Tess finds Library Terrace without any difficulty. Sandwiched between Morningside and Newington, just to the south of the grand houses in the Grange, it’s a wide street, with café latte-coloured two-storey houses set out in pairs on both sides. Number 25 is halfway along. She stands outside the gate for a minute. The front garden has a single tree in the middle, and around it, crocuses and snowdrops poke their hopeful leaves skywards.

Baxter waits obediently beside her, his nose twitching at the new smells.

‘Right, Bax. Let’s see if this is going to work.’ The gate squeaks as she opens it. Before she gets as far as the green front door, it is opened by a woman with surprisingly short salt-and-pepper hair who is wearing a scarlet dress and sunflower-yellow Crocs. She looks, thinks Tess, rather like Judi Dench, if Judi Dench had curls. ‘I’m Tess Dutton. I have an appointment at two o’clock?’

‘And I am Georgia Williams, do shut the door quickly, it’s wickedly chilly today. Hang your coat up somewhere and come through.’

The coat rack is full of jackets and scarves. A purple fleece and a navy-blue waterproof hung up by its wired hood are already looped onto the brass hooks. A well-worn, dark-olive waxed gilet with a piece of string sticking out of one pocket has fallen on the floor. Tess picks it up, and in the absence of any empty hooks, she drapes it over the newel post at the foot of the stairs and adds her own coat on top.

‘Hello?’ she calls out along the empty hall, unsure where to go next. Baxter’s nose is still twitching.

‘In here.’ The voice comes from what seems to be several rooms away.

Tess makes her way past a hall table bearing a basket which is overflowing with gloves and mittens all jumbled together. She itches to pair them up.

At the end of the hall on the right is a doorway. The door is open and weak winter sunlight casts a shadow on the tiled floor. She keeps Baxter on his lead and walks towards the back of the house.

The kitchen is busy. It’s the first word that comes to Tess’s mind.

Georgia moves her shopping basket off the table and puts it on the floor, making space for a teapot and a plate of parkin, cut into squares. ‘Sit,’ she says.

Baxter sits.

Followed by Tess.

‘Mr McKay tells me that you are looking for a room.’ Georgia pours herself a mug of tea and adds milk from a bottle in the middle of the table. She turns the teapot so the handle is facing Tess. ‘Help yourself; tea is a very personal matter, I think.’

‘Thank you. And yes, I am.’