She arrived, a little breathlessly, on the top-floor landing. Perhaps being here, with time on her hands, with no work to go to for a whole month, and no car, she could try to work on her fitness. Walks in the beautiful London parks, or along the banks of the Thames, held a lot more appeal than tramping over the familiar muddy fields at home and she was so looking forward to the liberation of a wellie-free life for a while.

She looked around for flat 9. It was, she was pleased to see, the one at the back of the building, which she hoped would mean less traffic noise, and perhaps a more interesting view. The front offered nothing more than a busy street, more buildings just like the one she was standing in, and rows of bright streetlights which, for a girl used to the sparsely lit country lane outside her own home, would have almost certainly kept her awake at night, flooding the place with far too much unnatural light.

She quickly found the right key and opened the door to the flat – her flat – wondering briefly what the third key was for. She would take a stroll around later and get her bearings, but for now she found herself standing in a tiny lobby area with a few coat hooks on the wall, all of them occupied, and a couple of pairs of well-polished leather boots lined up neatly in the corner. She dropped her case on the carpet at her feet, kicked off her damp shoes and walked through into what turned out to be the living room.

She was not quite sure what she had expected, but this was definitely not it. The room was stylish yet warm and cosy, the sofa enormous and squidgy, in a deep shade of red, with a sprinkling of big multi-coloured floral cushions that matched the flowing floor-to-ceiling curtains. A stunning mix of bright white walls, red table lamps, purple rugs, and enormous theatre posters in frames completed the décor. There was some sort of golden statuette in the shape of a mask on the mantelpiece, with various knick-knacks to each side of it, and through an open archway she could see a white wood kitchen, complete with a small pine table and chairs and lots of shiny stainless steel accessories. It was posh, and pristine, and plush … not at all how she had imagined the interior of a London flat in such an ordinary block to look, but she breathed a sigh of relief. It was so different from the casual shabbiness she was used to, but exactly what she needed. A challenge, a change. She loved the flat already and felt instantly at home.

Prue walked over to the window and parted the curtains. The rain had stopped, and a dim late-afternoon light wafted in. She had been right about the traffic. From this side of the building she could hardly hear it. And, to her delight, she could see a little patch of faded grass down below, with a wooden bench set up beneath the one and only tree, and despite it looking a bit sparse and unkempt, it could be the perfect place to sit with a coffee and a book, if the sun ever came out, which it surely must at some time during her stay.