I like to think that, when feeling my way carefully through the rituals of passion, the lady in question has pretty much my full attention and very few things will distract me from the job in hand. A murder just outside is one of them . . . The victim, and two other antiques dealers who also came to a sticky end, were all working the same Scottish connection that I had been cultivation, so I decided to make myself scarce for a while. Where better to hide than at the root of the problem in the wilds of Scotland? There may be nothing very Scottish about me but, when my life's on the line, I can blend into the Highlands like a haggis in the heather. It was also the best place to find out why the antiques trade down south had become such a dangerous business.