I feel humiliated, M, embarrassed. I mean, who was he really? What else was he hiding from me? From us?

Fiona stretched over to the bottle and topped their glasses up. “I feel humiliated, M, embarrassed. I mean, who was he really? What else was he hiding from me? From us?” “God, yeah, both of you. How’s Jamie coping?” Fiona shrugged. “Good, kids are amazing, they just get on with it. And it’s been brilliant having Mum and Dad around. “I mean, if I didn’t have them, where would I be?” “Not in the palatial splendour of Magdalen Yard Road,” said Martha, smiling.

“It always amazes me when I think about Dad’s family owning that house for years.

“It looks so grand from the outside, but, well, you know what it’s like inside – a tip!”

“I love the chaos. I used to think it was great, staying at your house with things all over the place.

“My mum’s verging on the OCD, I’m sure of it. It was such a welcome contrast!”

Phone call

“Anyway, one more thing about Pete then I’ll shut up and you tell me about you two love birds.”

“Yeah, but wait a minute, let’s go back to that woman’s phone call.

“So she hung up, no name, nothing. Could Doug not have tracked the call?”

“Too late, another call came in.”

“What about ringing the journalist who wrote the review? See if they’d had any calls at The Scotsman? “Presume she was up at Glenisla recently?” “Well, a couple of months ago. Yeah, could try that I suppose.”

Fiona took a deep breath.

“So here’s the final thing.”

She turned to face Martha and told her about the direct debits on Pete’s old bank statements.

“But they were ages ago when you just moved to Glenisla?”

Swansea

“Yeah, and he went online after that so I’ve no idea if he carried on with that direct debit every month. And why Swansea?”

“We could always go to Swansea for a visit? Scour around for anyone with an Aussie accent?”

Fiona grinned. “Better things to do with my weekends, M.”

“Yeah. I mean, Swansea. Doesn’t sound like a happening place.”

Martha pulled out her water bottle from her bag. “I’ve got to sober up, I’ve just remembered I’m up really early tomorrow, got a meeting first thing in Perth.

“I hate driving there, I can never get parked anywhere near the museum.”

“Hang on.”

Fiona was frowning. She raised a finger. “Perth. There’s one here, just along the A90, and one in Australia.

“What are the chances of...”

“On to it,” said Martha, sitting up straight and delving into her bag again

She took out her phone and started tapping. “Genius, Fi, of course there won’t be just one Swansea in the world, bet there’s others...

“Here we go. Swansea is also a ghost town in Arizona, a community in Toronto, a winery in New Jersey, a cave in Jamaica and...

“Yes! A town in Australia. And guess where in Australia?”

Fiona shrugged. “Give in.” “Tasmania! Bingo.”

Friday January 2 1880

Ann Craig gazed out of the drawing room window. It was a clear, sunny morning, bitterly cold and crisp, the frost hard on the ground.

There was barely a breath of wind. She surveyed this tranquil scene and cast her mind back to Sunday, when the worst storm for decades had hit Dundee.

Was it only five days ago? So much had happened since then, but nothing, absolutely nothing, had been resolved.

Donald Baxter said the city was still in shock, reeling from the accident, so many dead or presumed dead.

It was the lack of knowledge that was the worst. And somewhere at the back of her mind, Ann nurtured a tiny inkling that Robert was still alive.

Not that she was weak with worry about his actual loss; no, her worry was about their circumstances.

She would not, whatever happened, allow her children to live in anything less than the luxury they now did.

She had known poverty and would do anything to prevent the three of them ever being poor.

Ann turned her gaze towards the broken bridge and remembered the horror with which she had watched the train plummet into the water.

Strength

She sniffed and dabbed her nose. She would not cry – that was something she had never done, even when she was little.

She was strong and she would get through this, her children at her side.

She waved as she spotted her darling children playing on the green.

James and Lizzie were running together, a red kite trailing from the boy’s hand.

The Donaldson twins were just behind them, their kite white.

All four children turned to look up and wave. And there, at the back of the racing children, strolled Archibald. Why was he not at work in his practice?

But of course, she had lost track of the days – doctors, like other workers in the city, returned to work on the third.

So he was still officially on holiday and taking the four children out with their kites.

She tried to imagine Robert ever doing that – it simply would never happen, he would send Baxter out with them if their governess were away.

Robert was not at ease with children, whether his own or others. He either treated them like his workers, imperious and authoritative, or like his servants, distant and aloof.

She picked up the binoculars and focused them on the doctor, who was wearing a dark brown frock coat and his mustard-yellow waistcoat.

He ambled along, Bridie the dog scampering alongside. Robert was not even relaxed with dogs.

One time Bridie had rushed into the Donaldsons’ drawing room and Robert was aghast, with no idea how to react.

It was she who ran to grab the dog’s collar and dragged it to sit in front of her, taking the dog’s head between her knees.

She fondled its soft snout until an anguished servant arrived, apologetic and red faced.

Archibald and she had laughed as Margaret abjectly apologised, while Robert simpered in the corner.

More tomorrow