Another Monday morning yawned in front of me, another week, another month of nothing to look forward to except a lonely Christmas. I stumbled into the shower and set the temperature as cold as I could bear it, but it just made me feel grumpy. Goose-pimpled and shivering, I was towelling my hair dry when I thought I heard a door creak downstairs.

‘Digby?’ I croaked. But I could hear him barking at the pigeons on the roof-terrace. Dragging on my jeans I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. A shadow fell across the oak floorboards below me.

‘Alex?’ I whispered. But it wasn’t him; I could see that straight away as the top of a man’s head came into view. A shorter, fat man, with a balding crown, holding a bunch of lilies. An icy sweat broke across my top lip. Desperately I sought a weapon – the nearest thing to hand was an Art Deco ashtray on the landing that had belonged to Gar. I picked it up and crept down a few stairs. The lilies were so pungent I could smell them from here. Suddenly the top of the ashtray detached itself and clattered down the stairs. The man looked up, startled.

‘Ooh, you scared me! I thought everyone was out.’ He held his heart with a rather camp hand. ‘Sorry – you must be Ms Warren?’ Collecting himself, he extended that pudgy hand towards me, the lilies clamped beneath the other shiny-suited arm.

‘And you are?’ Half-dressed, still clutching the ashtray stand, I felt a little ridiculous now.

‘Stefano Costana of Costana and Mortimer. I’ve got a card somewhere.’

I frowned. ‘Costana and Mortimer?’

‘Estate agents, Borough High Street. Mr Bailey asked me to pop round for a valuation. He gave me a set of keys.’ He patted his pocket cheerily. ‘Said you’d be at work, said he’d told you.’

‘Oh.’ I tried to recall yesterday’s conversation. ‘Well, he didn’t.’

‘Oh dear. I didn’t mean to scare you. I tell you, if you’d seen some of the things I’ve stumbled across –’ He trailed off, catching the look on my face. ‘Right, then. I’ll – I can come back another time.’

I shook my head miserably. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll just finish getting dressed.’ Digby was hurling himself against the terrace doors. ‘Sorry – you couldn’t just let the dog in, could you?’

Stefano Costana looked nervous. ‘Is he – you know? Dangerous?’

‘Hardly.’ I laughed. ‘Just a bit overenthusiastic.’

‘Found these on your doorstep, by the way.’ The estate agent looked around for somewhere to put the bouquet. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they? I do love a lily. So regal.’

‘Oh, right.’ My heart sank. ‘So they’re not yours?’

‘No, no.’ He plopped them cheerfully onto the kitchen table. ‘You obviously have an admirer, Ms Warren. Very nice.’