands, is a birdspotter's paradise'.

'Anything interesting?' Frannie asked him.

'Just the usual patter,' Will said.

'You've got ketchup round your mouth.'

Will wiped it off, his gaze returning to the brochure as he did so. What was it about the island of Tiree that kept drawing his attention? Tiree is the most fertile of the inner Hebrides, the brochure said, the granary of the islands.

'I'm so full,' Frannie said.

'Look at this,' Will said, turning the brochure in Frannie's direction and pushing it across the littered table.

'Which part?' she said.

'The piece about Tiree.' She scanned it quickly. 'Does it mean anything to you?'

She shook her head. 'No, I don't believe so. Birdspotting ... white, sandy beaches. It all sounds very nice, but-'

'Granary of the islands!' Will said suddenly, snatching the brochure up. 'That's it! Granary!' He got up.

'Where are we going?'

'Back to the car. We need your book about Simeon!'

The streets had emptied in the time they'd been dining; the windowshoppers returned to their hotels for a night-cap, the lovers to their bed. Rosa had returned too. She was sitting on the pavement with her back to the harbour wall.

'Does the Island of Tiree mean anything to you?' Will asked her. She shook her head.

Frannie had the book out of the car and was flicking through it. 'I remember a lot of references to Rukenau's island,' she said, 'but there weren't any specifics.' She passed it over to Will.

He took it over to the harbour wall, and sat down.

'You smell satisfied,' Rosa remarked. 'Did you eat?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Should we have brought you something?'

She shook her head. 'I'm fasting,' she replied. 'Though I was tempted by some of the fish they were hauling in off the jetty.'

'Raw?' Frannie said.

'It's best that way,' Rosa replied. 'Steep was always good at catching fish. He'd step into a river and tickle them into a stupor-'

'Got it!' Will said, waving the book. 'Here it is!' He paraphrased the passage for Frannie's benefit. Hoping to rediscover a place in Rukenau's affections, Simeon had planned a symbolic painting; one that showed his sometime patron standing amongst piles of grain, 'as befits his island'. 'That's the connection, right there!' he said. 'Rukenau's island is Tiree. Look! It's a granary, just the way Simeon was going to paint it.'

'That's pretty flimsy evidence,' Frannie observed.

Will refused to be deflated. 'It's the place. I know it's the place,' he said. He tossed Dwyer's book over to Frannie and dug the timetable out of his pocket to consult it. 'Tomorrow morning's sailing is to Coll and Tiree, via Tobermory,' he grinned. 'Finally,' he said. 'We got lucky.'

'Do I take it from all this yelping that you know where we're going?' Rosa said.

'I think so,' Will said. He went down on his haunches beside her. 'Will you get back into the car now? You're not doing yourself any favours sitting down there.'