Page 38 of Savage Obsession

“But it’s only two o’clock in the afternoon,” I point out.

“We’ve been on the road since three in the morning. We need to get some sleep and continue on later. We can drive through the night, when it’s quieter.”

Put like that, it sounds like a decent plan. We find one of those budget roadside hotels and check in. They don’t allow dogs, so we leave Henry in the car while we catch some sleep. This time there’s no suggestion of sex, we’re both too exhausted. We flop onto the bed, fully dressed, and with seconds we’re both out like lights.

By the time we wake up, it’s dusk. Baz goes to check on Henry while I grab a quick shower, then we’re on the road again. We skirt around Glasgow and carry on heading north, into the Scottish Highlands. It’s soon too dark to appreciate the views, but I still get a strong sense of space and height.

According to my phone map, the closest place on the mainland where we could hire a boat looks to be Oban. I calculate that we should be there by about ten o’clock in the evening, too late, probably, to make the crossing tonight.

“Shall I find us a nice hotel in Oban?”

“No need. I organised a helicopter.”

‘What? When?”

“While you were asleep in Edinburgh. They’re picking us up at ten.”

“They?”

“The pilot from Caraksay.”

“Oh.”

The rendezvous point is a deserted car park a few miles north of Oban. The helicopter is already there when we arrive, the rotors whirling slowly while the pilot scrambles about underneath checking the runners. I’m surprised when the flying-suit-clad figure straightens and I see that it’s a woman, and what’s more, she only has one leg.

I’m driving, so I park the car and kill the engine.

Baz jumps out and approaches the pilot, arms open wide. She gives him a beaming smile, and they hug like old friends while I hang back uncertainly, not wanting to intrude.

“This is Julia, my wife.” Baz disengages and turns to bring me in. “Julia, this is Magda.”

It occurs to me to point out that I’m more of an ex-wife, but I’m caught up in the introductions, and there are more hugs, and somehow the moment passes.

Magda greets me in fluent Polish, which is something of a surprise, but pleasant. My English is at best rudimentary. I won’t be entirely isolated, I seems.

We clamber on board, and Baz helps me to strap in and pull my headphones over my ears. In moments we’re airborne, circling over the town below before heading east out to sea.

“How far is it?” I shout into my microphone.

“About an hour,” Magda replies over her shoulder. “Settle in and enjoy the view.”

There’s not much to be seen in the pitch-dark, but I still enjoy the ride. It’s exhilarating, and I spend most of the hour with my nose pressed against the window watching the shimmer of moonlight on the waves below. Henry perches on my lap and seems just as interested in this new experience as I am.

“ETA five minutes,” Magda informs us from the front of the cockpit. “You can see the island over to your right.”

My first glimpse of Caraksay elicits a gasp. “Oh. It’s bigger than I thought. Is that a genuine castle?”

“It is,” Baz informs me. “Medieval, just like some of the outbuildings. But some are ultra-modern, too, though you would never know. Everything new has been built to be in keeping with the original.”

It’s difficult to pick out the details, but the overall impression is of a medieval village set against the rocky landscape. A granite hillside rears up behind the castle, dotted with smaller cottages and what look to be barns.

“There are a lot of buildings,” I observe. ‘Do people live in those?”

Magda answers. “Yes, mostly, though the large barn is actually a leisure centre with a pool and a gym. Oh, and a small cinema. There’s also a purpose-built medical facility. The main offices are in the castle, along with apartments.”

She circles the castle then brings the helicopter gently down to land in a cobbled courtyard. The short flight of stairs leading to the castle’s main entrance is perhaps fifty metres away, illuminated in soft light. We’ve barely touched down when the castle door swings open and two men emerge to stroll down the stairs and amble across the courtyard to meet us.

“That’s our welcoming committee,” Baz mutters. “Ethan Savage himself, and his brother, Aaron.”

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