‘Thank ye,’ he answered, and did as she said. Pushing open the nearest door, he found himself walking into a square study, almost like a small library. His face changed, instantly, filled with admiration, as his dark eyes swept over the pine-panelled walls and matching shelves, filled with books. The pale wood seemed to have a silvery gleam to it in the early evening light.

There were only a few pieces of furniture; a small antique desk under the window overlooking the garden, and a rose-coloured sofa and two small armchairs covered in the same rose fabric. All these were arranged in front of the fireplace.

Blackie tried to take in everything at once, the many books, the painting of a bowl of flowers on the wall above the fireplace, and the ornaments placed here and there among the books.

How well she had done the room, small though it was. If she had decorated it. Something told him she had. He strolled over to the shelves next to the fireplace, his eyes scanning the books. A lot of history. Biographies of kings.

With a huge smile, he took out the one called The Six Wives of Henry VIII. Well, he thought, I’ve never come across this one in the Armley Public Library. But I’ll seek it out, he thought, as he put it back on the shelf.

Turning, he went out into the long corridor which ran from the garden door to the front door of the house. He liked this corridor, and the squareness of the actual house.

He hated what he thought of as ‘bits and pieces’ – small additions, popping out at each end of a house. Blackie O’Neill’s ideal, his true favourite, was Georgian. That was the style he favoured and would build. One day he would own one himself, he was sure. And definitely in Harrogate.

Opposite the library was the drawing room and, like the room he had just left, it was light on furniture and clutter.

How he disliked the ornate style of Queen Victoria’s time, so prevalent still. Too much furniture, too many objects, and those ghastly plants in big brass pots – mostly palms squeezed in between small tables.

He walked slowly around, noting the sense of calmness. The walls were painted cream, as were the doors and the fireplace. Two small sofas were covered in cream brocade, and the rug on the floor was cream, patterned with small pink, green and blue flowers. The paleness, the austerity, the smoothness of the room created an atmosphere of tranquillity. He recognized that Angela had good taste and a flair for decorating. A style of her own that was unique.

‘Here you are!’ Angela exclaimed, coming into the drawing room. ‘So, Blackie, do you like my home?’