Her laughter faded, she reached up and touched his face, and for a moment he forgot everything except the color of her hair, the scent of her perfume. When they kissed, her body was soft and yielding, everything a man could hope for in this world.

He rolled onto his back and she sat up. "I wondered when you would, Dillon. Very satisfactory."

He got a couple of cigarettes from his case, lit them, and passed one to her. "Put it down to the altitude. I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

"You should be. I've got twenty years on you."

"That must be some Irish thing," she said. "All that rain. Is it supposed to have a dampening effect on love?"

"What's love got to do with it?"

She blew out cigarette smoke and lay back, a hand behind her head. "Now there's romantic for you."

He sat up. "Stop indulging in flights of fantasy, Asta, you aren't in love with me."

She turned to look at him. "You said it yourself. What's love got to do with it?"

"Morgan wouldn't think very much of the idea."

She sat up and shrugged. "He doesn't control my life."

"Really? I'd have thought that's exactly what he does do."

"Damn you, Dillon!" She was angry and stubbed her cigarette out on a rock. "You've just ruined a lovely day. Can we go now?"

She got up and started down the hill, and after a while, he stood himself and followed her.

They reached the edge of the loch about thirty minutes later and started to follow the shoreline. They hadn't spoken since the incident in the hollow and now Dillon said, "Are we speaking again or what?"

She laughed and took his arm. "You're a pig, Dillon, but I like you."

"All part of my irresistible charm," he said and paused suddenly.

They were close to the west end of the loch, the old hunting bothy where Morgan and Marco had dealt with Fergus on their left. He was still lying down on the shoreline, face in the shallows.

Asta said, "My God, isn't that a body?"

"That's what it looks like."

They hurried down the slope and reached the sandbar. She stood there while Dillon waded in and turned Fergus over. Asta gave a sudden exclamation. "Fergus."

"Yes." Dillon waded back. "I'd say he was given a thorough beating. Wait here." He went up to the hunting bothy. She watched him go in. A moment later, he returned. "From the state of things, that's where the fight was. After they'd gone he must have come down to the shore to revive himself and fell in. Something like that."

"An accident," she said and there was a strange calmness on her face. "That was it."

"You could describe it that way," Dillon said. "I'm sure Carl Morgan would."

"Leave it, Dillon." She reached out and grabbed his lapel. "Do this for me, just leave it, I'll handle it."

There was a fierceness to her that was something new. He said, "I'm beginning to wonder if I really know you at all, Asta. All right, I'll leave Morgan to stew in it."

She nodded. "Thank you, I'll get back now." She walked away, paused, and turned. "I'll see you tonight."

He nodded. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

She hurried away. He looked out again at the body by the sandbar, then climbed up the slope and reached the road. He had walked along it for perhaps five minutes when a horn sounded and he turned and found the Range Rover bearing down on him.

Ferguson opened the door. "Where's the girl?"

"She's cut across to the castle on her own."

Dillon climbed in and Kim drove on. "I must say you look thoughtful, dear boy."

"So would you," Dillon said, lit a cigarette, and brought him up to date.

Morgan was in the study when she went in, sitting at his desk and talking to Marco. He turned and smiled. "Had a nice day?"

"It was until things went sour."

He stopped smiling and said to Marco, "You can go."

"No, let him stay. You found Fergus, didn't you, you beat him up?"

Morgan reached for a cigar and clipped it. "He had it coming, Asta. Anyway, how do you know?"

"Dillon and I just found his body. He was lying in the shallows down there in the loch just below that old hunting lodge. He must have fallen in and drowned."

Morgan glanced at Marco, then put the cigar down. "What did Dillon do?"

"Nothing. I begged him to leave it to me."

"And he agreed?"

She nodded. "He said he'd leave you to stew in it."

"Yes, that's exactly how he would play it." Morgan nodded. "And so would Ferguson. It wouldn't suit the dear old Brigadier to have a police investigation, not at the moment." He glanced at Marco. "And it wouldn't get anywhere without a body, would it?"

"No, Signore."

Morgan stood up. "All right, let's take care of it. You stay here, Asta," and he went out followed by Marco.

In the trees that fringed the loch below Ardmurchan Lodge just above the small jetty, Ferguson and Dillon waited, the Irishman holding the Zeiss binoculars. The light was fading, but visibility was still good enough for him to see the motor launch Katrina moving along the shoreline on the other side.

"There they go," he said and focused the binoculars.

Morgan was in the wheelhouse and he reversed the launch toward the shore, Marco in the stern. Marco jumped over into the water and Morgan went to help him. A moment later Fergus came over the rail. Morgan went back into the wheelhouse and turned out toward the middle of the loch. Dillon passed the binoculars to Ferguson.

The Brigadier said, "It looks to me as if Marco is wrapping a length of chain around the body." He shook his head. "How very naughty."

He passed the binoculars back to Dillon, who focused them again in time to see Marco slide the body over the side. It went straight under and a moment later the Katrina got under way and turned back toward the castle.

"So that's it," Dillon said and turned to Ferguson. "You're happy to leave it that way?"

"I think so. A crime has undoubtedly been committed, but that's a police matter, and frankly I don't want the local constabulary swarming all over Loch Dhu Castle. We've bigger fish to fry here, Dillon."

"I doubt whether the good Chief Inspector Bernstein would agree," Dillon said. "A great one for the letter of the law, that lady."

"Which is why we don't say a word about this to her."

Dillon lit another cigarette. "One thing we can count on, he won't be missed, ould Fergus, not for a few days. The Munros will think he's just keeping out of the way."

"Which will be what Morgan is counting on. I would imagine he's hoping to be out of here quite quickly." Ferguson stood up. "Let's get moving, we've got dinner to look forward to. It should prove an interesting evening."

They arrived at the castle only a few minutes after seven, Dillon at the wheel of the old estate car that went with Ardmurchan Lodge. He and Ferguson were in dinner jackets and Hannah Bernstein wore a cream trouser suit in silk crepe. The door was opened by Marco wearing his alpaca jacket and striped trousers and he ushered them in, his face expressionless, to where Morgan stood by the fire in the hall, Asta in a green silk dress on the sofa beside Lady Katherine Rose.

"Ah, there you are," Morgan said genially. "Come in. I think you've met Brigadier Ferguson, Lady Katherine?"

"Indeed, yes. He called and took tea with me, he and this charming young gel."

Hannah looked amused and Ferguson took her hand. "Lovely to see you again. I don't think you've met my nephew, Sean Dillon."

"Mr. Dillon."

Dillon took the cool, dry hand, liking her immediately. "A great pleasure."

"Irish?" she said. "I like the Irish, charming rogues, the lot of them, but nice. Do you smoke, young man?"

"My one vice."

"What a liar you are. Give me one, will you."

"Lady Katherine, I'm so sorry." Morgan picked up a silver cigarette box and came forward. "I'd no idea."