“Shit!” – that was Mike. A thoughtful look – that was Pierre. “Merde!” – that was Sophie. “So my question is: If I’m right, why did someone need to get rid of Dewar? And who? Was it Firkin and MacLean themselves or were they acting for someone else?”

The first reaction was from Sophie. “One thing is for sure. We need to find out because we need to know if Bob – or any of the rest of us – is still in danger.”

Mike, instinctive as always, jumped in. “We need to track down this Firkin and MacLean and find out if they are linked to someone or if they are acting on their own. I can do that with Mac and Doug.”

“To be honest, I think they are acting on orders. I’ve met them. Remember they were the two that took me off to a meeting after the conference. They didn’t seem to me to be the type of guys who were controlling anything. They felt like subordinates.”

Pierre, meanwhile, had said nothing. He was not one to blurt out his first thoughts. He was looking pensive, listening to what we had to say – clearly weighing up his own view.

I looked across at him and raised my eyebrows in a question. He shook his head slowly, a faint smile on his lips.

“Possible,” he admitted. “Let’s suppose that there is someone else further in the background. Then there must be other machinations going on behind which are important enough to warrant the removal of Dewar as soon as the cards started tumbling down after the disappearance of Purdy. N’est-ce pas?”

I didn’t comment. It looked like the whole story wasn’t over yet. Something was floating around in the back of my brain. It was some kind of half-formed thought – as if I had missed something. It was as if there was one piece of the puzzle that I needed in order to connect everything up. I felt that I knew or had seen something which was significant but I didn’t know what it was, or why.

I decided to stay the night at the hotel. The wine with the meal and the several whiskies consumed with the coffee made it sensible not to risk driving.

I left them to it, explaining that I was tired after the long drive and the excellent meal.

“See you all in the morning,” I said and took myself off up to bed.

I couldn’t get to sleep at first. Thoughts of Firkin and MacLean, of mist in the mountains, of Maggie were all jumbled up in my head.

Chapter 22

I awoke refreshed after a decent night’s sleep in the luxury of one of the hotel’s bedrooms. Showered and shaved I went down to breakfast to find Mike and Sophie in deep discussion over eggs and bacon and toast. Pierre had apparently not yet made an appearance.

Mike informed me that he had been in touch with Doug and they were both going to spend a few days in Edinburgh to try and keep an eye on our two targets. Sophie was clearly not too happy about this, sensing perhaps some danger for Mike but he reassured her that there was no problem. He and Doug could look after themselves if there was any trouble.

He asked me if I could find out an address for either of them.

“Sure,” I said “I’ll call Ian MacLeish. They must have some information in the personnel department.”

I called him straight after breakfast and gave Mike the two addresses he had supplied. Mike had arranged for Sophie to go and stay with Heather for a couple of days where she could help with exercising the horses and he set off for the capital as soon as he could.

Pierre came down for a late breakfast after they had gone and I shared a cup of coffee with him. I brought him up to date on what Mike and Sophie were doing.

“Well, there’s not much we can do for the moment,” said Pierre. “What do you fancy doing over the next few days? Let’s do a bit of touring. I need a guide. We’ll take our clubs and go off up north. I fancy visiting a few distilleries and I’ll foot the bill. After what you’ve been through you need a break. How about it?”

It didn’t take me long to decide. We set off that morning on the strict understanding that no discussion was allowed on the subject of Purdy, Dewar and the rest.

We drifted gently though the hills of north Fife and crossed over the Tay by the road bridge leading into Dundee. I was able to point out to Pierre the other famous Scottish railway bridge – this time a replacement of the original one which had suffered a catastrophic accident on a cold December night in 1879. During high winds, gusting up to eighty miles an hour, the bridge had collapsed while a train carrying an estimated seventy-five people was crossing. The train and a large section of the bridge disappeared into the night waters of the Tay. There were no survivors.

Travelling with Pierre was a “no expenses spared” experience. We planned to play Carnoustie the next day so we checked in for the night at the Carnoustie Golf Hotel, on the edge of the golf course and a couple of hundred yards from the beach. A bracing walk on the fine white sands preceded a relaxed meal and an early night in anticipation of doing battle with the famous links course.

We had no trouble getting a tee off time the next morning.

We went to pay our green fee and when the professional discovered that Pierre was French he looked up and winked at me.

“Wait a minute,” he said and disappeared into the back office to emerge a minute later with a pair of green wellington boots which, with a deadpan face, he handed to Pierre. “You’ll probably be needin’ these then,” he said.

Pierre, recalling the story of his famous countryman who had lost the British Open on the last hole by trying to play out of the Barry Burn in his barefeet, took the joke well.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’ll make sure I lay up short.” Carnoustie is a tough challenge to anyone’s golf but we got round it without disgracing ourselves and headed off the next day to Speyside. The weather was perfect. A sunny day, the occasional scudding clouds breaking the monotony of the blue heavens and painting the hills and mountains with shadows which moved across their slopes and crags so that every second the image was different. A photographer’s paradise.

Glenshee, Braemar (a stop for lunch), past Balmoral and on through Tomintoul to Granton on Spey. I was much more familiar with the west coast which, as a boy, we had explored extensively, so this was new country to me and I enjoyed the discoveries as much as Pierre.

The required visits to a few of the well-known distilleries the next day resulted in us accumulating several cases of prime malt which would only just fit into the boot of the car – the back seat having to be occupied with the golf clubs. We had the rest of the cases shipped down to Fife.

I had promised Pierre two more rounds of golf so we did Nairn and Royal Dornoch to round off a week of marvellous escapism.

On the drive back down the A9 my thoughts started to turn to the Lowlands and, having put everything out of my mind for five days, I became impatient to get back in touch with Mike to find out how his week had been.

I had left him my key so when we got back to Letham mid-afternoon he and Sophie were comfortably ensconced in my living room.

We unloaded the car and Pierre handed over the case of whisky that he had bought for Mike and the (rather expensive) Celtic brooch he had bought for Sophie.

Pierre enthusiastically described our trip while I sat comfortably, thinking again how much our lives had changed since he had arrived. I glanced over at Dad’s photo and winked at him. He was still smiling back at us, as if watching and approving.

Sophie cooked us a superb supper. They had been down to the coast the day before and she had gone crazy in the fish shop in Anstruther. A seafood salad was followed by sole in a sauce that she had dreamed up from whatever she could find in my kitchen. She hadn’t found all she needed so had gaily gone round to Mrs Clark to borrow some herbs. My larder was raided for a dry white wine and we settled down to as good a meal as Pierre and I had had all week.