‘Hello, I’m Tess, and you must be Benjamin.’ She looks at her hands and then back at him. ‘Sorry, I’m covered in salad dressing, just let me wash my hands before it gets all over everything.’

‘My friends call me Ben,’ he replies. ‘I’ve never much liked Benjamin.’ He looks down at the children. ‘This is Lucy, she’s nine, and Joanna is six.’

Tess hesitates. ‘Would you like to look at the rooms before lunch or afterwards?’

‘May as well look now, if that’s not inconvenient?’

She takes a couple of steps back into the room. ‘OK. There’s a sink in here and you can all wash your hands before you come in. I’m not usually quite so fastidious when it’s just me, but I don’t want to put anyone at risk.’ She soaps her own hands first to get rid of the oil and vinegar, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ in her head and wondering if the song will ever be sung again without being associated with hand-washing and viruses.

‘I’m done, it’s all yours. There are facecloths to dry your hands on next to the sink, just throw them in that basket beside the washing machine when you’re done.’ She pulls a mask from her pocket with finger and thumb and waits for them to finish, internally questioning if the tidying she had done the previous evening is sufficient. Whatever, she thinks. It’s not a show home. If it puts him off then he isn’t right for the place anyway.

She beckons him through. ‘We shouldn’t really be spending too much time indoors so I’ll just walk you around quickly and you’ll be able to see what it’s like. If you’re interested then you can join us for lunch in the garden and we can decide if this is going to work.’ He nods, and the girls follow him inside, now holding hands with each other.

‘That’s the scullery, all the usual things, washing machine and stuff, and the cooker and fridge and the larder at the back. This is the old kitchen.’ She points at the black range. ‘Sadly, we aren’t really supposed to use that but we have been known to put some smokeless fuel on it on a wintry afternoon. Haven’t done it for a while, though, what with the lockdown and everything; not much point when I’m here on my own.’ She waves a hand around the kitchen. ‘This is where we eat, whoever is staying here, I mean. Meals are always eaten together, downstairs, never in the bedrooms.’ She points to the narrow wooden staircase that leads off the kitchen. ‘My office is up there.’