All was quiet. The stone stables with slate roofs formed three sides of a square, hence the name ‘courtyard’, presumably. Given a new lease of life by their conversion into shops, their new, large windows were presently smeared with plaster and dotted with stickers. Signs above read: Daintree Pottery, Posh Nosh, Paraphernalia, Fen Stones, Pix & Frames, Crafties and Mark’s Models. Doors stood ajar and from somewhere came the whine of distant music. Everywhere was speckled and splashed with plaster like a Jackson Pollock painting. Empty sandbags huddled in corners, dirty and torn.

‘You can’t park there.’ A middle-aged man wearing dusty overalls and a disgruntled expression emerged from Mark’s Models. ‘Deliveries can be made from the car park.’

Hannah met his dourness with a smile. ‘I’m meeting Cassie Carlysle.’

‘Good! I’d like a word with her.’ He vanished back inside the dim interior.

Undaunted, allying herself naturally with retailers rather than landlords, Hannah followed, calling after him as she stepped over a spattered stone threshold into the acrid smell of new plaster. ‘Are you the trader?’ ‘Trader’ was generally better received than ‘shopkeeper’.

He turned back. A scraper and broom at his feet suggested he’d been scraping clean the tiled floor. ‘That’s right. I’m Mark,’ he acknowledged gruffly.

‘I’m Hannah. Have any of the shops opened?’

‘Ha!’ He wiped his dusty forehead on his dusty sleeve. ‘Not quite.’ Dripping sarcasm plainly invited her to use her eyes and see the mess everywhere.

‘Had you hoped to be, by now?’ she asked sympathetically. ‘I used to trade at Creative Lanes so I know what landlord issues are like.’

Mark’s brown eyes showed a spark of interest as he snorted, ‘We’ve been left properly in the cart. Simeon took himself off and the builders left this bloody shambles behind. When he was trying to get tenants for the place Simeon promised all kinds of opening hoopla but nothing’s been done and he doesn’t answer his phone. Mr and Mrs Carlysle fob us off.’

After they’d talked for a few minutes a small blue Mercedes swept into the square and a dainty woman in her fifties stepped out, well-cut hair blowing over the collar of her waxed jacket.

Hannah murmured to Mark, ‘This is Cassie? How about you leave me to talk to her first?’

He agreed, picking up his scraper. ‘I’m not going nowhere.’

Striding outside, Hannah pinned on her most confident smile and introduced herself.

Cassie, face pinched with worry, wasted no time on small talk. ‘What do you think?’

Hannah glanced around the courtyard. ‘What’s needed to get the shops ready to open looks cosmetic. I’ve been talking to Mark at Mark’s Models and his utilities are connected and he’s signed a tenancy agreement. Everything ground to a halt in the final stages.’