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Chapter One

HANNAH

Hannah imagined the grey of London giving way to the greenery of the countryside. It was already dark outside, so she couldn’t actually see it happening. It had been a long time since Hannah had left the city, let alone taken some time off. But now, she hoped to be able to leave behind the unease that had bled into everything in the last year.

She sat in the dining car of the Caledonian Sleeper, watching the city lights fly by, enjoying the feeling of escape. The simple pasta dish she’d ordered had been surprisingly good, and the glass of red wine was a welcome relaxant.

Alone at her table, she pored over the newspapers she’d picked up at Euston Station, unable to leave the stories of the day behind. She kicked off her heels and undid the buttons of her jacket. She’d come straight from the news room, her editor waving her off enthusiastically.

She gave a rueful smile. It was almost as though he’d been pleased to get rid of her. But the truth was, Mark was one of her only friends, and the first one who’d been brave enough to suggest she might be suffering with burnout.

She flipped to the political pages of the broadsheet. The editorial led on the long shadow left by what the media had termed ‘Saxongate’. She hadn’t coined the term, but she knew every detail of where it had come from.

“Excuse me.”

Hannah looked up to see a man with greying hair and a pinstriped suit leaning over her table.

“Is it you?”

Hannah cleared her throat. “Well, that rather depends on who you think I am.” She sucked her cheeks in.

“You’re that woman presenter off the telly, aren’t you? The one who took down the PM?” The man looked quizzically at her, his phone grasped in his fist. Hannah raised her eyebrows.

“I’m Hannah Castle, yes.” She didn’t care about the bristle in her voice.

“Well, there you go.” The man smiled and then laughed to himself. “You look smaller in real life.”

Hannah gathered her papers, drained her wine and reached down to put her shoes back on. “Yes. Well, as you say, there you go.” She stood up. “Excuse me.” She brushed past him and headed to the carriage door. She didn’t look back.

Once in her cabin she closed and locked her door. She stood and surveyed her tiny room and breathed out, letting her shoulders drop. Until a year ago, very few people would have recognised her in public, but since the Liam Saxon investigation she’d become a household name, which, apparently, meant that everyone was entitled to judge her.

She changed into some loose silk pyjamas and climbed into the small bed, spreading the papers before her once more. For longer than she cared to remember, she’d spent every night like this, reading all the editorials, picking up titbits of information from different newspapers. It was what made her an exceptional broadcast journalist. It was the reason she led investigative reporting on TV news for the BBC.

Hannah’s phone pinged. She grabbed the hairband from round her wrist and tied her dark shoulder length hair into a pony tail before reaching for her mobile. It was Mark. She grimaced.

“You’d better not be reading the papers still. Take a proper break. You need it. x”

She sighed. She wasn’t sure who she was without the heroin-like supply of news at her fingertips. That was what this trip to Scotland was about. She was forcing herself out of her comfort zone, and finally taking some proper leave from work. Mark had threatened to withdraw her access privileges to Broadcasting House if she didn’t. She tried not to think about the day a week earlier when he’d found her frozen at her desk, in the grip of what she later realised was a panic attack.

The newspapers were filled with adverts about Christmas. She rolled her eyes. She could do without that on top of everything else. This was the first festive season since her divorce, and a few people had invited her to spend Christmas with them. As if she was a waif or a stray. She couldn’t bear it. She knew how it would be. Heads tilted to one side, eyes brimming with sympathy, they would ask how she was, but they wouldn’t really care about what she said in response.

The truth was, she was relieved she didn’t have to work out how to survive another Christmas with Carl. There was nothing objectively wrong with the man, but spending time with him had become a hindrance to her work. To everything. She couldn’t blame him for leaving. She’d not been a good wife.

For once, she heeded Mark’s text message, folded away the papers and pulled out a book. It was years since she’d read fiction. Now was the time to immerse herself in something other than work. The fact that she was heading to Fort William, to a castle on a remote loch, would hopefully take her away from people who recognised her increased celebrity.

The was something both freeing and terrifying about being untethered to work, to a story. It had been a very long time since she’d been in that position. It wasn’t a comfortable place to be. But it wasn’t a bad one, either. She knew something had to give. It had been too long since she’d had a good night’s sleep.

On that thought, she climbed under the covers of the double bed in her small cabin. One of the great pleasures of divorce was having a bed to herself. No expectant advances from Carl, no body heat spreading uncomfortably across the bed. She sighed and reached for the hip flask of rum that she kept on her bedside cabinet at home.

The engraving on the forty-year-old vessel commemorated her grandfather’s retirement from the police. He had long since died, and this dented and well-used bottle was her inheritance. She gave a rueful smile. She wasn’t sure what the gruff old man would have thought of the way she was using it now, self-medication and an aid to sleep. She unscrewed the metal lid and took a generous swig of spiced rum. She washed it around her mouth, enjoying the burn.

“Cheers, Grandad,” Hannah said, under her breath. “Here’s to an adventure.”

She took another swig before putting the flask away. She burrowed under the covers, enjoying the rocking motion and the low mechanical noise of the train. Hannah closed her eyes and prayed that tonight, sleep would come.

Chapter Two

LOTTIE