"Where?"

"Anywhere. We could take a picnic. The weather forecast says it's going to be fine and there won't be many more fine days. Winter sets in early up here."

"I'll check with Daviot tomorrow. I don't see any reason why we can't go out."

Hamish brightened. "I'll buy some stuff for a picnic tomorrow morning."

"No, you won't," said Olivia sharply. "Drug barons don't go out shopping for picnics. We'll send Kevin and Barry. I don't think we need to take them with us, though. We're not in any danger."

"Yet," said Hamish, but she had reached over and switched on the television set and did not hear.

The following day they set off with a generous hamper of goodies in the back seat, Kevin having done the shopping at Strathbane's one posh delicatessen.

"Where are we going?" asked Olivia as the sun sparkled on the broken glass in front of one of Strathbane's many dismal high-rises.

"The Falls of Braggie. It's a beauty spot."

"Won't it be full of tourists?"

"Too late in the year."

The Falls of Braggie, a tremendous waterfall of gold peaty water, crashed down from a great height. Rainbows danced in the spray. Ferns already turning golden lined the steep banks of the River Braggie. Rowan trees heavy with dark red berries stood gracefully on the banks.

"Is there any sort of flat place round here?" asked Olivia.

"There," said Hamish, pointing to a flat rock in the middle of the river below the falls.

"And how do we get across?"

"There's some rocks that act as stepping-stones. I'll leave the car here and then we'll carry the hamper down to the river."

"What on earth has Kevin bought?" groaned Olivia as they edged their way down, carrying the heavy hamper between them. "Half the shop?"

When they got to the edge of the river, she noticed there was a little causeway of rocks leading out to the flat stone. They gingerly made their way across and sat down with the hamper between them, the sun hot on their heads.

Olivia lifted the lid. "Now, let's see what we have here. Good God, what a waste of police money!"

There was cold grouse, pate, rolls and butter, salad, various cheeses, chocolate cake and among various other goodies a bottle of vintage champagne.

"I think Kevin was just trying to keep up our rich image," said Hamish. "Let me see. Did he put in glasses to drink out of? No, he didn't, silly man. We'll need to drink out of the bottle."

"Not you. You're driving."

"I'll have a mouthful. Oh, look, here's a flask of coffee and paper cups. We can use the cups."

"This is incredibly beautiful," said Olivia, looking around her. "I'm beginning to understand why you love it up here so much."

"He's remembered plates and knives and forks," said Hamish, rummaging in the bottom of the hamper. "Do you want me to serve?"

"No, I'll do it. I'm not completely de-feminised."

Olivia was wearing trousers, and a sky-blue lambswool sweater over a blue silk blouse. Hamish was wearing an expensive sports shirt and designer jeans. "I wonder what happens to all these clothes when I hand them back," he said, watching Olivia as she arranged squares of pate, toast Melba and pats of butter on two plates.

"They probably go back into some sort of police wardrobe. Oh, open the champagne. We may as well have a glass, or rather a paper cup, of the stuff"

Hamish filled two cups and then placed the bottle carefully in the shallow water which ran round the rock to keep cool.

"I can't believe it's so warm," said Olivia.

"It's the lack of pollution up here," replied Hamish. "The sun has nothing to block the rays. It'll be cold tonight, mind, with a sharp frost."

"There speaks the true countryman. What's the matter?"

There was a sudden wariness and stillness about Hamish.

"I don't think we're alone. Don't look round!"

"How do you know?"

"Chust a feeling."

"Probably tourists," said Olivia impatiently.

"Now we start to flirt," said Hamish. "Voices carry."

He raised his voice. "More champagne, darling?" He lowered his voice. "And take that suspicious look off your face. I am not using this as an excuse to make a pass at you."

"That would be lovely," said Olivia loudly. "If you've finished your pate, we'll start on this grouse."

Hamish smiled at her lazily and glanced idly around. His sharp eyes caught a flash of light up on the left bank. "We're being watched through binoculars. I'm going to kiss you."

"Is that necessary? Married men don't go around kissing their wives in public."

"Besotted ones do. Lean forward and pucker up."

Olivia leaned forward. His kiss was warm and gentle and strangely comforting. He shifted around the rock and gathered her in his arms. "Don't go too far," she whispered.

"I won't." He kissed her again. She relaxed against him. She began to return his kisses, feeling warm and languid in the sun, both of them forgetting the watcher, both of them locked in a little world far from drugs and danger.

Hamish stole a quick look up the hill. No flash from binoculars, but then through a screen of rowan trees, he saw a black car moving off. He wanted to go on kissing her but he knew his sensual pleasure in the feel of her lips and the feel of her body against his was slowly turning to passion.

"Our watcher has gone, Olivia," he said. "We can carry on eating."

She moved away from him and bent her head over the hamper. Her cheeks were flushed and her bosom rose and fell.

"I hope you realise that was all in the line of duty, Hamish."

"It was a pleasant duty, ma'am. Do you like grouse? I'll tell you about a famous grouse race where two men competed to see who could get the first brace of grouse of the season to London first and how it led to murder."

Olivia listened, grateful to Hamish for having easily got over what might have been an awkwardness.

When he had finished his story, she handed him a plate of grouse and said, "Who do you think was watching us?"

"Probably the Undertaker or one of Jimmy White's henchmen."

"I don't like it. They should not be so suspicious of us now."

"We're still an unknown quantity," said Hamish. "Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"When I asked you if you'd ever been in love, you fair bit my head off. Why was that?"

"I'll tell you. If only to make sure you don't talk to the lads about snogging with a chief inspector."

She ate a mouthful of grouse. Then she said, "I was a detective constable, young, ambitious. He was a chief inspector called Fergus Shane. He was handsome and clever. At first I had a crush on him, that was all, you know, like a schoolgirl crush. Then one evening I had been working late on a case and I had just filed my report when he came in. He asked me if I had eaten and when I said I hadn't had the time, he took me out for dinner. Over the first dinner, he told me he was married. That cooled me down. After that, a few weeks passed and again I was working late and again he asked me out for dinner. He said his wife was away visiting her sister in Elgin. It seemed like just a friendly invitation."

The sun went behind a cloud and there was a sudden chill in the air. She shivered and hugged her knees. "He told me he was getting a divorce. There were no children and nothing to tie him down. And then he said he had fallen in love with me, and I believed him. By the end of that dinner, I was head over heels in love. We began an affair in secret. He said it had to be secret until the divorce came through.

"And then I came back to the station late one night. I had been out on a case which had fallen through. I wasn't expected back at all, but I thought I may as well get my report out of the way. I saw the light shining through the frosted glass of his door and my heart lifted. Then I heard the sound of masculine laughter. I hesitated outside the door, wondering who was with him and whether to go in, when I heard a man say, 'So what's our Olivia like in bed, Fergus?'