‘Tell you later,’ she said, looking meaningfully in my direction once more. ‘You nearly let on about Willie’s big Willy, didn’t you.’ I was bursting to say it, but I resisted. ‘Let’s just say there was a physical problem,’ she added. I coughed on a sip of tea. Prim shot me a ‘Shurrup’ look.

  ‘It was fun at first,’ Dawn went on. ‘But Willie’s obsessive. Pretty soon he was telling me he loved me and everything. That made me nervous, but I thought it’d wear off. It didn’t though. One day he turned up on the doorstep of your flat with a suitcase. He said he’d left Linda and was moving in with me. I didn’t know what to do. I mean if I’d chucked him out he’d have had nowhere else to go, but … well, to tell you the truth, nice as he is, when we got down to it I found out pretty soon that physically, I don’t really fancy him.’

  ‘Bloody great,’ said Prim. ‘The guy turned you off, but you let him shack up with you. And in my flat. A bit of a bloody nerve that, wasn’t it? Having it off with another woman’s husband in my flat. Private eyes at the door and all that.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ said Dawn, defensively. ‘His wife wouldn’t do that:’

  Prim shot me another ‘Shurrup,’ look, but I decided that it was time to get into the discussion. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’ I asked, as casually as I could.

  She looked blankly at me. ‘A couple of weeks ago,’ she said. ‘I left him in Ebeneezer Street when I went off filming. I told him he’d have to find somewhere permanent to live. I didn’t say I wouldn’t be coming with him, but I tried not to make him think that I would.

  ‘He just said not to worry, that everything would be sorted out soon.’

  ‘You didn’t go back to Edinburgh on Wednesday?’

  ‘No. I came here, to see Mum and Dad. The thing is, I really fancy Miles too, and I want to clear the decks. I thought I’d ask Dad to go to see Willie, to say I want out, and to ask him to be sure to move out of the flat before I got back.’

  Prim snorted. ‘That’d be really nice of Dad. Have you asked him yet?’

  ‘No, I haven’t plucked up the courage. I don’t suppose you’d …’ And then something struck her, something very obvious.

  ‘But hold on. You’re back, Prim. So you must have been to the flat. Wasn’t Willie there? Have you chucked him out already?’

  Primavera shook her head. ‘Sit down, Dawn,’ she said quietly. Her sister obeyed. ‘Yes, I’ve been to the flat, and yes, I’ve seen Willie. So has Oz. But he was dead. He was murdered. On Wednesday night, the police say.’

  The girl’s face went ashen. She hid it with her hands and slumped backwards, collapsing into the soft cushions of the big armchair. I thought that she was crying, but she wasn’t. She was too shocked for that. It was Prim who was suddenly in tears. She rushed across the room, and threw her arms round her sister. ‘Oh Dawn, I’m sorry, but I’m so relieved. We didn’t want to think it, but we were afraid that you might have had something to do with it, or that you might be in danger too. That’s why we’ve been looking for you.’

  I felt helpless, so I got up and put my arms around them both. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘It’s okay, Prim. We’ve found her now, and she’s going to be all right.’ I drew her to her feet and held her against me. In the armchair, Dawn took her hands from her ghost’s face and looked up at us.

  ‘Do the police know who did it?’ she said, huskily.

  I shook my head. ‘No. The guy in charge is going to want to talk to you. Was Willie in touch with anyone? His wife, for example?’

  ‘Not as far as I know? But I haven’t seen him for two weeks, remember.’

  ‘Did he tell you about the money?’

  ‘What money?’ Prim and I looked hard at her. She was an actress, but I couldn’t imagine that anyone could fake that sort of astonishment.

  ‘Did Willie send you to Switzerland to open a bank account for him?’

  She gave a soft gasp. ‘Oh, that. Yes. He said he wanted to hide as much of his money from his wife as he could. He said she’d be suspicious if she found out that he’d gone to Switzerland, so he asked me to do it. I flew to Geneva and opened the account, then flew back on the same day.

  ‘The account’s in a bank called Berners: it’s one of these cloak and dagger things. Withdrawals can only be made by two people, each carrying half of a fiver. The account number is the same as the number on the banknote. The bank took a photo of it. When I got back I gave the two halves to Willie.’ She pulled herself up in the chair.

  ‘But why did you ask about money? Did Willie use the account? Did he transfer his cash out there?’

  I smiled. ‘I don’t know about his cash, but he transferred nine hundred thousand of his firm’s money out there. I was hired by the senior partner to recover it. I went to see him on Thursday, to get the fiver back. He was dead when I got there, and when Prim arrived. That’s when we met.

  ‘We’ve been a bit busy since then,’ I added.

  Dawn sat there staring up at us as she fitted the pieces of the story together. By now I was quite certain that Prim’s sister was just a touch slow on the uptake, but eventually she got there. ‘Do the police think I killed Willie for the money?’

  ‘The guy who’s leading the investigation, Mike Dylan, he doesn’t know about the money. And that’s the way I want it to stay. Black and Muirton want to keep that part of it quiet. But if Dylan ever does find out about it, and about you opening that bank account, then yes, he’d fancy you for it right away. So let’s hope you can prove where you were when Kane was killed.’ Dawn gulped. Her mouth dropped open slightly. Prim looked at her anxiously.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘when did you get here on Wednesday?’

  ‘About two-thirty in the afternoon.’

  ‘And were you with Mum and Dad all day after that?’

  ‘Yes. Dad had an order to dispatch that day for a customer in London. I helped him box it, then we went to the station in Perth and put it on a train. That would have been around nine in the evening.’ She paused. ‘Hey, I signed the dispatch slip, and it has the time on it!’ Her face lit up with relief.

  ‘After that we came back home and had supper with Mum. I told them all about the film. We sat up until about one in the morning.’

  It was my turn to grin with relief. I mean, you don’t fancy even the outside possibility that your girlfriend’s sister might be a knife-wielding maniac, do you? ‘Dawn, that’s brilliant,’ I said. ‘Dylan won’t be able to lay a glove on you.’

  ‘Should I go to the police?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s think about that one for a while.

  ‘One thing though. Just remember, if and when you do see Mike Dylan, don’t mention a word to him about the bank account. If he should ask you about it, look blank, then tell us.’

  She nodded. ‘Okay. What about the fiver? Who’s got that?’

  I looked at Prim. Prim looked at me, and shook her head, imperceptibly. ‘The important thing, Dawn,’ I said, ‘is that whoever killed Willie doesn ’t have it. They couldn’t find it at the time, but they sure as hell want it now.’ I thought some more, and as I did, there was a loud creak from the hallway. Prim drew a finger across her throat in a ‘Keep your mouth shut!’ sign, then rubbed her face quickly with her hands to clear away the traces of her earlier tears.

  Looking at Mum and Dad Phillips in their churchgoing clothes, I had a sudden strange feeling that Prim, Dawn and I, the three of us, were time travellers, who had taken a flip back sixty years. Mum was dressed in a long brown velvet dress with a fur stole and a funny, shapeless wee hat that sat on top of her head like a cowpat. Dad wore a heavy black suit, with a jacket so long that it was almost a frock coat. He wore, big round glasses, and a gold watch chain hung across his waistcoat. His high shirt collar was starched stiff, and secured by a brass stud which showed just above the knot of his striped tie. I guessed that he was in his early sixties, his wife maybe five years or so younger. Each was probably around the same age as their clothes.

  ‘Primavera! When we saw the car, we hoped it was you!’ Mrs Phillips had a voice like a bell. It rang grandly around the room, and I thought for a second I could hear the glassware tremble. But it had a kind tone, and I knew at once that I was going to like her. Prim rushed across to the doorway and hugged her mother. Behind them, her Dad smiled awkwardly, as if taken aback by such a show of emotion. Then she turned to him, and pulled him to her also, kissing his cheek. I was surprised when his eyes glistened, and so, I think was he. I thought about shedding the odd tear myself, to spare the poor bloke’s embarrassment.

  Eventually, they noticed that I was there. They couldn’t help it. I stood there in my jeans and tee-shirt, fidgeting and feeling as awkward as I ever had in my life. They didn’t stare at me, they just looked, as they’d probably look at a deer that wandered into their garden. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, as long as it doesn’t eat the tulips!’ Prim took pity on the alien life-form whom she’d brought into the house. She came across and wrapped herself around me, holding me like a drunk holds a bus-stop, as if he’s taking it home to the wife.

  ‘Mum, Dad. This is Oz Blackstone. He’s crackers, but I think you’ll like him. I do.’

  How do you respond to an introduction like that? I came out with, ‘Pleased to meet you, after all this time.’ The words sort of fell out of my mouth. It was as if they’d been generated by something other than my brain. Without breaking Prim’s bearhug, I reached out and shook hands with them both.

  Mrs Phillips looked me up and down one more time. ‘Well, Oz,’ she said, slowly, weightily. ‘I’ve waited a long time to hear my older daughter say something like that, so I’m pleased to meet you too.’ She flicked a finger towards Dawn and added, archly. ‘That one, of course, says something like that every three months or so, and from the way she was talking on Wednesday, I think we’re about to hear it again.’

  ‘That’s not all we’re going to hear, I hope,’ said Mr Phillips, eyeballing his wife meaningfully. He’s a dry sort, Prim’s father. He looks as if he was made from the wood he carves himself, and he tends to say not much more than one of his toy soldiers. But when he does contribute, it hits the spot.

  ‘All in good time, David,’ said Mrs Phillips, ‘but first, lunch. Come on, girls.’

  ‘I’ll help too,’ I said at once, faced with the possibility of being left alone with the totem pole. But it wasn’t that easy. ‘Not at all, Oz,’ said Mother. ‘You sit down.’ Prim looked back at me, smiling, as she followed her towards the kitchen.

  Dad Phillips and I stood there for a few moments, in an awkward silence. And then he coughed, and I realised that he was even less at ease than I was. ‘This must be very, er, sudden, for you,’ I ventured. ‘Both daughters at home more or less out of the blue, and one of them with a bloke in tow.’

  He eyed me, checking for any sign that I was humouring him. Then, all at once, he nodded and the ice was broken. ‘Yes, you’re right. I haven’t had much practice at small talk in recent years, not since I sold my factory. Elanore and I each have our own interests, and they tend to be solitary. She writes, I carve wood into interesting shapes and paint it. We don’t have many visitors, apart from the occasional girl chums our daughters bring with them. As a matter of fact, you’re the first man friend that Primavera’s brought here since she was at college.’

  I beamed, bursting with pride, until very gently, he pricked my balloon. ‘She’s always been an individual, has Primavera. Odd tastes in most things.

  ‘What’s Oz short for?’

  I told him. He nodded, in sympathy, I thought.

  ‘What do you do?’

  I told him. ‘No divorce work,’ I added hastily.

  He shrugged. ‘No matter. Someone’s got to do it. Does it pay well?’

  ‘I’m self-employed. I expect thirty grand net in a reasonable year. Forty in a good one.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ There was something in his ‘Mmmm’ that told me I’d passed my first test.

  ‘D’you play chess?’ said Mr Phillips, suddenly.

  ‘I know how the men move,’ I said guardedly. One thing more do I know. If anyone over sixty ever offers to take you on at dominoes, darts, chess or squash, be careful: especially if it’s squash. There’s nothing worse than being humbled at a young person’s game by someone who puts his bus pass at the front of the court and adjusts his knee bandages before you begin. I know this from experience.

  ‘That’s enough,’ he said, a decision made. He walked over to a side window and returned carrying, carefully, a chessboard on a stand. The pieces were set up, ready for battle. They were unlike any I had ever seen. The kings, queens and their courts were all hand-carved, in forms dredged from a clearly remarkable imagination. They were delicately painted and sealed in hard varnish, but there was no doubt as to which side was which.

  The black pawns were twisted, leering goblins; the castles were tall forbidding tower; the knights were dragon heads; the bishops were horned, hunched things; the royal pieces were cloaked, and oozed menace from under their twisted crowns. The whites, on the other hand were smooth wee beauties. The pawns were beautifully armoured; the castles were straight and topped with tiny, carved, hand-coloured banners; the knights were plumed; the bishops carried crooks, and had long beards; the Queen was a perfect, narrow-waisted lady, with a wimple, rather than a crown; the white King had long, flowing hair, wore a simple, gold-painted circlet and leaned on a great broadsword.

  I picked up the menacing black King. It was surprisingly heavy, and I realised that there was a weight set in its base. I held it up, and gasped at the way its pinprick eyes seemed to follow me, glowering.

  ‘Did you make these?’ I asked. ‘They’re brilliant.’

  He smiled, and I could see that he was the sort of bloke who’s embarrassed by his talent. ‘Thank you. They’re just a one-off, though. I couldn’t do them commercially. Take too much time. My model soldiers are easier.

  ‘Right, Oz, you’re black.’ The game didn’t last long. He marched his soldiers out methodically, as I pursued my usual tactic of going for a quick kill, crashing my main attacking pieces all around the board, looking for an opening. He took my offensive apart, pawn by pawn, knight after knight, until all but nine of the men were on his side of the board. Finally he zapped me with a Queen-rook move that I saw only when I was beyond redemption.

  He nodded as I tipped over my King. ‘Excellent. You’ll do for my daughter all right. People approach chess in the same way they approach their lives. You, Oz, play with your heart, rather than your head. Exactly like Primavera; you couldn’t be better matched.’

  Right on cue, my beloved appeared in the doorway. ‘Come on you two. Lunch.’ She led us through to a long dining room at the rear of the house, where a long table — more Corleone Family than Addams this time — was set for five.

  ‘It’s as if we were expected,’ I said to Prim; quietly, I thought, but her mother can hear a mouse break wind at the foot of the garden.

  ‘Sunday, Oz,’ she boomed. ‘We always cook a big bird on Sunday. It does us for a couple of days.’ The big bird turned out to have been a goose, but before we got that far we were faced with the sort of thick soup that my Granny Blackstone used to make. You know the kind; you can draw your initials in the middle and they won’t go away till you spoon them up. As I tackled and conquered the strong-flavoured goose, I looked out of the window. The Phillips’ back garden was of the market variety. On one side vegetables were set out in rows; potatoes, carrots, leeks, pea stalks, runner beans. On the other, there were lines of raspberry canes, with strawberry patches next to the house and rhubarb under the boundary wall.

  ‘What do you do with all that?’ I asked Dad Phillips. ‘You can’t handle it all, surely?’

  ‘Of course we can,’ he said. ‘We’re not completely Norman Rockwell, you know. We do have a freezer. Everything we can’t eat fresh goes in there, potatoes included, either cut into chips or sauteed.’

  Naturally, there were raspberries for desert.

  As we sat over our coffee, Mr Phillips looked across the table at Dawn over the top of his big glasses. Suddenly he was stem. ‘Now, young lady. Perhaps you’ll tell us why we had the police at our door yesterday, looking for you.’

  Dawn went white for a second, then flushed bright scarlet.

  ‘Didn’t they tell you?’ said Prim, with a combative edge to her voice.

  At once, Dad Phillips abandoned his attempt to be the heavy father. It isn’t a role that suits him, anyway. ‘No, they didn’t. They said something about wanting her to assist with an enquiry in Edinburgh.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. But it’s got nothing to do with Dawn really. A man was found dead in a flat in Ebeneezer Street, on my stair. The police want to talk to all the neighbours, to find out if they saw anything. But Dawn was here when it happened, so she can’t tell them anything. End of story.’

  I could tell that he didn’t believe her. But I could tell also whose word is law in the Phillips family, when push comes to shove, and that, whatever was happening, he trusted her to handle it. Dad and Mum don’t really want to play in the Nineties, and sometimes the world frightens Dawn just a bit. If Semple House, Auchterarder, was an independent state, Prim would be Foreign Secretary.

  ‘Poor chap,’ he said. ‘Yet it was a bit much of the police to come chasing Dawn up here, in the circumstances. Could you two talk to them when you go back to Edinburgh?’ He glanced at me.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘That’ll probably keep them happy.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ Prim asked.

  ‘They asked me a straight question, so I gave them a straight answer. I said that Dawn had been here, but that she was away for a day or two with a friend in Perth. I said that she’d be back on Sunday, and we’d ask her to contact them as soon as possible. They seemed happy enough with that.’

  ‘When are you two going back?’ said Mrs Phillips.

  ‘We thought we’d stay overnight,’ said Prim, ‘if that’s all right?’

  ‘All right! Of course it is. Your bed’s made up, Primavera. I put sheets on it after you phoned. Thee’s fresh linen under the stair for the fourth bedroom.’ My heart sank, and I think my face must have gone down with it, for Prim kicked me under the table. I supped my coffee to cover my tracks.