The pub would be open now – there were vehicles in the car park, I could see them through the trees, but I knew I wasn’t in shouting distance. Should I go into the cottage, or should I jump in the car and find help?

I pushed the door tentatively; it was ajar. ‘Hello?’ I called gingerly. ‘Who’s here?’

I recognised the melody. The allegretto of the Rondo was perfectly judged, the movement flowing seamlessly. But who the bloody hell played that well?

‘Hello?’ I called again, more vehemently this time. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Of course he wasn’t actually playing it. The piano stood untouched in the corner of the room, the muslin I’d draped over it last year still unruffled. He’d just helped himself to the stereo in his usual arrogance, choosing a CD of Beethoven’s piano sonatas as he lounged on the sofa waiting for me.

As I crossed the room, heart still thumping painfully, I was gratified to hear Digby actually manage a growl for once. ‘Good boy,’ I murmured to the dog, who was stuck steadfast at my heels. ‘How the hell did you get in?’ I asked, reaching the stereo and snapping it off.

He smiled his oily smile, his deep-set eyes inscrutable. ‘You left the door unlocked, my dear Maggie.’

‘I’m sure I didn’t.’

‘Well, someone did, I’m afraid.’

‘I didn’t see your car. How did you get here?’

‘It’s over at the pub. I walked the last fifty metres. I’m exhausted, darling.’

I sat on the arm of the old squashy chair that had been my mother’s favourite. ‘Why are you here, Charlie? I’ve said my goodbyes.’

‘I missed you, darling. And I fancied a little spin in the country.’

I sniffed. ‘I thought Dubai was more your thing?’

‘It is, darling, to be honest. So bloody parochial around here. All the cottagers’ curtains twitching the minute I pulled up at the pub, and everyone knowing exactly who you were when I asked for directions. Talking of which –’ he stood up and stretched, ‘let me buy you a drink. I may loathe the West Country, but they had a damn fine-looking steak and Guinness pie on the menu over there and I’m bloody starving. Thrashing the Alfa down the motorway has given me an appetite.’

For a moment I just glared at him. ‘So you haven’t come to kill me?’

‘No, darling.’ Fraid not.’ He studied his perfectly shaped nails. ‘If anything, actually,’ he didn’t look up, ‘I’ve come to apologise.’

‘Blimey,’ I said, whistling for Digby. ‘Wonders will never cease.’

The fire danced in the old metal grate as an overly jovial Charlie ordered at the bar, debating the best pub red with the melancholy landlord as if he drank here every day. Longing for a cigarette, I tapped my foot impatiently against the antique settle, waiting for an explanation.